quaffed to the health of the august pair, who
sat so lovingly together; the bifeataires were
brought in, and consumed bif in enormous
quantities for the amusement of the crowd.
Ever and anon, the royal villain would turn
to the noble lady beside him, and, with
wreathed smiles and false heart, whisper into
her ear those honeyed words which he was
but too fond of using when he had his wicked
ends in view. The poor lady hearkened, and
gave back reciprocal smiles. All present
believed that those little differences of which
the public had been talking had now passed
away for ever. Poor, poor soul! It may be
questioned whether it had not been better
for her to have been taken down by watter to
Bartelmeu Faire, for public competition, and
so have had that detested alliance dissolved
according to the law and custom of the
country. Far better.

The revel proceeds. More bif for the
bifeataires. Marvellous the acquaintance with
minutest details. "C'est exactement comme
en Angleterre," remarks an elderly Frenchman
to a gentleman who was present. Suddenly
a cry; the whole assembly rises in
commotion, and the inanimate form of the
queen, in those convulsions usually incident
to death by strong poisons, is borne to the
front. Tableau. Bifeataires crowd round
tenderly. Those strong men suspend their
customary functions. Gog and Magog, who
attend on all important festivities, offer little
attentions. But the end approaches; and, a
lane being opened through the crowd, Monsieur
l'Archevèque de Canttorbory approaches
to administer the consolations of his church
to the dying woman. Tears flow plentifully.
The good man, it is true, is dressed in purple
cape, and stockings of the same colour, with
a dazzling gold cross upon his breast; but
what boots little matters of costume on
such an emergency! He says: "Let us
pray for the departing soul!" And all fall
upon their knees; stertorous bifeataires
heaving interiorly with sympathetic convulsions.
All are moved save that scowling,
ill-featured figure in a colonel's scarlet
uniform, who stands well to the front, and
is the very picture of 'Udson Lowe. It
is the king with the brand of murderer
plainly written on his brow. He will NOT
kneel. His wretched heart is as hard as
flint; his is the only dry eye. Disgusted,
justly enough, at so outrageous an exhibition,
the audience becomes frantic with excitement,
and a unanimous cry of " Le roi à
genoux!" (king to his knees) rises from
every quarter of the house. With ill-concealed
repugnance, this monster and faithful
picture of the British husband had to bend
his proud liimbs, and no longer shock public
decency. She yields up her pure spirit
peacefully; but is avenged in the hootings
and execrations that assail her destroyer in
the colonel's uniform. "Exactement comme
en Angleterre!" says the elderly French
gentleman again, when he has done drying
his eyes.

Journeying into foreign parts, in the
autumn of the year that has just closed, the
brilliant but perhaps eccentric notion occurred
to the writer of these notes of opening up the
country—not pictorically, or scenically, or
socially, or pedestrianly, or statistically, or
gastronomically—but simply and purely
theatrically. To go forth and study the fine
effect of setting suns (theatrical) and of the
pale moon (artificial) rising to the full; to
watch with interest the wearied wayfarer
crossing, with difficulty, the practicable
bridge over the torrent, and follow him
eagerly as he enters the door (in flat) of the
village inn; to note with feelings of trepidation
the gradual rising of the inundation,
with all its startling effects, real waves
(linen sheets), and practicable banks and
trees; to learn instructive lessons of the
procedure adopted in (stage) courting, (stage)
jealousies, and offences; taking of (stage) life
by the authorised bandits and bravos; as
well as the fashion in which always terrific
combats are fought and won. This certainly
appeared to be a more novel and exciting
mode of exploring a country and its manners,
and habits, than the customary and more
hackneyed method in favour with the tourist
world. With which whimsical view, therefore,
he set out; and, taking shipping (General
Steam Navigation) at London Bridge,
aboard a packet bound, he was told, for
a place called Boo-long, he was conveyed
prosperously to that port, and passed the
Customs' examination with considerable
credit. Being then set down at a comfortable
Boolong hotel (for which, as is well-known,
that port is very famous) he presently
has speech of the host, a pleasant-spoken
man enough. The pleasant-spoken
man discourses of many Boo-long topics and
prospects; all, however, it should be remarked,
more or less remotely connected
with his own peculiar interest. Thus, he
dwells largely on certain approaching
festivities which will make Boo-long the most
famous place, for the time being, in the
world. Everybody will flock, as of course, to
that one point. Next, falling upon the
attractions incident to Boo-long, the pleasant-spoken
host suggests the theatre as likely to
afford surpassing entertainment to the
disengaged stranger. The theatre! Pray, was
not that structure long since made the prey
of the devouring element? Nothing more
true; but the Théâtre Provisionnel—temporary
edifice of extraordinary merit, was well
worthy of a visit. The disengaged stranger,
thinking he might as well inaugurate his new
voyage of discovery, sets forth, and, after
blundering into a thoroughfare known as
Copper-pot Street, and being delivered from
thence only to fall into another known as
More-loss-more-gain Street, floundered out,