“No,” said the monks, “that cannot be, the time is far too long; But, though we feel within our souls the compromise is wrong, Yet, in our deep respect for you, our scruples we will drop, And let the dames, till thirty-five, frequent the painter’s shop; But only on condition that thereafter they shall cease To daub, and let us monks enjoy our privilege in peace.” Before the ladies could rejoin, two other saints appeared-- Peter and Lawrence--by the dames no less than monks revered. They reasoned with the parties, and so well employed their wit, That they persuaded them at length the difference to split. The monks agreed to yield five years; the ladies condescended Up to their fortieth year to paint, and there the trial ended. And the same merry Monk of Montaudon voices his sentiments thus: I like those sports the world calls folly, Banquets that know no melancholy; I love a girl whose talk is jolly, Not silent like a painted dolly. A rich man of my love is winner, His foe I feel must be a sinner; And I adore, or I’d be thinner, A fine fat salmon-trout for dinner. I hold among my chief of blisses, Basking beside a stream with misses; Love sunshine, flowers; but O than this is A joy more deep--I _do_ like kisses. I hate a husband who’s uxorious; A grocer’s son, whose dress is glorious; Hate men in drink who get uproarious And maids whose conduct is censorious. I hate young folks who are precocious, Hate parsons with a beard ferocious; Of wine too much can no one broach us; But too much water is atrocious! The Court of Love, a gay and whimsical institution, doubtless originated in the contests of the Troubadours, when the poets recited for a prize the particular style of an ode called the _Tenson_. Though a fascinating subject, we may not dwell on it further than to quote the thirty-one articles of the Code of Love, this being the most available bit of humor.