would dine with him in state. There was a
great din and clatter of preparation at Master
Boyer'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.]