mises, or his Majesty would never have thought of ordering the Marquis to live on his estates for a year." "It was a most tyrannical order," said De la Chaumette; "for let his Majesty's suspicions be what they might, they could not justify so arbitrary an act. I have frequently trembled," he added, seriously, "for the royal authority in these realms; and pardon me for alluding to political matters, but I must say, I cannot think that a disturbance, nay, a revolution, would be an unnatural result of a system which keeps the higher orders in so oppressed a state." "Let us hope for the best," said De Bazas; "it becomes those who hold stakes in the country "And such high stakes that they are obliged to sell their estates to pay them," said the eternal Ville Franche. "Bah!" said D'Arbois, "let us know why this sentence on the Marquis was remitted." Through my personal influence with the King," said the beautiful widow, drawing herself up, half in pride, half in mockery. "If Louis were forty years younger," said De Bazas; "say in the old days of Utrecht, one could understand that. But forgive me "But I tell you that it was so," said the widow. "Do you forget that a certain loved and valued friend of mine, a long time-I mean a very short time ago—had his dear head carried away by a cannon-ball while he was beating a recruit for having had the toothache on parade? Louis Quatorze did not forget it; and when I interceded for De la Chaumette, he said, with all his natural dignity and condescension, 'The widow of such an officer as Colonel St. Hilaire deserves a greater boon at the hand of his grateful master,' but he granted De la Chaumette's petition." "I remember the story, now," said Ville Franche; "but the king's answer is usually supposed to have been a little different." "And what may people be kind enough to suppose?" said the widow, rather haughtily. "Oh! if you are angry, I have done," said Ville Franche; "but now you smile, I may as well tell you. They say that the King, not unnaturally, asked why a certain lovely widow took so much interest in a certain profligate marquis; and the reply being tardy, Louis is reported to have said, that the widow of such an officer as Colonel St. Hilaire deserved a better husband' at the hand of his grateful master. The result is the same in both versions." "You are misinformed," said the widow, laughing; Grand never makes presents of trifles." "Louis le "And now," said D'Arbois, "how do we decide that the Marquis is to shew his gratitude for this interference of Madame St. Hilaire ?" "I think," said Ville Franche, "that we had better refer the question to Madame's pretty cousin, who has hitherto declined saying a single word.” "Do you consent, De la Chaumette?" asked D'Arbois. "Volontiers-I am always safe in a lady's hands," said the Marquis. "Speak, my love," said the widow; "I leave the judgment to you." "Then I think," said Louise de Mably, in a tone which shewed that her previous silence had proceeded neither from inattention nor from want of confidence, “that as I know my cousin will, for certain reasons, wish to be relieved of my society in a very short time, it would be an act of much kindness to her, if the Marquis, when he goes in to speak to the King, would ask his Majesty for a husband for me, if he happen to have another to spare." "Bravo!" said every voice-"be that De la Chaumette's sentence." 'My love," said the widow, "I respect you; for you have shewn that you know how to speak to the purpose." "I will certainly make the request," said De la Chaumette; "though Louis's warlike pursuits, for the last half century, have rather accustomed him to deprive the ladies of France of husbands, than to give them. But I will try." And the conclusion of his Majesty's devotions being announced, the "perfumed Seigneur delicately lounged out' of the Eil du Bœuf." Eight days afterwards, the Marquis de la Chaumette was married to Madame St. Hilaire.-Eighty years afterwards, their grandson, and the sole representative of the family, was piked in the back by a fishwoman, in front of his own mansion, for refusing to raise his hat to Marat, l'Ami du Peuple, who was, for the hour, the master-spirit of that Revolution, for dreading which the Marquis (or some of the "loungers" we have named) had given such sufficing reasons. Oн ye Passions, Virtues tender, Hate, hast thou a lady's feature? What of Justice, then, and Meekness? Beauty, clad in simple grace? Feminine art thou, Devotion; Fancy, Thought, and Innocence; But for Scorn, his sex is settled; Feminine is Morning early, Time is not the wither'd thing; But a laughing maid is Spring. Rules o'er Wisdom-not a male. Charity, whom all importune; And all these are feminine. Lo, Britannia meets your eyes; Female, too, is gentle Order, Chaos not, as bards rehearse ; Music, sing your sex's glory! For, while Death is called a he, Oh! ye Passions, Virtues tender, Vices deck'd in smiles or frowns, Who first class'd ye, ancient Nouns ? THE RUSSIAN PRINCE: A TALE OF OXFORD. BY LUNETTE. PART THE SECOND. SHINER AND STAPLETON. ON the morrow, the improvement in the condition of his Royal Highness was very evident, and so delighted was he with the place and the prospects of the Commemoration, which Borowsky had at last made him comprehend, that he determined on staying in Oxford some little time, and therefore desired the presence of his landlord as soon as his morning's meal was concluded. His Highness sat behind a large dining-table, on which was a small jewel-case, containing to all appearance seven or eight foreign orders, which the Prince was weighing in his hands or busily turning over, when Borowsky ushered Newboy into the room. "Pone sedillam," said the Prince, as they entered; whereupon Borowsky placed a chair at the end of the table, and endeavoured to make Newboy understand that he was to occupy it. "Sede, sede!" said the Prince; “sheats, sheats!" he continued, angrily, whilst his servant whispered to Joe not to oppose his Highness's wishes; so Joe sat down, and Borowsky stood midway between him and the Prince as dragoman in ordinary to his Highness. "Terræ magister," said the Prince, "intelligistine linguam Latinam." Joseph stared. "Non vasorum æreorum sartoris anathema, quod non est plusquam dimidium anathema communis," said Borowsky; "sed ego interpretabo mi Exaltissime." "Terræ magister," continued the Prince, with a bland smile; "hic paululum remanere desidero." "His Highness wishes to stay here, landlord," said the interpreter. "Unum, duo, forte tres impotentes," said the Prince. "Perhaps two or three weeks." Newboy bowed twice. "Seorsumenta quædam in civitate." "He wishes for apartments in the town," said Borowsky, cutting off the end of his Highness's sentence. "Not a decent room to be had," said Joe. "Quid faciam, quid faciam, Iw dvorηvos ¿yw!" exclaimed the Prince, as soon as the answer had been interpreted to him. "Attamen ego capio-o terræ domine-vestra seorsumenta-servabis me; hic redeam, hic vivam usque ad finem capituli." "His Highness wishes to retain his rooms here, if you will allow him." "Most delighted, your Highness," said Newboy, with a very low bow. "Nunc mihi, baculum secare necesse est, admeum Riparium, in vico dicto Sancti Pauli ecclesiæ tribus pedibus, ut aliquid Hispanicum mihi donet, eundum est; donec redeam, servabis me, vestra seorsumenta O terræ domine carissime?" "His Highness means," said Borowsky, "will you keep your rooms for him while he goes to London to his banker, in St. Paul's Churchyard, to get some money?" "Oh, with the greatest pleasure," was Joe's reply; "assuredly I will keep them for his Highness." 66 Keap, keap," said the Prince," omnes dicant keap; et cum tempus adest, non est keap, sed est Diabolum remunerare et nulla pix fervefacta." "My lord," says the valet, “has been so often deceived by innkeepers who have promised to retain rooms for him, he seems hardly to trust you." His Highness may depend on me-may depend on me," replied Joseph, with all proper hauteur. His Highness, however, appears incredulous; Borowsky appears to try to persuade him to trust Newboy; and amid a shower of very hard words of all kinds, nations, and languages, nearly half an hour is passed, to the great astonishment of Joseph at the extraordinary language in which the Prince and his valet converse; the following relics have been rescued :-- 66 "Josephus non est usque ad dolum" non magis quam nihil"-" linguam Russican aliquam fac"-"anathema sil lingua Russica et omnes ejus iffskys et offskys"-here came some dreadful words only to be paralleled in Katterowsky's Russian Grammar-" Putas ne quod Josephus mordebit”—“ tenta eum”—“ quinqua quinta splendidi satis erit”—“ satis admodum satis"-" veni, fige ejus silicem”"hic it." 66 His Highness," said the valet, after the conclusion of the confabulation, "proposes to leave with you fifty pounds in gold, on the condition of your placing with it another fifty sovereigns, and locking both up in your strong box as a security until his Highness returns.' Newboy did not seem to understand the matter. Now, if his Highness does not return in a fortnight, you are to take his money for your expenses; if he does return, and finds his rooms in your inn engaged to any other persons, he will take your fifty sovereigns, and distribute them among the best of your charities in Oxford. If, however, on his return he finds all ready for him and his rooms vacant, then each of you will take back your own deposit." After a slight demurrer on Newboy's part, which was speedily overruled at the hearing, without much argument, Joe agreed. The money was soon produced on both sides, placed in the Prince's jewel-box-he volunteering to turn out all his fine orders and jewels, to accommodate Newboy-sealed up with his Highness's own seal (a large coat of arms, the silver stamp of which was kindly placed in Joc's hands, that he might admire the engraving), whilst Borowsky wrapped up the box, and soon after handed it, now weighty with its precious burden, to Newboy, who, accompanied by the Prince and his valet, proceeded to his bed-room, and with all proper forms locked it up in his strong box. The Prince then paid his account, gave liberal gratuities to the servants, and a diamond buckle to Mrs. N., and flew off to London; whilst Joe retired to his snuggery, to calculate how much he could conscientiously screw out of the Russian Prince, on his return to classic ground. "What's the news, Joseph ?" said Stapleton, as he and his friend drove up in their buggy, about three o'clock on the day after his Highness's departure. 66 Nothing particular, sir,” replied Newboy, with an expression that belied his words. "What, nothing new in a week? Here have Shiner and I been away seven good days, drove down to Henley yesterday, came in at one to-day. Come, there must have been some news;-by the bye, met such a queer-looking carriage and four just as we got into Henley yesterday I wonder whose it was." "The Russian Prince, I suppose, sir," replied Joe, gravely. 66 Any relation to Perkins's Greek Count, eh, Joe?-not been here, I presume?" said Shiner, with a sneer. "Left the Mitre at two o'clock yesterday-returns this day fortnight. Well, what are you both laughing at? He's not a Greek Count; besides, swindlers don't pay ready money, give diamond brooches to the landlady, and secure their rooms for a Commemoration, by leaving fifty good canary birds with their landlord when they go away." And here Joe let out all the particulars, amid the laughter of his friends. "He's coming again this day fortnight!" concluded Joe, with a burst of indignation. 'Ay, ay, and so will we, Joe-for the fives," said the Honourable Tom, as he drove off to Christchurch. Newboy looked at first very angry, then grand, then doubtful, then rather suspicious, and concluded by walking into his room, to all appearances, rather frightened. That day fortnight arrived, and with it Shiner and his friend, to witness the arrival of the Prince. Six, eight, nine,-old Tom never was so long striking before in Joe's idea-ten, midnight, and no Prince. Joseph felt queer; but still he thought there were the sovereigns-he saw them put in, he saw them sealed, and he shut them up himself-so he should not be so badly off, after all. Mrs. N. began to be very loud against the Prince, because Shiner had pronounced the diamond brooch mere paste. So Joe and his wife did not sleep well that night. Two days' law were given, and then on the sixteenth day, in the presence of Mrs. N., the Honourable Tom, Stapleton, and the waiter, Joseph proceeded to open the box, and to count out one hundred Birmingham whist-counters. Poor Joe looked aghast-he might have cried with Macduff, "What! all my little ones, at one fell swoop!" Mrs. N. cried bitterly, and determined to cuff Joe well when his friends were gone. Shiner and Stapleton looked too knowing by half, whilst the waiter waited to see what he ought to do, until the sharp ring of the coffee-room bell relieved his anxiety. "Did it never occur to you, Joseph," said Shiner, "that it was rather odd for his Highness to have wanted change for a twenty, and yet have fifty good sovereigns in his jewel-box ?" "Oh, no, no, I know I'm a fool!" said Joe; "and there, that Perkins, how he will stare-fifty pounds! worse than all the breakfasts, dinners, and gin and water of the Greek Count. Ah! it was all that d-d Borowsky !" Here Shiner gave Stapleton a nudge. "Ah! the Prince of Rottentopanbotomsky only spoke Latin, did he?" asked Shiner. "How did you know his name?" asked Joe, snappishly; "'spose Perkins told you-fool!-I know I'm a fool!" 66 Come, come, Joe, cheer up," said Stapleton, "you shall not be a great loser; there, see what's in that box." And as he spoke he pulled out of his pea-coat pocket a jewel-box, so uncommonly like the other, including red tape and seal, that the devil might have said to them, as he did to his thumbs, "There's a pair of you." Joe looked at his friends, whilst Stapleton broke open the box, and counted out Newboy's fifty sovereigns, and also fifty more Birmingham whist-counters for the Prince's share. "O terræ domine carissime!" said the Honourable Tom, in a voice that brought back to Joe's mind the Russian Prince, "O terræ domine pro unum Henricum de Haze te deturbabo!" "His Highness," said Stapleton, in the voice of Borowsky, "will trouble you for a five-pound note;" and then in his own-" Do you understand Russian or Latin, landlord?-five pounds a lesson-John Borowsky, professor." "A regular bite!" growled Joe, as the friends strolled off ten pounds richer, minus two days' living at the Mitre, the hire of a travelling carriage, and certain other et ceteras, which tended to turn the scale rather against the Prince and his valet. "No, I shouldn't do for Dean," soliloquized Joe, as he looked mournfully after his tormentors. 'Well, it does them credit." 66 They might have had many another chance, as Mr. Stapleton's degree never came off, from unavoidable circumstances. THE DRAMA. WHEN Mr. Macready spoke his address on the closing of Drury Lane Theatre, on the 23rd of May, there was a mixture of regret and hope, both in the words of the address itself, and in the tone in which it was delivered. "I would merely observe," he said, "that considerable as has been the amount of means and labour expended, they have hitherto been insufficient to place the theatre in what may be called 'a working state,' and further time, exertion, and outlay, are needed to produce variety of performance, with requisite celerity and completeness. Still, to those interested in the success of this undertaking, it may be gratifying to learn that the results of the present season, under all its disadvantages, afford no room for despondency; they have, indeed, tended to strengthen my hope, and give additional confidence to my faith in the vitality of the English drama." Our pages afford no room for dramatic details, or we would have given the speech entire. We have extracted the portion which contains the real pith of Mr. Macready's statement, and which, moreover, is one that, with a little extension, may be made to apply to the present condition of the entire English drama. Regret and hope-such were the feelings of Mr. Macready, when contemplating the fortunes of Drury Lane Theatre-regret and hope-such must be the feelings of every lover of the English drama, who looks at what it is, and thinks of what it may be. And to begin with hope-the hope that there is a possibility for the drama of this nation to take some position in the world's literature ;-one great bar to it is removed. Dramatic authors cannot now reasonably complain that if they attempt a drama of the highest order, the road to publicity is necessarily closed against them. The doctrine that lions, horses, and danseuses, are alone capable of attracting a public, has been now long exploded; and if the time is looked back upon when it was openly proclaimed and put into practice, it is only with a feeling of aversion and contempt. Still, as ever, there are bickerings among managers; but where there has been a right to perform five-act dramas, their contest has been shewn in their eagerness to produce plays, which at least should correspond with the outward forms of what has been considered the literary drama. It must not be inferred from this, that we really attach any importance to the circumstance of a play being written in five acts; on the contrary, we regard the predilection in favour of number five as mere a superstition as a fancy for the magical numbers three and seven; but still, the plays that are written in that form are always brought forward with some pretension to literary merit, and the manager that has produced them has done so with the conviction that he is advancing dramatic literature, as distinguished from |