would dine with him in state. There was a great din and clatter of preparation at Master Beyer's, much silver cleaning, and a tapping of many portly casks. A little before dinner, Kingston took his host aside and whispered that one of the townspeople was shortly to be executed, and that a gallows must be got ready: business was business and must be attended to. The mayor gave the word, the carpenters fell to and soon got up the gibbet, strong and serviceable, and close to the mayor's door. The dinner over and several toasts proposed, Sir Anthony put down his glass, and abruptly asked if the gallows was finished. He had previously appeared slightly preoccupied, and had indeed been good humouredly bantered by the mayor. The answer was that it was ready. "I pray you," said the provost, taking the mayor's arm, "bring me to the place, and let us see the dog hang."
"Is it strong enough?" quoth Kingston, critically.
"Yes," said the mayor, pushing the central post without, "doubtless it is."
The provost's halberdiers closed sternly round, as if eager to hear the conversation.
"Well, then, Master Boyer," said the provost, grimly smiling, "get thee up speedily, for it is prepared for you."
"I hope," answered the miserable mayor, trembling, "you mean not as you speak."
"I' faith," said the provost, angrily, "there is no remedy, sirrah, for thou hast been a busy rebel."
So they hung the mayor at his own door.
At Halgaver, or the Goat's Moor, one mile south of Bodmin, there used to be held in every July a sort of carnival, probably as old as the Saxons, whose clumsy fun it resembles. A lord of misrule was always appointed, to try all unpopular persons for slovenly or extravagant dress, bad manners, or gluttony. The offender was arraigned with great solemnity, and with all sorts of pompous and ludicrous travesties of legal repetitions, evasions, and quibbles. The punishment was being thrown into mud, or water, or both. The old Cornish proverbs of "Take him before the Mayor of Halgaver," "Present him in Halgaver court," are still extant, and are often hurled at slovens, boors, and bears.
A Compact Revolution.
The information we receive from day to day concerning the progress of affairs in Spain, does not deeply impress us with the notion that the people of the peninsula are great masters in the art of effecting a revolution. Nevertheless if we direct our steps mentally to the western sea-board, and take a retrospective glance at the middle of the seventeenth century, we find one of the most successful, complete, and bloodless revolutions that the history of the world can present. We refer to the movement that placed the present dynasty of Braganza on the Portuguese throne. The names of the persons who figure in this movement, far from being widely celebrated, will scarcely be recognised by any one who has not bestowed some special attention on the annals of a country that is by no means a general object of interest. Still the events fall so naturally into the form of a well-constructed tale, there is so much character in such brief sketches of the agents as have been handed down to us, and the whole record is so thoroughly rounded off and so intelligible in itself, that we can only wonder that the facts have not been eagerly grasped by some historical novelist, and that some ready playwright did not turn the novel into a comedy. The late M. Eugène Scribe was just the man to have effected the latter operation. Nay, he would not have needed the intervention of the novelist. He who could get out of the not very promising story of the Danish Minister Struensee, the admirable comedy Bertrand et Raton, need not have looked for any material not to be found in the pages of his countryman, Vertot, if he had wished to dramatise the accession of John of Braganza.
The preliminary knowledge requisite for the right understanding of the plot of the real comedy played by Duke John, his friends, and his enemies, in the year of grace 1640, is too slight to alarm even minds most sensitive to boredom. Our readers will vouchsafe to understand that in 1139, when Alfonso, the first King of Portugal, was proclaimed, a law of succession was established, of which the following were the provisions:
I. The son of King Alfonso was to succeed in the direct line according to the rule of primogeniture.
II. In default of issue male, the eldest daughter of the deceased king was to wear the crown, provided she married a Portuguese noble, who, however, was not to bear the royal title till his consort had given birth to a male child. If the princess took a husband, not answering to the conditions, her claim was to be forfeited.
III. In default of all direct issue, the brother of the deceased king was to occupy the throne, but for life only, the consent of the Bishops and the States being necessary for the succession of his son.—[N.B. The reader need not impress this third provision strongly on his mind; but he will be kind enough not to forget the second.]
