larger galleries attached to its ancient suites
of rooms, and a style of magnificence affected
on state occasions, which contrasts strangely
with our Queen rising at four in the morning
to give a cup of hot coffee to the King of
Sardinia before he put on his comforter and
started by the train to Folkestone.

There go the bells of all the seven churches
—there go off—as loud as they are able, and
fortunately without bursting—the six
bewondered cannon that ornament the battlements.
Here come the trades, very few of
them, and very scant o' breath, with banner
and music;—here come the knights in helmet
and plume, riding two and two;—here comes
a great escort of a hundred men of the picked
archers of the guard; and here comes a
trumpeter on a white horse, pausing every
now and then, and blowing a blast to
command silence, while a herald—the exact
image of a knave of clubs—stands up in his
stirrups and announces:—"The high and
puissant princes, visitors to our lord the king,
the mighty, noble and magnanimous Philip,
Archduke of Austria, and his spouse the
great and very stupendous Princess Jeanne of
Arragon and Castille." Great preparations
had been made for their reception; and it is
pleasant to read an account of the ceremony,
for it reconciles us to our humble tap at the
door or ring at the bell, and the modest
announcement, "Mr. Brown, sir, and Mrs.
Brown."

"The Princess Jeanne rode a handsome
hackney, covered entirely with housings of
crimson velvet. The Duchess of Vendôme,
who had been sent to wait on her, followed,
with all her ladies, caracolling on palfreys
covered with black housings of the same
material. More than six hundred horses
carried the litters or drew the vehicles
required by the stranger's train. It was night
when the procession entered Blois, but the
streets were lighted with immense tapers of
yellow wax." This was not sufficient to prevent
confusion, for the prince and his wife
got separated in the crowd, and Philip first
made his appearance in the royal presence.
He marched from hall to hall between lines
of halberdiers and archers, and at last attained
a chamber where the royalty of France was
sitting on a chair of state near the fire. Beside
him stood the young Duke d'Angoulême
and the Cardinal d'Amboise. Farther off,
stood Monsieur de Brienne, Grand Master of
the ceremonies.

"On entering the hall," says the contemporary
chronicler of this great event, "the
archduke took off his bonnet, and M. de
Brienne said, 'Sire, there is my lord the archduke;'
and the king replied with a smile—
'A handsome prince he is.' The archduke
made three reverences before reaching the
king. On his first entering the hall, the
king rose and advanced by short steps; at
the second bow of the archduke, the king
took off his bonnet; and at the third, the
king embraced him." For which information
we cannot be too grateful to the worthy
historian. But the reception of the princess was
more wonderful still.

When that bewildered personage at last
found her way into the presence chamber, she
was asked whether she would kiss the king:
whereupon, like a good catholic and a
virtuous woman, she asked the Bishop of
Cordova's leave, who was good-humoured that
day, and said she might. So Louis kissed
her, bareheaded, we are told, for he seems to
have been a little quakerish in his notions of
dignity; and Jeanne, without further
application to her confessor, kissed the king, and
Francis of Angoulême, who bore it as well as
could be expected. After these osculatory
achievements, she was led to the queen's
chamber; and let us see how the great ones
of the earth received each other in those
days.

The queen advanced only three steps from
the chimney; the princess saluted merely by
bending the knee. Then the queen advanced,
kissed her, and bade her welcome. On the
parquet on which the queen's chair was
placed stood the Duchess of Orleans, and the
Countess d'Angoulême; and a little retired,
were Mademoiselle de Foix and the Countess
de Dunois. Round the room, but not on the
parquet, stood other ladies. The arch-
duchess kissed the four just named, and was
going a regular round among the others, but
was stopped by Madame de Bourbon, who
would not let her kiss them, "because SHE had
never done it." And as this reason was of
course unanswerable, the princess kept her
kisses for some more worthy recipients. She
bowed once more in passing before the queen,
and so passed on to her private apartments,
Now follows a description that will make
many mouths water these merry Christmas
holidays. What do you think this mighty
princess supped on? Oh, Tom! oh, Bill!
what a tuck! "First came one of the masters
of the household, then six little pages
dressed in yellow damask turned up with
crimson velvet, each carrying a golden candlestick
with a candle of virgin wax; and
after them Madame de Bourbon (don't mistake
this for Bonbon), carrying a great gold
tray full of various boxes of sweetmeats.
Then came Madame d'Angoulême, carrying
another gold tray full of napkins. Then
came Madame de Nevers, carrying another
gold tray full of knives and forks (these had
gold handles). Then came the Duchess de
Valentinois and Mademoiselle de Foix, carrying
sugar-plumb boxes, of which one was
amazingly beautiful, and the other, of silver
gilt, was (think of this!) so large, that when
it was held in the hand it nearly reached the
floor! And after them came six or seven
gentlemen, each holding two pots in his
hands filled with different preserves. And
then (evidently not before he was wanted)
came the apothecary of the queen, who