THE COURT, LADY'S MAGAZINE,

MONTHLY CRITIC AND MUSEUM.

A Family Journal

OF ORIGINAL TALES, REVIEWS OF LITERATURE, THE FINE ARTS, MUSIC, DRAMA, FASHIONS, &c. &c.

UNDER THE DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE OF

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS Of Kent.

Embellished with an Authentic full-length colored Portrait (No. 119, of this series,)

OF

THE PRINCESS ARABELLA STUART (SEYMOUR).

THE LACEY CHRONICLES.

WHEN Mrs. de Lacey had finished the last Chronicle,* Mrs. Audley was eager in her commendations of the character of the hero.

"Blanche made a choice for which none can blame her," said she, "I am sure the royal lineage itself might have mated with one as true hearted, and noble in mind as young John, and I am half sorry that his own soubriquet " of the Glen," or his old Saxon name of Dapefer should have been lost in his grander style of De Lacey.

"I agree with you entirely," replied Mrs. de Lacey, in appreciating the young Franklyn highly, and I have no fault to find with Mistress Blanche for discovering his merits. For herself, too, I have some admiration. She is modest in the recital of all relating to herself, but I think there are many good qualities which betray themselves amidst the quaintness of her narrative."

"I spoke not of Blanche," answered Mrs. Audley, "not that I am not fully alive to her merits, but only because I admire the handsome yeoman more, and I do not think that she herself would quarrel with me on that account. But, dear Carry, my

• See Chronicle, No. 1, February, 1843, and No. 2, March, 1843-reprinted-(owing to wrong backing of the pages), which has been forwarded for each subscriber.

L-COURT MAGAZINE APRIL, 1843.

curiosity is whetted, not satiated, and I conjure you to produce another of your family Chronicles."

"Ah, Emma," said Mrs. de Lacey, "you will be sadly disappointed, I fear, and so was I before you, but there is no help for it. As ill luck would have it, the old oak chest was not of genuine heart of oak, or the heart of oak was unsound; for at one corner a portion was entirely rotten, and the consequences you may imagine. Moisture and damp had made their way and done their usual work. Several skins of parchment closely written over, crumbled away when removed, leaving only a few portions, of which nothing more could be decyphered than that they related to one of the family, and were certainly meant as a Chronicle, like the former. Do not look so deplorably blank, for I shrewdly suspect the loss has not been of great magnitude. My husband believes it to have been the memoir of a certain Geoffrey de Lacey who was born late in the 15th century, and took great part in the Wars of the Roses. He was a statesman, and I would fain believe was so absorbed in polities that his domestic life was little more than common. At all events, it is best to believe so. All I can tell you, for certain, is, that he managed to get heavily fined, and that the wealth of the family decreased much whilst in his keeping. His effigy may be seen in the church, a ponderous tomb covering his remains, heavily ornamented with nondescript symbols of mortality, and surmounted by the bust of the knight, a work of no great merit in itself, and serving to transmit to posterity, I hope the sourest and most ill-looking physiognomy ever borne in the family."

"You cannot reconcile me to the hiatus in the family history with all your ingenuity," answered Mrs. Audley, and she looked as discontented as a very smiling, good-humoured countenance would allow.

"But I can make up for their loss in a way you do not expect," answered Mrs. de Lacey. "What will you say if I produce a living Chronicle in the person of an ancient domestic-though she is really above that station; one who numbers not far from a hundred years,-who preserves a perfect recollection of all the circumstances of her youth, though her memory receives no impression of recent events—who lives under this very roof, venerated and beloved by all, and where, indeed, she has passed the whole of her long life; for here she was born, and here she has served the De Lacey family from youth to age. Her memory is as a reservoir of family history, the more valuable as her accuracy can be depended on; and the estimation in which she has ever been held gave her full opportunities of knowing. What will you say if I introduce you to this ancient dame, and entice her to instruct you in some of the singular biography of her worshipped De Laceys."

"I should, undoubtedly, prefer the living chronicle to the dead parchment. Moreover, I think it probable that the histories of your husband's ancestors may become more interesting as they approach our own time, inasmuch as no brief relation of events can affect us like the minuter details which we only get at in recent occurrences."

"I rejoice, my dear, to find you so reasonable; and to-morrow evening dame Eleanor shall be introduced in full form. But you must decide beforehand on the subject on which to question her. Look at the old portraits in this room, and fix on

that personage with whom you wish further acquaintance. I say these portraits in particular, because they represent those De Laceys who have lived within her remembrance. Her mind will kindle with new ardor, and she will immediately begin some strange story as if she had unclosed a book; but we must be careful not to interrupt her, for the thread of her narrative once broken, she can rarely recover it. I will take you to see her in the morning that she may not be disturbed by the sight of a stranger when we wish her to be quite calm and composed. She sits in her own chamber, in the solitude she prefers nearly all the morning, but she does not dislike, when she feels tolerably strong, to come for an hour in the evening and chat with me when I am alone; and many strange bits of family story have I come at in these conversations.

"That I should have been eight and forty hours under this roof, and still a stranger to dame Eleanor," exclaimed Mrs. Audley. Yes, the first thing after breakfast tomorrow let me see her and make myself familiar to her, that no feelings of strangeness may check the flow of the current we are so anxious to let loose." And much more did Mrs. Audley say on her curiosity to listen to the living chronicle, and of her intense enjoyment in her present position.

According to agreement, the two friends had no sooner partaken of the morning meal than they proceeded to the chamber which, for many a long year, had been known as "Dame Eleanor's." Mrs. de Lacey tapped at the door, and entered at the bidding of the old lady, who was no sooner aware of her presence than she arose from her arm-chair, and, supporting herself on her ebony staff, courtesied lowly and respectfully to the reigning mistress of the family. Mrs. de Lacey kindly took her hand, replaced her on her seat, and made many enquiries after her health; then she called in Mrs. Audley, and introduced her as her dearest friend. Very courteously did the dame receive her, and with form and ceremony sufficiently indicative of her education, having been in the old school. Mrs. de Lacey now requested that she would descend in the evening to the old oak-parlour and give them an hour of her company, adding that she would herself come to conduct her.

When, at the appointed time, the door opened, and Mrs. de Lacey ushered in the ancient serving-woman, Mrs. Audley thought that one of the old pictures had walked out of its frame, so entirely unlike was the being of a former century to one of the present. She stopped at the threshold and made a profound courtesy, and as she paused for a moment, afterwards, Mrs. Audley took a rapid survey of her costume. She had been a tall woman, and although she had lost somewhat of her height, her air was still commanding and her person erect. She was clad in a rich, brown silk of most substantial fabric. Its ample folds retreated majestically from the waist, displaying a petticoat of red silk, wadded and quilted in most intricate patterns, over which descended, in all the perfection of clear starching, an exquisitely fine-embroidered muslin apron. The sleeves of her gown fitting tight to the arm, terminated in an elbow, whence depended long and wide ruffles of that antique, coarse point, which, of late years, has again found favor in the capricious eye of fashion and lies in its time-stained richness in strange contrast with the fair necks it encircles. Her arms were covered with black mittens; her waist, which reached her hips, was of

wasp-like dimensions, and from it hung a thick ribband, securing a pair of bluntpointed scissars, a bunch of very bright keys, and a hardly-stuffed green-satin pincushion. Her silvery hair was drawn up from her forehead, and a cap, simply trimmed with lace to match her ruffles, formed with a high, stiff cawl, and bound with a dark-brown ribbon towered a foot above her head. High-heeled shoes, and large silver buckles, completed her costume. Her features were high; her dark-grey eyes still retained a portion of their former fire, and an air of dignity and seriousness was observable over her whole countenance, befitting one who had witnessed so many of the chances and changes of this mortal life, and who was about to pass into another state of existence. Yet there was nothing forbidding in the expression. It spoke only of hope and benevolence, and a conviction of the worthlessness of the things of earth.

"Here is dame Eleanor," said Mrs. de Lacey, come, according to promise, to give us an hour of her good company. She shall be seated comfortably in this easy chair, to tell us some of her delightful histories of the by-gone De Laceys. "Eleanor," said she, now addressing the old dame," Mrs. Audley's curiosity is excited to know something of the characters of the persons whose portraits adorn this room. I have preferred that she should be gratified from your lips rather than mine, for, although I accurately remember all you have told me, I like so much to hear you talk, that you must be the narrator of the scenes none can describe so well as yourself."

The aged Eleanor smiled, and shook her head, as she yielded to the gentle force of her mistress and sat erect in the very middle of the large arm-chair.

"I doubt, madam," said she, "whether you will find it worth your while to bestow your notice on such a crazy old body as I am. My faculties, both of mind and body are failing me; nor is that surprising after both have been used so long."

66 But you will not refuse to let us judge of that," said Mrs. Audley, in her cheerful, persuasive manner. "I am as fond as your mistress of all relating to old times, and I am so linked to her in heart and affection, that she does not object to my being admitted into confidential communication with her on all points. Now, in carefully examining the portraits in this room, I find they are nearly all contemporary, and there is something in them which makes me fancy they all have much to do with each other. That handsome, high-featured, pale lady with black hair, in blue velvet, with such a peculiarly sad expression-that cold, severe-looking, stiff gentleman beside her-that portrait, yonder, of a sallow, fair-complexioned young man in the murry-colored doublet, dark, saturnine and gloomy-that lovely picture over the mantel-piece of a youth in red-velvet, fondling that noble hound, and that dismal, dusky, priest-like looking personage in the shade of the door, all seem to be actors in one drama, and a tragic one, too."

"You must have had a hint, lady," replied dame Eleanor, with a serious smile, “ which to select; for, in good truth, all these are united in one miserable history. But there is yet another to be included. You occupy, I believe, madam, the northta estry chamber, and over the chimney hangs a full-length portrait of a young lady, of whom I must say much, if I am to relate my story at all. Miss Bohun was

not more than four years of age when a famous limner took her picture, which I have heard my mother say was the very image of her.”

Each of dame Eleanor's auditors smiled at the recollection of this portrait, so unlike the modern representations of infancy, exhibited in the unconcealed luxuriance of well moulded limbs, and dimpled knees and elbows, whilst this little Miss Bohun was dressed in a sacque, fitted tightly to her shape; a shirt of ample fullness and a round cap, effectually concealing the cooling locks which here and there straggled from beneath it, and looking as like her great-grandmother as was possible, considering her immature age. It was difficult for the imagination to separate the youthful countenance from its antique disguise, but, if you succeeded, you became sensible that the original must have possessed peculiarly lovely features, with the sweetest expression of innocence, simplicity, and good temper, whilst a certain something in the lips told of firmness and high resolve, if occasion required.

The old woman sighed deeply as the thought of Miss Bohun came over her mind; and then raising her still bright eyes to the line of portraits before her, an air of solemn abstraction stole over her countenance, and she appeared gradually to retreat into the memories of the past.

"Silence," gently whispered Mrs. de Lacey. "You must not disturb her. She will presently begin as if thinking aloud, and she will continue a connected history of whatever occupies her brain, as long as no voice or sound interrupts her."

“That lady in blue," began dame Eleanor, in a low, murmuring tone, which became stronger and more animated as she proceeded, "is Lady de Lacey, the wife of the gentleman beside her, Sir Roger. It was as body-woman to her ladyship that my mother first entered this house. That is now nearly a hundred years ago. Lacey-court had been neglected for some years after Sir Roger came into possession, for he was once a gay gentleman, and, it was said, lived much at court, though neither his politics nor his religion found much favor there, when King William came to the throne, for he had been a personal favorite of the unhappy James. Finding himself suspiciously regarded, he resolved to quit the town and retire to his own estates. I am now speaking of what I heard from my mother. Tidings came, accordingly, and directions that Lacey-court was to be prepared for the residence of the family, Sir Roger being then past the middle age. Great preparations there were, and my mother, who was the daughter of a respectable yeoman on the manor, was engaged expressly to attend on the Lady de Lacey. I have often heard her relate how she stood trembling in the hall with the other domestics who were all assembled there to welcome their master and his lady. Sir Roger spoke freely to all, but my lady scarcely noticed them, only bowing slightly as Sir Roger led her to this very room, and my mother thought she looked sad and unhappy. Presently, Sir Roger called my mother and said to my lady, "here, madam, is Ruth Courtney, who, I trust, will serve you faithfully and well, so that you will have no cause to regret the tire-woman you dismissed in the city."

66

Faithful, she may be," answered my lady, "but hardly a substitute for one so skilled as my poor Varley; however, Varley would never have been imprisoned in this solitary spot, so the abilities of her successor may be more suited to the wants of