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THE

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

THE LORD OF THOULOUSE:

A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

Veluti in speculum.

Theatre Royal Cov, Gard. Count Raymond rules in Languedoc,

O'er the champaign fair and wide,
With town and stronghold many a one,
Wash'd by the wave of the blue Garonne,
And from far Auvergne to Rousillon,

And away to Narbonne,

And the mouths of the Rhone;
And his Lyonnois silks and his Narbonne honey,
Bring in his lordship a great deal of money.

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A thousand lances, stout and true,

Attend Count Raymond's call;
And Knights and Nobles, of high degree,
From Guienne, Provence, and Burgundy,
Before Count Raymond bend the knee,

And vail to him one and all.

And Isabel of Arragon

He weds, the Pride of Spain,
You might not find so rich a prize,
A Dame so “ healthy, wealthy, and wise;"
So pious withal—with such beautiful eyes-
So exactly the Venus de Medicis size-

In all that wide domain.
March.-VOL. LXX. NO. cclxxix.

N

Then his cellar is stored

As well as his board, With the choicest of all La belle France can afford; Chambertin, Chateau Margaux, La Rose, and Lafitte, With Moët's Champagne, “of the Comet year," " neat As imported,”—“ fine sparkling,”—and not over sweet ; While his Chaplain, good man, when call’d in to say Grace, Would groan, and put on an elongated face At such turtle, such turbot, John Dory, and plaice ; Not without blushing, pronouncing a benison, Worthy old soul! on such very fat venison,

Sighing to think

Such victuals and drink, Are precisely the traps by which Satan makes men his own,

And grieving o'er scores

Of huge barbecued Boars, Which he thinks should not darken a Christian man's doors, Though 'twas all very well Pagan Poets should rate 'em As “ Animal propter convivia natum.

He was right, I must say,

For at this time of day, When we're not so precise, whether cleric or lay, With respect to our food, as in time so passé, We still find our Boars, whether grave ones or gay, After dinner, at least, very much in the way, (We spell the word now with an E, not an A ;) And as honest Père Jacques was inclined to spare diet, he Gave this advice to all grades of society, “ Think less of pudding-and think more of piety."

As to his clothes,

Oh! nobody knows
What lots the Count had of cloaks, doublets, and hose,

Pantoufles, with bows

Each as big as a rose, And such shirts with lace ruffles, such waistcoats, and those Indescribable garments it is not thought right To do more than whisper to oreilles polite.

Still in spite of his power, and in spite of his riches,
In spite of his dinners, his dress, and his which is
The strangest of all things-in spite of his Wife,
The Count led a rather hum-drum sort of life.
He grew tired, in fact, of mere eating and drinking,
Grew tired of flirting, and ogling, and winking

At nursery inaids

As they walk'd the Parades,
The Crescents, the Squares, and the fine Colonnades,
And the other gay places, which young ladies use
As their promenade through the good town of Thoulouse.

He was tired of hawking, and fishing, and hunting,
Of billiards, short-whist, chicken-hazard, and punting ;

Of popping at pheasants,
Quails, woodcocks, and-peasants;
Of smoking, and joking,
And soaking, provoking
Such headaches next day

As his fine St. Peray,
Though the best of all Rhone wines can never repay,
Till weary of war, women, roast-goose, and glory,
With no great desire to be “ famous in story,"

All the day long,

This was his song,
“Oh, dear! what will become of us?

Oh, dear! what shall we do?
We shall die of blue devils if some of us

Can't hit on something that's new !"

Meanwhile his sweet Countess, so pious and good,
Such pomps and such vanities stoully eschewd,
With all fermented liquors and high-season'd food,
Deviled kidneys, and sweetbreads, and ducks and green peas;
Baked sucking-pig, goose, and all viands like these,
Hash'd calve's-head included, no longer could please,
A curry was sure to elicit a breeze,
So was ale, or a glass of Port wine after cheese.

Indeed, any thing strong,

As to tipple, was wrong;
She stuck to “fine Hyson," " Bohea," and Souchong,
And similar imports direct from Hong Kong.
In vain does the family doctor exhort her
To take with her chop one poor half-pint of porter ;

No! - she alleges
She's taken the pledges!
Determined to aid

In a gen'ral Crusade
Against publicans, vintners, and all of that trade,
And to bring in sherbet, ginger-pop, lemonade,
Eau sucrée, and small drinkables mild and home made ;
So she claims her friends' efforts, and vows to devote all hers
Solely to found “The Thoulousian Teatotallers.”

Large sums she employs

In dressing small boys In long duffle jackets, and short corduroys, And she boxes their ears when they make too much noise ; In short, she turns out a complete Lady Bountiful, Filling with drugs and brown Holland the county full.

Now just at the time when our story commences,

It seems that a case

Past the common took place, To entail on her ladyship further expenses,

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