es on his own
death, of which Hervey might have seen a surreptitious copy. The
following scene will give some idea of the plot and structure of this
amusing little piece. The part allotted to the Princess Caroline is in
unison with the idea prevalent of her attachment to Lord Hervey:--

ACT I.

SCENE: _The Queen's Gallery. The time, nine in the
morning._

_Enter the_ QUEEN, PRINCESS EMILY, PRINCESS CAROLINE,
_followed by_ LORD LIFFORD, _and_ MRS. PURCEL.

_Queen._ Mon Dieu, quelle chaleur! en verite on etouffe. Pray
open a little those windows.

_Lord Lifford._ Hasa your Majesty heara de news?

_Queen._ What news, my dear Lord?

_Lord Lifford._ Dat my Lord Hervey, as he was coming last night
to _tone_, was rob and murdered by highwaymen and tron in a
ditch.

_Princess Caroline._ Eh! grand Dieu!

_Queen_ [_striking her hand upon her knee._] Comment est-il
veritablement mort? Purcel, my angel, shall I not have a little
breakfast?

_Mrs. Purcel._ What would your Majesty please to have?

_Queen._ A little chocolate, my soul, if you give me leave, and a
little sour cream, and some fruit. [_Exit_ MRS. PURCEL.

_Queen_ [_to Lord Lifford._] Eh bien! my Lord Lifford, dites-nous
un peu comment cela est arrive. I cannot imagine what he had to
do to be putting his nose there. Seulement pour un sot voyage
avec ce petit mousse, eh bien?

_Lord Lifford._ Madame, on scait quelque chose de celui de Mon.
Maran, qui d'abord qu'il a vu les voleurs s'est enfin venu a
grand galoppe a Londres, and after dat a waggoner take up the
body and put it in his cart.

_Queen._ [_to_ PRINCESS EMILY.] Are you not ashamed,
Amalie, to laugh?

_Princess Emily._ I only laughed at the cart, mamma.

_Queen._ Oh! that is a very fade plaisanterie.

_Princess Emily._ But if I may say it, mamma, I am not very
sorry.

_Queen._ Oh! fie donc! Eh bien! my Lord Lifford! My God! where is
this chocolate, Purcel?

As Mr. Croker remarks, Queen Caroline's breakfast-table, and her
parentheses, reminds one of the card-table conversation of Swift:--

'The Dean's dead: (pray what are trumps?)
Then Lord have mercy on his soul!
(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.)
Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall;
(I wish I knew what king to call.)'

Fragile as w