town. She was not powerful, perhaps, but she was certainly pleasing; not a great artist but a very graceful one. She could not take the public by storm; bu she could win them gradually, holding them just as securely at last. It was difficult to resist the beauty of her face and form-the charm of her voice. More than these was not required in many of her characters. She had no genius, but she had a cultivated cleverness which did nearly as well. She was very lovely, dressed beautifully, could be arch and sparkling, or tender and pathetic. The good-natured audience demanded no more-they gave her their hands and hearts without further question, thundering their applause. For the summer season Mrs. Robinson had been engaged by Colman at the Haymarket; but though in the regular receipt of a considerable salary, she never once appeared on the stage. She claimed to play Nancy Lovel in Colman's comedy of "The Suicide;" the part had been originally allotted to her, though afterwards given to Miss Farren, for the two preceding seasons a favourite at the Haymarket. The character required little beyond good looks and a graceful figure, to be displayed in male attire. It was generally admitted that Miss Farren was seen to more advantage in the dress of her sex. She declined to surrender Nancy Lovel to her sister actress, however, and Mrs. Robinson withheld her assistance from the theatre. During the winter, Mrs. Robinson was reengaged at Drury Lane. She appeared as Lady Plume in an afterpiece called "The Camp," often attributed to Sheridan, but presumed to have been written by his friend Tickell, àpropos of a real camp for the time established at Coxheath. She also played Palmira in "Mahomet," produced for the début of Garrick's pupil, John Bannister; Miss Richly in "The Discovery;" Alinda in "The Law of Lombardy;" Cordelia, on her benefit, repeating the character on Henderson's night; Jacintha in "The Suspicious Husband," and Fidelia in the "Plain Dealer." In the season 1779-80, she appeared as Viola, Perdita, Rosalind, Oriana in "The Inconstant," Imogen, Mrs. Brady in "The Irish Widow," and Eliza Camply, assuming the character of Sir Harry Revel, in the comedy of "The Miniature Picture, "written by Lady Craven, afterwards • Walpole writes to the Rev. William Mason, on the 28th May, 1780:- Lady Craven's comedy, called 'The Miniature Picture,' which she acted herself, with a genteel set, at her own house in the country, has been played at Drury Lane. The chief singularity was that she went to it herself the second night, in form; sat in the middle of the front row of the stage-box, much dressed, with a profusion of white bugles and plumes, to receive the public homage due to her sex and loveliness. The Duchess of Richmond, Lady Harcourt, Lady Edgecumbe, Lady Aylesbury Mrs. Damer, Lord Margravine of Anspach. At the close of the season, Mrs. Robinson quitted the stage. In vain the management offered her a re-engagement upon increased terms. The actress had abandoned her profession-pour cause. On the 3rd December, 1779, the "Winter's Tale" had been performed by royal command. Mr. Smith, the Leontes of the night, had been complimenting the Perdita upon her good looks. "By Jove, Mrs. Robinson," cried the actor, laughing, "you will make a conquest of the Prince to-night, for, you look handsomer than ever. The Prince was in his eighteenth year, and quite willing to be conquered by pretty Mrs. Robinson. He followed her performance with marked attention; applauding frequently, and expressing his gratification in tones loud enough to reach her ear. At the conclusion of the play he bowed to her so particularly as to bring (so the lady protests) blushes of gratitude into her cheeks. On the following morning Lord Malden brings the Prince's thanks to the actress for her exertions, in a billet signed-FLORIZEL. The admiration of the heir-apparent for Mrs. Robinson is soon town talk. The royal family attend a performance of music at the Pantheon, at which the actress is also present. The Prince avails himself of the opportunity to demonstrate the state of his feelings. He bows, makes signs, and drinks a glass of water, first glancing in a particular way at the actress, as though he were "toasting" her. A newspaper Craven, General Conway, Colonel O'Hara, Mr. Lenox, and I, were with her. It was amazing to see so young a woman entirely possess herself; but there is such an integrity and frankness in her consciousness of her own beauty and talents that she speaks of them with a naïveté as if she had no property in them, but only wore them as gifts of the gods. Lord Craven, on the contrary, was quite agitated by his fondness for her, and with impatience at the bad performance of the actors, which was wretched indeed; yet the address of the plot, which is the chief merit of the piece, and some lively pencilling, carried it off very well, though Parsons murdered the Scotch Lord, and Mrs. ROBINSON (who is supposed to be the favourite of the Prince of Wales) thought on nothing but her own charms and him." In her memoirs Mrs. Robinson says:-"The last night of my appearance on the stage 1 represented the character of Sir Harry Revel, in the comedy of The Miniature Picture,' written by Lady Craven, and 'The Irish Widow.' On entering the green room I informed Mr. Moody, who played in the farce, that I should appear no more after that night, and, endeavouring to smile while I sung, I repeated,— O joy to you all in full measure, i So wishes and prays Widow Brady,' which were the last lines of my song in 'The Irish Widow. This effort to conceal the emotion I felt on quitting a profession I enthusiastically loved was of short duration; and I burst into tears on my appearance. My regret at recollecting that I was treading for the last time the boards where I had so often received the most gratifying testimonies of public approbation; where mental exertion had been em. boldened by private worth; that I was flying from a happy certainty, perhaps to pursue the phantom Disappointment, nearly overwhelmed my faculties, and for some time deprived me of the power of articulation. Fortunately, the persons on the stage with me had to begin the scene, which allowed me time to collect myself. I went, however, mechanically dull through the business of the evening, and, notwithstanding the cheering expressions and applause of the audience, I was several times near fainting." Then the Prince puts his sighs into words, and sends to the lady daily letters, of which Lord Malden is the bearer. Mrs. Robinson finds in the royal epistles "a beautiful ingenuousness," a warm and enthusiastic admiration which interested and charmed." Then the lover begs her acceptance of his portrait in miniature, painted by Mr. Meyer. Within the case of the picture was a small heart cut in paper with "Je ne change qu'en mourant," written on one side, and on the other "Un. alterable to my Perdita through life." (How wretchedly absurd seem these mottoes when the end of the story is considered !) After months of correspondence an interview becomes inevitable. The Prince is urgent; the lady deliberates; and deliberation in such a case is proverbially a dangerous symptom. Just at this time, too, the husband becomes more and more conveniently perfidious, reckless of his wife's good opinion, deeply in debt, graspingly eager for her salary, and clutching the proceeds of her benefits to pacify the most persistent of his creditors. The wife has begun to care a good deal for the Prince-has ceased to care at all for her husband-who, indeed, seems now to drop out of the story altogether, content to connive at his own dishonour-well satisfied with the price it has fetched. the meeting is not easy to arrange. The Prince is under strict control, his movements are jealously watched, he is surrounded by careful tutors and guardians, pastors and masters. A proposition that the lady shall be stealthily introduced in male attire to the Prince's apartments in Buckingham House she decidedly It is then proposed that an inter declines. But "A cir *Mrs. Robinson's account has been followed. She describes the scene at the oratorio as taking place within a few days of the performance of the "Winter's Tale." By an extract from a newspaper of the 12th February, 1780, however, the occasion would seem to have been some nine weeks later. The lady is somewhat severely dealt with. cumstance of rather an embarrassing nature happened at last night's oratorio. Mrs. R, decked out in all her finery, took care to post herself in' one of the upper boxes, immediately opposite the Prince's, and by those airs peculiar to herself contrived at last so to basilisk a certain heirapparent, that his fixed attention to the beautiful object above became generally noticed, and soon after astonished their Majesties, who, not being able to discover the cause, seemed at a loss to account for the extraordinary effect. No sooner, however, were they properly informed than a messenger was instantly sent aloft desiring the dart-dealing actress to withdraw, which she complied with, though not without expressing the utmost chagrin at her mortifying removal." view shall take place at Lord Malden's house in Dean Street, May Fair. But this plan fails, owing to the rigid guardianship to which the lover is subjected. Finally, it is arranged that the Prince shall meet the actress in the evening, for a few moments only, on the banks of the Thames at Kew, opposite to the old palace, the summer residence of the elder princes. The Perdita dines with Lord Malden on the island between Kew and Brentford. A handkerchief is waved as a signal, which the darkness of the night renders almost imperceptible. The lady steps into a boat, and is landed in front of the iron gates of the palace. Prince and the Duke of York (then Bishop of Osnaburgh) are walking down the avenue, and immediately hasten up. The first interview is very brief, but it is followed by others of longer duration. Extreme caution is observed; the party wear dark-coloured clothes, with the exception of the Duke of York, who excites alarm, and seems to invite attention by thoughtlessly appearing in a buff coat,-rather too conspicuous a hue for a midnight adventure. But the lovers wax bolder as time goes on. The meetings are prolonged. The Prince sings "with exquisite taste, and the tones of his voice breaking on the silence of the night appeared to my entranced senses like more than mortal melody"—so the lady describes the musical efforts of the royal lover, It had been resolved that the loves of Florizel and Perdita should be maintained a strict secret until the Prince was emancipated from parental control and provided with an establishment of his own. But the secret was not well kept-was soon no secret at all. The lovers were not discreet; still less were their friends; least of all their enemies. The loves of Florizel and Perdita speedily became towntalk- -common property. The newspapers, of course, made their profit out of the scandal, treating the public to choice little paragraphsedifying and appetising-concerning "a R-y-l p-rs-n-ge" and "a certain actress. Crowds followed the lady wherever she went; her carriage was fairly mobbed by curious gazers; she could scarcely appear in public for the pressure round her. Everybody was stirred with anxiety to look upon the Circe who had, beguiled the future king, And the general judgment was not favourable to Perdita. That in such a case a young and handsome prince— a nation's hope and pride-should be faulty, was a thing for smiles and forgiveness. But that an actress should be frail was unpardonable-merited the strictest reprobation. Propriety brought her most awful frowns to bear upon the subject. DUTTON COOK. what this signified, and how greatly the success of his intrigues to get possession of the estate for a relative of the late colonel under a will which he had induced the latter to make on his death-bed was about to be imperilled. A man was leading a horse backwards and forwards on the terrace, who, on seeing the count, brought it to the door, and the count mounted and rode out of the gate. His first visit was to a farm-house not far from the castle. Here he found the bailiff of the estate also mounted ready to accompany him. In his presence the count rode to the tree nearest to the house, and struck it a blow with the hammer; then he rode to the door of the house itself and struck the posts and lintel, and having done this he announced to the inmates who had assembled against it to observe his proceedings that by that symbolical action he had taken possession, according to the old Saxon custom. Repeating this ceremony at every house he visited occupied some hours, so that it was near sunset when he turned down a path leading through the wood to go to that inhabited by the principal keeper of the forest. his horse and rode towards them, and while A more beautiful scene could hardly be wounded men. By the count's orders these imagined, and certainly not one more quiet and tranquil. Game of every kind abounded, and at frequent intervals a deer darted across the path, or a wild boar, even more startled at the sight of the horse and his rider, dashed through the underwood, indifferent to thorns and briers which would have offered an insuperable impediment to a less strong and thick-skinned animal. As Count Henry noted these things, and thought of the possibility that, notwithstanding he had taken possession, the law might, after all, deprive him of the estate, and give it to the new claimant whom the priests had raised up, he became buried so deeply in thought that it was only when he was roused by a loud exclamation from the bailiff that he had eyes to observe objects beyond his horse's head. He turned round to see what had caused the man to utter it, and following the direction indicated by his outstretched arm, he saw standing in a broader path leading up to the castle, which they were in the act of crossing, a kind of gig drawn by one horse, which was quietly nibbling at the tops of the underwood and lazily enjoying itself in the stream of ruddy sunshine which forced its way through and beneath the branches before disappearing altogether. On the ground beside this vehicle lay two men, whom the count at first thought might be poachers who were waiting until it became darker before putting the deer they had slaughtered into the vehicle. He turned took a couple of rugs from off the beds, and was thought too insignificant a person to deal with a case of such importance. The account he gave of the affair was that his name was Templer, that on the previous morning he and his brother had arrived at the Hotel Kissingen, at Munich, and had there hired a vehicle for the purpose of driving to Schaff bereitstein to see the paintings. While they were passing through the forest they were stopped by four men with guns, whom they supposed to be keepers. That these men demanded where they were going, and after one or two other questions insisted on their giving up what money they had about them. Finding the men were robbers they resisted, until one, who had climbed up the back of the carriage, struck his brother, whose hat had fallen off in the struggle, a blow on the head with the hammer used to drive down the ramrod of his rifle. He saw no more of what was done to his brother, for two others dragged him to the ground, tied his hands, and then wound a rope round his neck so tightly that he became insensible, and remembered nothing more until he found himself in the room where he was then lying. After taking down this statement, together with a great many questions and answers concerning the appearance and so forth of the robbers, the magistrate, assisted by the doctor, proceeded to examine the marks of the illusage they had received. The Englishman's head was so bandaged up that he had only to annex the doctor's report to his papers, and to add that the victim continued insensible. As regarded his brother, it was found that the cord which had bound his wrists had, in some parts, cut through the skin, and the deep red and purple marks visible on his neck showed how narrowly he had escaped strangulation. As soon as the magistrate had finished this part of his business he went away with the doctor. He left no directions about the detention of the sufferers, and therefore when, a few hours after his departure, the Englishman ordered the vehicle in which they had driven from Munich to be brought to the door, and his brother to be assisted into it, the forester had no power to hinder him from going, though both himself and wife did all they could in the way of persuasion to induce him to stay with them at least a few days longer. Contrary to his expectation the wounded man, instead of dying, gradually recovered his strength, which the doctor attributed in a great measure to the assiduous nursing of his brother. In fact, there was nobody in the hotel who was not deeply impressed by the devotion and forgetfulness of self which he displayed. Neither by day nor night did he quit him for more than a few minutes at a time, and his attention seemed to increase rather than otherwise as he grew in strength. The mental condition of Templer did not improve with his bodily health; he never spoke, had no will, and whatever he did was only done when it was suggested to him by others. After the lapse of weeks, long after he had recovered from his wound, the doctor gave his final opinion, confirmed by another whom he had consulted, that the injured man would never recover the use of his faculties. Except in a room he could never be safely left alone. If he were taken for a walk he had to be stopped at every obstacle, and his foot placed upon it, when he would raise himself and could be drawn forward on the other side, care being taken to prevent him from falling on his face, for he had no perception of the necessity for stepping down, and would have walked over a precipice if one had laid in his way. So in taking his food he showed no signs of hunger or satiety; it had to be placed in his mouth, and he then proceeded to masticate it; as though the taste or the presence of food in his mouth suggested what was to be done with it. Experiments were made to ascertain if the sensation of hunger would cause him to help himself to food if it were placed before him, but though on more than one occasion his fast was prolonged for forty-eight hours, and the food was within reach of his hand nearly the whole of that time, he never touched it. It was the same as regarded all other matters; the faculties of perception and volition had entirely disappeared, and whatever he did was only at the instigation of others; in fact, he was reduced to the condition of a mere automaton. After a time, when there could be no longer the shadow of a doubt that this condition was a permanent one, the unfortunate man was taken to Paris, and placed by his brother in a maison de santé under the direction of Dr. Mastier, who wrote down in his book all the above particulars, furnished him by Walter Templer; the doctor being rendered less exigent in the matter of references by the payment of six months' charges, and a promise that the payments should continue to be made in advance. Under the pretence that he was a stranger in Paris, Templer induced Dr. Mastier to introduce him to several members of learned bodies in that city; and by affecting a great love of science, and especially by contributing a paper on Negro Psychology-in which he related the remarkable fact, as some may, perhaps, remember, that the negroes working in Rio Janeiro in removing cargoes from the ships to the warehouses being forbidden to |