The princesses of the house of Valois were remarkable, not only for their beauty and talents, but for a lofty generosity of character, which led them to protect the oppressed, and to be the munificent patrons of learning and the arts; nor did they extend indiscriminate patronage to literature. The three accomplished Marguerites of the house of Valois possessed considerable genius, and were refined judges of merit; and their approbation was still more gratifying than the rewards they bestowed. In the course of the present series of memoirs, we have often had occasion to mention the noble qualities of the first of these Marguerites, the sister of Francis the First; the second is the subject of the present memoir, and was the niece and pupil of that celebrated Marguerite, queen of Navarre. Mar

guerite of France was the youngest child of Francis the First and the good Queen Claude, who died a few months after the birth of this princess. Her aunt, the Queen of Navarre, undertook the education of this infant, together with her sister, Magdalene, afterwards married to James the Fifth of Scotland. The Queen

See her Portrait and Memoir in a former Number.

VOL. VI.-No. 2.

of Navarre was generally considered as a convert to the reformed religion, and it was supposed that she imbued her two nieces with the same principles; yet in Magdalene and Marguerite of France, this predilection did not manifest itself in any opposition to the established religion of the state and government, but only in a generous and feminine compassion for the tormented and ill-treated protestants. After the death of her father, Francis the First, and the loss of her adopted mother, the Queen of Navarre, who soon followed her beloved brother to the tomb, the Princess Marguerite of France was looked up to by all the men of genius who had been protected and encouraged by her father and aunt, as possessing that elegance of mind and delicate perception of what is beautiful, that had so greatly distinguished this royal brother and sister. Marguerite was much beloved by her brother, Henry the Second; not perhaps with that romantic friendship which had united Francis and his sister of Navarre, for these two had not been born on the throne as Henry and Marguerite were, and had experienced the hopes and fears of comparatively private life and limited circumstances. Henry and

I

Marguerite were all that remained of a family of five grown-up princes and princesses; Magdalene, Francis, the Dauphin, and Charles, duke of Orleans, had all been cut off in the bloom of life, previous to the death of their father. Marguerite, during the life of her aunt, had declined all the alliances proposed to her. She was six-and-thirty when Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, came to Paris, to be present at the ratification of the peace between Henry the Second and Philip the Second of Spain. The hand of her unfortunate niece, Elizabeth, eldest daughter of the King of France, was sacrificed to obtain this peace. Duke Emanuel was captivated by the beauty of Marguerite, which was still unimpaired, and having the opportunity of pleading his suit in person, Marguerite was induced to accept him ; when it was represented to her that an alliance with Savoy, whose sovereign kept the barrier of Italy, through which France was so easily invaded, would be most beneficial to her native country. These nuptials were concluded on the same ill-fated day that united the beautiful Elizabeth of France to the morose Philip of Spain, and saw the death-wound of Henry the Second given in the encounter which he engaged in with Count de Montgomery, at the tournament proclaimed to honour these double nuptials. One of the ladies of Marguerite is said to have beheld the fate of the king in a dream or vision the night before the marriage of Marguerite, and to have related it to her royal mistress while at her bridal toilet. This lady saw in a dream the king thrown to the ground by a wound in the eye, inflicted by a lance, a splinter from which struck the Dauphin by rebound in the ear, and extended him breathless near the dead body of his father.

Soon after the death of Henry the Second, Marguerite departed for Turin with her husband. Here she soon became so popular for her virtues and beneficence, that she obtained the appellation of mother of her adopted country. She lived fifteen years at Turin, greatly beloved by her husband and subjects.

Her death happened in 1574, in her fifty-first year; it was occasioned by over fatigue and exertion in attending to the hospitalities of her court, when her nephew, Henry the Third, having relinquished the elective crown of Poland

when he inherited that of France, visited her at Turin, on his return from Poland. She is said to have given him some most excellent counsel relating to his conduct in France of which Henry, to his own misfortune, did not avail himself. The anxiety she felt to entertain the king and his train during their stay in her capital, and her exertions to render Turin agreeable, threw her into a pleurisy; of which she died on the 14th of September, a few days after the departure of the king her nephew, and during the absence of her husband, who had attended the King of France to his own dominions as far as Lyons.

Few princesses have died more lamented. Elegies were made to her memory by the most celebrated poets of Italy and writers of France, to whom she had extended her munificent patronage.

DESCRIPTION OF PORTRAIT.

The head-dress is very different from that worn by the ladies whose portraits have hitherto been described. The hair is folded back from the temples over a small cushion: on the summit of the cushion some of the hair is fastened like a cord, and wreathed with scarlet ribbon. This arrangement is partly concealed by a small black velvet cap, or toque, banded with a thick gold cord. This head-dress resembles, in form, the cap worn by the nobles at the court of Queen Elizabeth ; and seems to have succeeded the fashion of those worn by Henry VIII. and Francis I. It was probably adopted by the ladies in riding tire.

The dress is a close gown of green velvet, square in the corsage, and doubly bordered all round with broad brocaded silver ribbon. The sleeves are green velvet, slashed with little cuts of white satin, and curiously wrought all over with a chain-work of the brocaded silver lace. The waist is cut rounding to the shape rather than pointed: no belt or cordelière is worn there is a double trimming of silver brocade ribbon from the corsage to the hem of the dress. The neck is covered with a chemisette of a sort of open-work net, it is made with a collar and ruche, which stands close to the face; that and the ruff are edged with crimson silk the wrists have ruffles of the same material. When the dresses were worn closed in front like the present, it seems to have been the mode for the ladies to

attracted his notice: she is an orphan. Her parents, very honest folks, I have heard, died lately; and so, from pity my nephew has set her up in the marketplace as a milliner, and from pity, no doubt, will visit her; and fearing pity might lead him too far, I say off he goes to America-a good opportunity, a fair occasion, alias excuse, offers. I have misgivings that our correspondent in New York is playing false, for remittances are not punctual, and his communications very unsatisfactory; so Bob shall go on a voyage of discovery."

"Do you forget," observed his friend, smiling, "that the Yankee lasses are famous for their guessing, and expecting, and calculating, and your nephew will be a rare speculation; and to catch him, will crown the ablest guessing calculator among them.”

"A savage-a Yankee, catch Bob! No-no, Simpson; he knows his old uncle better than to run such a rig: why he had better run a muck.* I execrate the Yankees, and he knows it; and I mean to sell every acre of plantation in the rebellious country of savages."

The friends separated, each strong in his own opinion respecting the voyage of Bob, who was unconsulted on the whole business.

"Well, my dear sir," said Robert Belmore, observing his uncle lost in a reverie, as they were seated tête-à-tête over their wine, "have you determined that I shall cross the Atlantic ?" This the young man said laughing; for he neither wished nor believed his uncle had been in earnest when he first mentioned the plan.

"Yes, nephew, to the Yankee land you must go," adding satirically, "and take all your stock of pity with you." The satire was perfectly understood. "I will," retorted the youth; "perhaps I may need it all.”

"Let us proceed, nephew, in our arrangements. I find it necessary, indeed indispensable, that some one interested and well acquainted with circumstances should go among these Yankees on a voyage of discovery; and though I have always hated, I could not despise, the Americans, for I believe them honest in their dealings, that is, their commercial dealings; for their 'I guess, I expect, I

⚫ See religious customs in India,

calculate, I reckon,' do not suit a straightforward, upright, and downright Englishman. So my long respected, and, I hope, respectable correspondent and agent by no means answers of late my calculations: so I say, amongst the savages you must go. But, hark ye, Bob, I love you-I loved your poor mother you are all I have in the world; and you shall have all I have in the world, and when you marry, Bob, you shall give your old uncle a snug nook in your house, and I will love your wife and love the little ones; but mind ye, no Yankee savage to devour me, it would be worse than flippery chippery: if you do, I will never see her-I will cast you off, and you might live on her cross-Atlantic uncivi

lized beauties."

"You send me on a dangerous voyage, dear sir," said his nephew; "I must weather many storms between Scylla and Charybdis. If I escape the rock of frippery, it may be to sink in the gulf— of Yankee fascination!"

"Bob-Bob!" cried his uncle, every feeling softening as he viewed the fine countenance of the youth he so doated on, "you will never break the heart of your poor old uncle-you will never

66

Never! my more than father," exclaimed Belmore, in sympathy, with his kind uncle" never think the thought that can give you pain: no more then of frippery nor Yankees, I am ready to do your bidding-so au revoir."

While preparations are making for the young man's departure, which were made with every attention to his comfort and accommodation, we will more particularly introduce Belmore and his uncle to our readers. Old Meredith, the Liverpool merchant (which for thirty years had been his denomination), was left by his father at twenty-two with one thousand pounds and a young sister, who looked up to him as a brother-a father -a protector. To make his way in the world, he, like many others, from being nobody, by integrity and assiduous attention to business worked his way till he became somebody; and he never felt so proud, or looked so erect, as when pointed out as old Meredith the Liverpool merchant. Probity, poverty, and perseverance, are truly said to be the best qualities to make a rich man; and these Mr. Meredith often boasted were the foundation of his fortunes, which, at the time we write