THE MAY FESTIVAL.
If not as splendid as the great ball at the Raleigh, the festival at Shadynook was declared by all to be far more pleasant.
At an early hour in the forenoon bevies of lovely girls and graceful cavaliers began to arrive, and the various parties scattered themselves over the lawn, the garden, through the grove and the forest, with true sylvan freedom and unrestraint.
Shadynook, thanks to the active exertions of Belle-bouche and Philippa, was one bower of roses and other flowers. All the windows were festooned with them—the tables were great pyramids of wreaths; and out upon the lawn the blossoms from the trees showered down upon the animated throng, and made the children laugh—for many little girls were there—and snowing on the cavaliers, made them like heralds of the spring; and lying on the earth, a rosy velvet carpet, almost made the old poetic fiction true, and gave the damsels of the laughing crowd an opportunity to walk "ankle-deep in flowers."
The harpsichord was constantly in use; and those old Scottish songs, which echo now like some lost memory to our grandfathers and grandmothers—we are writing of those personages—glided on the air from coral lips, and made the spring more bright; and many gallant hearts were there enslaved, and sighed whenever they heard sung again those joyous or sad ditties of the Scottish muse.
Books lay about with lovely poems in them—written by the fine old Sucklings and Tom Stanleys—breathing high chivalric homage to the fair; and volumes of engravings, full of castles or bright pictures of Arcadian scenes—brought thither by the melancholy Jacques as true-love offerings—or sunset views where evening died away a purple margin on the blue Italian skies.
And here and there, on mantelpieces and side-tables, were grotesque ornaments in china; and odd figures cut in glass of far Bohemia; and painted screens and embroidery. And through the crowd ran yelping more than one small lap-dog, trodden on by children, who cried out with merriment thereat.
Belle-bouche had rightly judged that many children should be invited; for if bouquets are bright and pleasant, so are merry childish faces; and so dozens of young maidens, scarcely in their teens, and full of wild delight, ran here and there, playing with each other, and seeking Belle-bouche—kind, loving Belle-bouche—every now and then, to say that something was so pretty, and she was so good! Whereat Belle-bouche would smile, and play with their curls, and they would run and play again.
There was this observable fact about the young lady who has appeared so frequently in our little narrative, illustrating its dull pages with her languishing and joyful smiles, showering upon it the tender grace of her fair countenance and innocent eyes—there was this to be observed, we say, that Belle-bouche loved and was beloved by children. She always had them round her when she went where they were, smiling and looking up to her with innocent faces—from the little infantile prattlers just from the nursery, to those who, passing into their bright teens, began to study how they might best fulfil their duty in society—enslave the gallants. All loved Belle-bouche, and on this occasion she had scarcely a moment's rest.
Her own companions loved her too, devotedly, and if any one had asked the crowd assembled, what was the brightest picture, the fairest ornament of the whole festival, they would have with one voice declared—the little hostess. Philippa, with her queenly brow and ready laughter, did not receive one-half the devoted attention which was lavished on her companion; and indeed Belle-bouche was the toast of the whole assembly.