Spanish Queen to whom he was Confessor was called Isabella, and not Blanche-it is a puzzling affair altogether. From his own silence on the subject it may well be doubted whether the worthy transcriber knew himself the date of the transactions he has recorded; the authenticity of the details, however, cannot be well called in question. -Be this as it may, I shall make no further question, but at once introduce my "pensive public" to

THE AUTO-DA-FÉ.

A LEGEND OF SPΑΙΝ.

WITH a moody air from morn till noon,
King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon;

From morn till eve He does nothing but grieve;
Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave,

And he wipes his eyes with his ermined sleeve,
And he presses his feverish hand to his brow,
And he frowns and he looks I can't tell you how;

And the Spanish Grandees, In their degrees,
Are whispering about in twos and in threes,
And there is not a man of them seems at his ease,
But they gaze on the monarch, as watching what he does,
With their very long whiskers, and longer Toledos.
Don Gaspar, Don Gusman, Don Juan, Don Diego,
Don Gomez, Don Pedro, Don Blas, Don Rodrigo,
Don Jerome, Don Giacomo join Don Alphonso

In making inquiries Of grave Don Ramirez,

The Chamberlain, what it is makes him take on so;
A Monarch so great that the soundest opinions
Maintain the sun can't set throughout his dominions.

But grave Don Ramirez In guessing no nigher is Than the other grave Dons who propound these in

quiries;

When, pausing at length, as beginning to tire, his
Majesty beckons, with stately civility,

To Señor Don Lewis Condé d'Aranjuez,
Who in birth, wealth, and consequence second to few is,
And Señor Don Manuel, Count de Pacheco,
A lineal descendant from King Pharaoh Neco,

Both Knights of the Golden Fleece, highborn Hidalgos, With whom e'en the King himself quite as a "pal" goes.

"Don Lewis," says he, Just listen to me;

And you, Count Pacheco, -I think that we three
On matters of state, for the most part agree, -

Now you both of you know That some six years

ago,

Being then, for a King, no indifferent Beau,
At the altar I took, like my forbears of old,

The Peninsula's paragon, Fair Blanche of Aragon, For better, for worse, and to have and to hold

And you're fully aware, When the matter took air, How they shouted, and fired the great guns in the Square,

Cried 'Viva!'-and rung all the bells in the steeple,

And all that sort of thing The mob do when a
King

Brings a Queen-Consort home for the good of his

people.

Well!-six years and a day Have flitted away

Since that blessed event, yet I'm sorry to say-
In fact it's the principal cause of my pain-

I don't see any signs of an Infant of Spain!-
Now I want to ask you, Cavaliers true,
And Counsellors sage-what the deuce shall I do?--
The State-don't you see? - hey?-an heir to the

throne

Every monarch, you know, should have one of his

own

Disputed succession-hey?-terrible Go!

Hum-hey?- Old fellows-you see!-don't you know?"

Now Reader, dear, If you've ever been near
Enough to a Court to encounter a Peer
When his principal tenant's gone off in arrear,
And his brewer has sent in a long bill for beer,
And his butcher and baker, with faces austere,

Ask him to clear Off, for furnish'd good cheer,
Bills, they say, "have been standing for more than a

year," And the tailor and shoemaker also appear

With their "little account" Of "trifling amount," For Wellingtons, waistcoats, pea-jackets, and-gear

Which to name in society's thought rather queer, While Drummond's chief clerk, with his pen in his

ear,

And a kind of a sneer, says, "We've no effects here!"
-Or if ever you've seen An Alderman keen
After turtle, peep into a silver tureen,

In search of the fat call'd par excellence "green,"
When there's none of the meat left-not even the

lean!

-Or if ever you've witness'd the face of a sailor
Return'd from a voyage, and escaped from a gale, or
Poeticè "Boreas," that "blustering railer,"

To find that his wife, when he hastens to "hail" her,
Has just run away with his cash-and a tailor-
If one of these cases you've ever survey'd,

You'll, without my aid, To yourself have portray'd
The beautiful mystification display'd,
And the puzzled expression of manner and air
Exhibited now by the dignified pair,
When thus unexpectedly ask'd to declare
Their opinions as Councillors, several and joint,
On so delicate, grave, and important a point.

Señor Don Lewis Condé d'Aranjuez

At length forced a smile 'twixt the prim and the grim
And look'd at Pacheco-Pacheco at him-
Then, making a rev'rence, and dropping his eyes,
Cough'd, hemm'd, and deliver'd himself in this wise:

"My Liege!-unaccustom'd as I am to speaking
In public-an art I'm remarkably weak in-
I feel I should be quite unworthy the name
Of a man and a Spaniard-and highly to blame,

Were there not in my breast What-can't be ex-
prest, -

And can therefore, your Majesty, -only be guess'd-What I mean to say is-since your Majesty deigns To ask my advice on your welfare-and Spain's, And on that of your Majesty's Bride-that is, WifeIt's the-as I may say-proudest day of my life!

"But as to the point-on a subject so nice
It's a delicate matter to give one's advice,

Especially, too, When one don't clearly view
The best mode of proceeding, or know what to do:
My decided opinion, however, is this,
And I fearlessly say that you can't do amiss,

If, with all that fine tact Both to think and to act,
In which all know your Majesty so much excels
You are graciously pleased to-ask somebody else!"

Here the noble Grandee Made that sort of congée, Which, as Hill used to say, "I once happen'd to see" The great Indian conjuror, Ramo Samee, Make, while swallowing what all thought a regular choker, Viz., a small sword as long and as stiff as a poker,

Then the Count de Pacheco, Whose turn 'twas to speak o