and heroines of poetry, history, and for life. At the solemn debt-paying romance. She read all these with almost passionate enjoyment. Lilias might fairly pride herself on being to a certain extent in the confidence of her step-father. She knew what his feelings about Hugh were, and that he hoped the influence of foreign travel, and the "rubbing shoulders with men who took life seriously," as he put it, would divert his son from the frivolities of art, and turn him into a man of the world. She knew that although he rarely mentioned Hugh, and never asked her questions respecting his letters to her, believing, or affecting to believe, that they were "full of nothing but trumpery about pictures and statues,' he had certain notions and hopes connected with Hugh's return, and her own truer instinct and readier sympathy made her feel sure that his notions would prove illusory, and his hopes be frustrated. She knew, from what Hugh had said to her when he was at home, and now wrote to her when he was away, that the artist-life he had chosen was full of increasing fascination for him, and that the knowledge he was gaining of the wide, wide world was but confirming his dislike to that narrow and conventional sphere to which his father hoped he would yet be induced to restrict himself. There was another point on which Lilias had gained some knowledge of Dr. Rosslyn's mind respecting his son. She knew that he wished him to marry early, and she imagined that there was someone whom her step-father would welcome as Hugh's wife. But, if it were so, Lilias feared that disappointment was in store for Dr. Rosslyn in this respect also. In her capacity of confidant to her brother, she had been put in possession of Hugh's notions of the sort of woman he meant to marry, and she felt perfectly certain that there was not among their limited common acquaintance any girl who resembled in the slightest degree the ideal being whom he portrayed. The daughters of the grave professional gentlemen and merchants in the higher walks of commerce, those of the superior clerks and the well-to-do parsons, were very nice girls, no doubt. Some of them were pretty, and a few were sensible; but where among their number was to be found the being of infinite loveliness, marvellous grace and radiant intelligence, to whom alone, Hugh Rosslyn had informed Lilias, he would devote himself dinners to which she was formally admitted when her schoolroom days came to an end, and at the mild middle-class evening-parties, at which Mrs. Norton enjoyed herself much more than Lilias did, the girl would observe the young ladies who had so much to say for themselves, and make up her mind that Hugh's ideal bride must belong to a different sphereone into which she, Lilias, could never hope to get a peep. That Hugh would change his mind about many things when he had seen more of the world, she had been assured by Hugh's father. Perhaps one of them would be the impossibility that he could ever love and marry any woman, who fell short of the radiant vision he had sketched for Lilias in their confidential talks. Perhaps he might come back from distant travel prepared to look with less lofty scorn upon the artificiality and the commonplace of those favoured daughters of fashion whom he and Lilias were wont to contemplate in the park and at the theatres, and whom he contemned with all the energy of his preference for untutored graces and beauties unadorned; while Lilias regarded them with frank admiration and wonder. She could only hope that this might be the case, and that Hugh would give in to his father's wishes on the subject, but she did not feel at all sanguine about it. "Lilias," said Dr. Rosslyn, on the following morning, as he was about to withdraw to his consulting-room, "what is the latest address you have for writing to Hugh!" A simple enough question, as Lilias is Hugh's chief correspondent; but it embarrasses Lilias strangely, and she turns so red, and answers with so much confusion that she has had no fresh instructions, that Dr. Rosslyn looks sharply at her. He says nothing, however, but merely nods and leaves the room. As he places himself in his capacious chair, and applies himself to the papers on the huge, heavy table before him, he smiles slightly, as he thinks: "She has realised that they are not brother and sister, I imagine. That is well." PRINCESSES IN THE PAST. IN TWO PARTS. PART II. AMONG the marriages of England's daughters, none has proved more momentous in its results than that of Princess Margaret Tudor with James the Fourth of Scotland. Had there been a charming Yorkshire having ridden out to welcome young French Princess at hand to marry her; and then came the Lord Mayor in the gay young King, then would the his chain and robes, and Earl Percy in Stuarts have been entirely out of the suc- velvet and gold, the trumpets echoing cession to the English crown, and the union from the old walls. And presently the of Scotland and England, if effected at all, grand minster was filled with a glittering would probably have been effected in a crowd, as the Archbishop celebrated a violent manner, leaving a legacy of strife grand High Mass. Everywhere there was and heart-burning to future generations. good cheer; and so, feasting as they went, But apart from the consequences of the the cavalcade passed over the border at match, there are elements of picturesque- Berwick, into a country that was not quite ness in the progress of the fair Margaret so free and jolly. through her father's kingdom to meet her royal bridegroom. It was in the prime of summer-time that the princely cavalcade set forth from Richmond Palace-the young bride seated upon a white palfrey and surrounded by an amazonian escort-all maids of honour, the fairest and noblest in the realm. Earls, Bishops, Barons, Knights, and Squires rode in her train, with heralds and marshals in advance, and javelin men and bowmen on the flanks. And so the train marched on over the wide green commons, and past the green cornfields, minstrels singing, trumpets and sackbuts playing, the woods resounding as they passed along. When the procession reached the more northerly counties, the warmth of the popular welcome increased in fervour. The people lined the roads, bringing drink in great vessels, and would take no payment. As the merry procession entered Lincolnshire, the sheriff met the cavalcade, and rode before it right through the county, and so did all the other sheriffs on the way. Sometimes the Princess would lodge for the night at some venerable abbey, the father abbot and the brethren marching out to meet her with much reverence. At other times some old hostelry would afford a resting-place-The Hart, at Newark, and The Crown, at Tuxford, are especially mentioned. For a night the Princess lodged at Scrooby, in the manor-house of the Archbishop of York, where Wolsey afterwards stayed-a house that was destined later still to be one of the nurseries of the great Puritan movement. And with all its state and ceremony there was a pleasant touch of gipsy life about the progress. As the Princess and her train arrived at the outskirts of a town, a halt would be made by the roadside, and Margaret and her maids would array themselves in fresh attire, while the attendants formed a hedge about her. Thus the Princess came to York, the Scropes and all the great people of The Scotch, too, thronged to see their new Queen, and brought drink for those who would pay. And, at Dalkeith, the bridegroom himself arrived to greet his bride. Full royal were his garb and mien, His cloak of crimson velvet piled, Hemmed with the fur of marten wild; His vest of changeful satin sheen. Chivalrous and courteous as was his bearing, however, the King of Scotland had but little heart for his royal bride. His heart was still sore with the loss of his Margaret Drummond -the one woman who had power to secure his roving fancy. In the old abbey church of Holyrood the wedding was celebrated by the Archbishops of Glasgow and of York. The bride wore a robe of white and gold damask, bordered with crimson velvet and lined with white sarcenet; a collar of pearls, and rich coif; her hair hanging down to her heels. A fine, wilful, exacting girl was Margaret, with a good deal of the beauty of the House of York, which she inherited through her mother. But her wedded life was unhappy to the last degree. The King gave her plenty of cause for jealousy, and Margaret revenged herself by making him jealous in his turn. Messengers and envoys were continually on the way between Scotland and England, charged on one side with budgets of Margaret's griefs, and on the other with good advice, and sometimes sharp remonstrance for husband or wife, as the case might be. And then came the mournful ending, when there could be no more quarrelling and making up; as Margaret waited and watched from the tower of lonely Linlithgow while her lord was lying dead on Flodden field. Nor was Margaret any happier in her second marriage. No State observance here, but a hurried-almost secret-ceremony at Kinnoul Church, where, within a year of the King's death, Margaret gave her hand to young Angus Douglas. And so, quarrelling and complaining to the end, Margaret vanishes from the field of vision. atte-Bowe, and the Princess began to titter. The Palatine, young and sprightly, caught the infection, and went off in a paroxysm of suppressed laughter, which only made the Princess worse, while presently the whole giddy-pated company followed in their wake, so that Archbishop Abbot was obliged to cut the ceremony short and hurry on to the blessing. As for the Princess Mary, Margaret's younger sister, there is something almost ludicrous in the story of her nuptials. She fell in love with Charles Brandon, a handsome and not over-sagacious youth, at her brother's Court, but was compelled, much against her will, to marry the elderly King of France, with the promise that if she would marry this time to please the King, her brother, next time The wedding ceremony which followed she should be allowed to please herself. was performed on St. Valentine's Day, The amusing part of the story is the hot 1612, in Whitehall Chapel, the King and haste with which she secured the fulfil- Queen being now present. The bride, ment of the promise by making Charles with her flowing black hair, was crowned Brandon marry her then and there, even with diamonds and pearls; her robe at the French Court, almost before the was of white samite, embroidered with funeral baked-meats of the royal obsequies pearls and gems. Fifteen young ladies, had grown cold. But it might have been the flower of the nobility, acted as bridesno laughing matter for the happy bride- maids or train-bearers. The Princess groom, who might very well have lost his was in the highest spirits, and laughed head for his audacity; and, indeed, he all the time, while her bridesmaids owed his pardon to the good offices of were quizzing-the word had not been Cardinal Wolsey. In the end, the "cloth invented, but the process was well known of gold and cloth of frieze" mingled-the young men, supporters of the brideharmoniously together, and Brandon, as Duke of Suffolk, escaped the perils of his royal brother-in-law's jealousy to the end of the chapter. But the line of Margaret and Charles came to a bad ending in the person of the unhappy Lady Jane Grey. And now there comes a long period barren of the marriages of Princesses. Mary, of persecuting fame, was married as Queen of England, and Elizabeth, as far as we know, afforded no material for the bridal chronicler. So several generations have passed away, before we are once more spectators at a Court celebration. This time it is a Princess of the house of Stuart, daughter of James the First, and a great-great-granddaughter of the Margaret with whose royal progress we began this paper, who is about to marry the Elector-Palatine. The wedding had been delayed by the death of Henry, Prince of Wales, and at the ceremony of betrothal, which took place at the banqueting-hall at Whitehall, the Court was in mourning. The Princess was robed all in black velvet, embroidered with silver quatrefoils, a parure of pearls in her hair, and one little white plume. But if all were in the garb of woe, there was little melancholy in their hearts. A black-eyed, plump, and merry damsel was the Princess, with a propensity for laughter on the slightest occasion. The official who read the marriage contract mispronounced his French after the fashion of Stratford groom, Dutch, French, and English, and picking out valentines among them, and generally misbehaving themselves. People said that it was unlucky to laugh at a wedding, but it was a happy thing for the Princess that she had a gay, elastic disposition, for surely never before did Princess and titular Queen pass through such a sea of troubles; driven alike from home and kingdom, and often wanting even the bare necessaries of life. But out of her troubles came a great destiny for her descendants, as her daughter, Sophia, born at the Hague in the midst of distress and humiliation, eventually brought into the world the babe who, as George the First, was to become King of England. But before the rising of the star of Brunswick, there are more of the Stuart Princesses to be married, the daughters of Charles the First taking precedence-Mary, who married William of Nassau, and Henrietta, more a French Princess, after all, than an English one, who married Monsieur of Orleans, and was known at the French Court as Mademoiselle. Then there was Mary, the daughter of James the Second, and eventually the Queen of England, who married William of Orange, the son of the other William and the other Mary, a terribly confusing arrangement, which has misled and perplexed many wanderers among the mazes of history. But these weddings, although interesting at the time, and described by many pens, have left no striking incidents that dwell upon the memory. So we will take up the thread of weddings in the present reigning house, beginning with the Sophia mentioned in the last paragraph. Here was an insignificant Princess, whose rôle in life seemed to be to make herself useful among her more fortunate relations, and here, too, an equally insignificant Prince, whose father had been a younger brother among nine strapping sons of the reigning Duke of Brunswick Lunenberg, now known as Hanover. It had long been a misfortune in the family of Guelph, to which they belonged, to have so many children, and the little duchy, divided among nine, would hardly make a mouthful for each. So the nine agreed on a selfdenying ordinance that only one should marry and perpetuate the line, and that the one should be chosen, not according to primogeniture, but by the fairer plan of drawing lots. Whether they pulled straws, tossed coins, or threw dice, does not appear, but the lot fell on young George, anyhow, and he accepted his fate and married accordingly. It was the fourth son of this George who was the Prince destined for the Lady Sophia. For, by one accident or another, the elder brothers had no male heirs, and Ernest Augustus, who had been intended for one of the fat Prince-Bishoprics that ran in the family, was admonished to marry. Ernest's choice fell upon Sophia. The pair were married at Heidelberg, and Sophia was given away by her brother, the Elector. The first boy--our George, he may be called-was born at the old ducal palace at Hanover at just about the time. that Cousin Charles was sailing across to England to take up his crown in the glorious Restoration. a pledge of their eternal compact-with the motto, "A jamais." As he gave his hand to the bride the ring broke asunder and fell to the ground, and the Prince turned pale. Was it a sign of anger at his faithlessness, or a release from his compact? But the marriage was happy enough, it seems, and presently, the Elector of Brandenburg having meanwhile blossomed into King of Prussia, he wrote for a wife for his son, and of the same family; the daughter of our George, by poor Sophia of Zell-herself named Sophia Dorothea. All this made a considerable stir in the little Court of Hanover. The young Prince came to fetch his bride, and the preliminary ceremony of betrothal was performed at Herrenhausen. The day before the bridal the old Electress, Sophia, still full of activity, although now seventyfour years old, brought the bride to Hanover Castle. The iron discipline of the Prussian Court must have been felt from the first, for, at six o'clock next morning, the poor Princess had to rise and receive the Prussian Embassy. At seven, her own family arrived to pay their state visits. Then her procession was formed and proceeded to the great saloon of the castle, where an altar was erected. The court-marshal led the Crown Prince of Prussia to the right side of the altar, and the Princess to the left. After the ceremony, the whole Court marched in procession to the drawing-room, and in the dance that followed, the Princess danced with all the Princes, and the Crown Prince with all the Princesses. But with all the fuss that was made over the wedding, poor Sophia Dorothea was a miserable wife enough with her drill sergeant of a husband, her children separated from her, and she living in constant dread of his caprice and tyranny. However, it was some compensation for her to have been the mother of Frederick the Great. Sophia had many sons, but only one daughter, and, being a busy, managing woman, she did her best to marry her well. She had her eye even upon the Dauphin of France for her little Sophia Charlotte, but, failing this great match, she had penetra- After this the weddings of the Printion enough to mate her daughter with the cesses of the house of Hanover become rising house of Brandenburg. The electoral entirely our affairs. Such was the Prince of Brandenburg was a widower, small marriage of Anne, the eldest daughter of and crooked-the Hohenzollern with his George the Second, for whom eighty back half broken, as Carlyle describes him- thousand pounds were voted as dowry. a man filled with grief for the loss of his Public opinion, indeed, was revolted at the late wife, whom he had vowed never to appearance of the bridegroom, deformed replace with a successor. But events were and wizened, and termed by his future stronger than his vows. The story goes father-in-law the Baboon. But Anne, that at the second wedding the Prince wore imperious and proud-" she would die toa ring which his first wife had given him-morrow to be Queen to-day "-declared that she would marry the Prince even if he were a baboon. And so the boarded gallery was made from the drawing-room of St. James's Palace to the Lutheran chapel in the Friary-the gallery that darkened the windows of Marlborough House, so that tough old Sarah wanted to know when neighbour George would take his orange-box away. The Princess Anne's wedding-garments were virgin robes of silver tissue, and a train six yards long, supported by ten daughters of Dukes and Earls dressed in the same rich tissue. At this wedding the old ceremonies were kept up for the last time, the reception in the bridal-chamber, the scramble for the garter, and all the rest. And then there were the two Princesses who never married, at least who never owned to it, and who grew old together at the Court of St. James. The Princess Amelia was courted by the Duke of Newcastle, who pretended to be in love with her, and by the Duke of Grafton, who, Walpole hints, was the favoured lover; while the Princess Caroline, who always told the truth, had her favourite in Lord Hervey Pope's Lord Fanny-and at his death retired altogether from the world. Another sister, Mary, mildest and gentlest of her race, was married in 1740, at St. James's Chapel, to Frederick, Prince of Hesse, who behaved to her, it is said, like a brute, and she sought a refuge for her troubles in the Church of Rome, almost the only one of her race who has deserted the Protestant fold. Louisa, the fifth daughter of George the Second, was the next to be married-to the Prince Royal of Denmark, who became King soon after, and the Princess, naturally, Queen-the object of her wish ever since she could speak, writes Horace Walpole. Poor Louisa is thought to have had a sad life with her noble Dane, in whose race a touch of barbarism seemed to linger; but she never complained, and died, silent and composed, while undergoing a painful operation. By this time Prince Fred's daughters were coming on, and Augusta, the eldest, gentle, beautiful, and accomplished, was married to the Prince of Brunswick in the great council-chamber of St. James's Palace. This wedding was remarkable for the costly and beautiful presents made to the bride. King George the Third, her brother, gave a diamond necklace, worth thirty thousand pounds, Queen Charlotte a diamond stomacher of great value, and the bride's mother, the Princess Augusta, more diamonds. The Princess had many children, and a good time on the whole, till the revolution came, and her husband was killed in Napoleon's wars, and she took refuge in England, where her unhappy daughter was playing her pranks as Princess of Wales. Altogether, a gloomy ending for the poor woman, who found a last and peaceful home in Westminster Abbey, far away from the tombs of her kindred. Then comes Caroline Matilda, the tall, fair, graceful girl, whose life is described as sorrowful in its dawn, stormy in its meridian, and melancholy in its close. Betrothed against her will, she was married by proxy in 1766 to a later King of Denmark, a jealous little barbarian, who is described by Walpole-" struts in the circle like a cock-sparrow, and does the honours of himself very civilly." The King, whose power of intellect was but small, was almost completely governed by his physician, Struensee, who finally came to be the chief minister of the kingdom. Struensee was in constant intercourse with the Queen, and she may have compared him in his chivalric bearing, his refined manners, his intelligence and scientific acquirements, with her husband, who was wanting in all these. At any rate, her enemies and his were ready to accuse them, and so one morning there was a little revolution in the palace. The Queen-dowager and her son roused the King from his sleep; they had indisput able proofs of the guilt, so they said, of the two conspirators, who were plotting against his life as well as his honour. They had warrants ready prepared, which the King, dazed and frightened, made no difficulty in signing, and before the rest of the Court were awake the Queen and Struensee were under arrest. Struensee was hastily tried and beheaded, and it was even thought that the Queen would share his fate. But the appearance of the British fleet in the Baltic put an end to thoughts of a criminal process. After a little bluster the unhappy Queen was surrendered to the British Admiral, and Sir Robert Keith escorted her to Zell, where she passed the rest of her life in neglect and obscurity. While the eldest of Prince Fred's daughters suffered cruelly by the revolu tion, her niece, Charlotte Augusta, daughter of George the Third, seemed to flourish in its atmosphere. Her husband, the Prince |