her marriage in the year of the Queen's Jubilee. It is
apparent in the opening chapters of this story that Penelope
came to Ireland the following spring, which, though the
matter is hardly important, was not that of the Queen's
memorable visit. The Irish experiences are probably the
fruit of several expeditions, and Penelope has chosen to
include this vivid impression of Her Majesty's welcome to
Ireland, even though it might convict her of an anachronism.
Perhaps as this is not an historical novel, but a 'chronicle
of small beer,' the trifling inaccuracy may be pardoned.--K.
D. W.

It was worth something to be one of the lunatic populace when the little
lady in black, with her parasol bordered in silver shamrocks, drove
along the gaily decorated streets, for the Irish, it seems to me, desire
nothing better than to be loyal, if any persons to whom they can be
loyal are presented to them.

"Irish disaffection is, after all, but skin-deep," said our friend the
dean; "it is a cutaneous malady, produced by external irritants. Below
the surface there is a deep spring of personal loyalty, which needs only
a touch like that of the prophet's wand to enable it to gush forth in
healing floods. Her Majesty might drive through these crowded streets
in her donkey chaise unguarded, as secure as the lady in that poem of
Moore's which portrayed the safety of women in Brian Boru's time. The
old song has taken on a new meaning. It begins, you know,--

'Lady, dost thou not fear to stray
So lone and lonely through this dark way?'

and the Queen might answer as did the heroine,

'Sir Knight, I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm.'"

It was small use for the parliamentary misrepresentatives to advise
treating Victoria of the Good Deeds with the courtesy due to a foreign
sovereign visiting the country. Under the miles of flags she drove, red,
white, and blue, tossing themselves in the sweet spring air, and up from
the warm hearts of the surging masses of people, men and women alike,
Crimean soldiers and old crones in rags, gentry and peasants, went a
greeting I never before heard given to any sovereign, for it was a sigh
of infinite content that trembled on the lips and then broke into a deep
sob, as a knot of Trinity College students in a spontaneous burst of
song flung out the last verse of 'The New Wearing of the Green.' [**]

'And s