the heart of "lady-bright" is won by noble daring. But what means that
sudden break in the song, and the confused sweep of the strings, as
though the lute had slipped from its owner's grasp; while the masculine
paraphernalia which we had just discovered disappears altogether behind
that most impervious and curiosity-mocking screen? No great harm done,
or that light laugh had not escaped the lips so suddenly silenced; and
the offending cavalier is doubtless forgiven on the spot, as they
amicably retreat to that deep oriel, framed apparently for the express
purpose of excluding _intrusionists_ like ourselves, who would fain
follow, where, it is evident, we are marvellously little wanted! Well,
well!--maidens will be maidens, we trow, and lovemaking in the olden
time is, we suppose, after all, vastly like the same performance by more
modern actors. Leave we them to their light-heartedness:--and yet we
could linger long in this ancient chamber,

"With quaint oak-carving lined and ceiled;"

so calm, so cool, so repose-breathing,--the shrill twitter of the
swallow the only sound now heard amid its silence; the fleecy clouds,
throwing that rich interior into alternate light and shade, as they sail
lazily along the deep blue sky--the only moving objects, save the long
wreaths of ivy, that, green as the tender buds of spring, tap lightly
against the casement, as they are swayed by the impulses of the summer
breeze. Beyond, is an old-fashioned garden--a _pleasance_, as it would
be called--and truly is it one; with its trim walks, its terraces, and
moss-grown urns, around which luxuriant creepers are entwined--its
impervious hedges--its close-shorn lawn, decked with appropriate
statues, and its yew-trees, clipped into fantastic shapes; while the
ivy-covered walls that bound it, afford a shelter from the blasts that
too often allay the sunshine of our northern climate, and render it a
spot where 'tis sweet to saunter, in idle or quiet contemplative mood,
at glowing sunset; or chaster beauty of summer evening, when the pure,
cold moon mingles her passionless lustre with the gorgeous hues that
still linger around the portals of the west--bright train of the
departing monarch that has passed to the sway of a new hemisphere!

Here could we linger in genial meditation, while from the dark pannelled
walls look down upon us lovely countenances of those who, centuries ago,
have called this _home_--portraits whose calm, meek dignity