what was being said, now modestly suggested that
he knew something of Signor Bensa, and would
undertake to carry a message to him for her
ladyship.

"A merveille," cried my lady, "only it must
be a note. One should always be careful of the
convenances in dealing with artists. They are
so extremely, and so justly, susceptible."

So a note was written, begging Signor Bensa,
with Lady Popham's best compliments, to
favour her by calling in Merrion-square at a
certain hour on the following day, and requesting
him, should that be inconvenient, to name
his own time. And the note, when written,
was entrusted to Alfred Trescott to deliver.

"Queer start, that fiddler fellow turning up
here, Charlewood," observed the Honourable
Arthur Skidley to his friend, as they lounged
side by side along the sunny side of the square
on leaving Lady Popham's house.

"Yes," answered Walter; "he's in awfully
high favour with my lady, too, ain't he? By
Jove! I thought at first you wouldn't speak to
him, because, you know, at Hammerham you
were always saying what a cad he was, and all
that sort of thing."

"He's—he's immensely improved,"
observed Mr. Skidley, thoughtfully, stroking his
moustaches.

It may be doubtful whether any very sensible
amelioration had taken place in Alfred Trescott's
demeanour since those Hammerham days when
Arthur Skidley had found him so intolerable.
But in our judgments of each other so very
much depends upon the point of view.

UNEASY LIE THE HEADS.

"UNEASY lies the head that wears a crown,"
wrote SHAKESPEARE. Two handsome and young
heads have, in these so-called prosaic times,
mournfully illustrated his text.

Coiled up at the foot of a mountain, like a
snake basking in the sun, on the shore of the
blue Adriatic, lies the city of Trieste. Trieste is
to Austria what Hamburg is to the north of
Germany: what Liverpool is to England. At one
time it was no despicable rival to Marseilles as
the nearest port for the high road to India. It
is still, despite all the disasters which have
befallen Austria, a flourishing city. A dark cloud,
like a pall, is now hanging over Trieste.

Not far from the town, jutting out into the
sea, is an elegant structure, with turrets
and gardens, olive, orange, and almond groves,
and every luxury which wealth can procure.
Miramar was the residence of the Archduke
Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Austria, brother
of the reigning Emperor of Austria. He was
born on the 6th of July, 1832, and was married
on the 27th of July, 1857, to Marie Charlotte
Amélie, a daughter of Leopold, late King of the
Belgians. Lord High Admiral of Austria,
Governor-General of Lombardy, of a noble
generous and liberal mind, Maximilian was beloved
by all who knew him. He even conciliated
the good will of a great number of Italians who
hated the Austrian rule.

In an evil hour—April, 1864—he was
persuaded to accept the offer of the imperial crown
of Mexico, to found a great empire; having
previously signed a family contract giving up his
agnatic rights as an Austrian prince. On the 14th
he sailed on board the Novara, and landed at
Vera Cruz on the 29th. On the 12th of June,
1864, he entered the Mexican capital, and was
proclaimed emperor.

The task before him was an arduous one:
first to restore tranquillity in his new empire,
and establish friendly relations abroad, especially
with the United States of America and with
England. Abandoned by France, there was no
chance left to him. When Marshal Bazaine left
Mexico and embarked his troops at Vera Cruz,
it was not to be supposed that Maximilian could
maintain his imperial claim. In following the
chimera of a crown, the Archduke Maximilian
took upon himself a personal responsibility, and
he has suffered the consequence of it; but
France, as is now evident enough, smarts
for it.

The execution of Maximilian, despite the
horror it excites, was not quite unexpected.
He is not the first political leader who has been
shot in Mexico. In 1811, Hidalgo, who raised
the banner of independence, was publicly
executed. In 1822, Iturbide established an
empire, and was publicly executed two years
afterwards. Betrayed by Lopez, shot by the orders
of Juarez, Maximilian will probably be avenged,
and Mexico become a portion of the United
States. Queretaro will henceforth denote a
murder and a grave.

It may interest some of our readers to have
a sketch of the unfortunate empress, who
deserves the sympathies of every one. We quote
from a work published by the Abbé Emmanuel
Domenech, ex-almoner to the expeditionary
corps, and acting secretary to Maximilian:

"The Empress Charlotte is a tall, handsome
woman, with a noble brow worthy of an imperial
crown. Her noble and graceful manners indicate
the sovereign. Her eyes are brilliant, full
of intelligence, and reveal deep thought. When
her lips or eyes express sudden contempt, she
can in a moment banish the expression by a
smile of sadness. There is a touch of romance
about her, but her heart and hand are open to
the misfortunes of others. Had she been
understood and better advised, she would have
become a blessing to Mexico by the charitable
institutions she would have founded, and the
leading part she would have taken in the
promotion of the welfare of her subjects. Without
being overbearing, she possesses a firm and
determined will. Kind-hearted and simple, she
can at the same time grasp the most complicated
question. At Chapultepec her library consisted
chiefly of law-books, and she devoted many
hours to study. As regards Mexico and the
Mexicans, the empress had not been sufficiently
informed to lighten the weight of so heavy a
crown. This is not surprising. It does not