SCENE II.

_Enter_ WAITER.

_Waiter._ Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.

_Beef._ [_goes to the door, and returns with a letter, which he opens--on perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously_.] Hah, my friend, what joy!

[_Turning to_ PUDDINGFIELD.

_Pudd._ What? tell me--let your Puddingfield partake it.

_Beef._ See here-- [_Produces a printed paper._

_Pudd._ What? [_With impatience._

_Beef._ [_in a significant tone_.] A newspaper!

_Pudd._ Hah, what sayst thou! A newspaper!

_Beef._ Yes, Puddingfield, and see here [_shows it partially_], from England.

_Pudd._ [_with extreme earnestness._] Its name!

_Beef._ The "Daily Advertiser"--

_Pudd._ Oh, ecstasy!

_Beef._ [_with a dignified severity._] Puddingfield, calm yourself--repress those transports--remember that you are a man.

_Pudd._ [_after a pause with suppressed emotion._] Well, I will be--I am calm--yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?

_Beef._ Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield--the Barons are victorious--King John has been defeated--Magna Charta, that venerable, immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July Old Style.

_Pudd._ I can scarce believe my ears--but let me satisfy my eyes--show me the paragraph.

_Beef._ Here it is, just above the advertisements.

_Pudd._ [_reads._] "The great demand for Packwood's razor straps."----

_Beef._ 'Pshaw! what, ever blundering--you drive me from my patience--see here, at the head of the column.

_Pudd._ [_reads._] "A hireling print, devoted to the Court, Has dared to question our veracity Respecting the events of yesterday; But by to-day's accounts, our information Appears to have been perfectly correct. The charter of our liberties received The royal signature at five o'clock, When messengers were instantly dispatch'd To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their majesties, After partaking of a cold collation, Return'd to Windsor."--I am satisfied.

_Beef._ Yet here again--there are some further particulars [_turns to another part of the paper_], "Extract of a letter from Egham--My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits--the interesting event which took place this morning at Runnymede, in the neighbourhood of this town"----

_Pudd._ Hah! Runnymede, enough--no more--my doubts are vanished--then are we free indeed!

_Beef._ I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. Our outlawry is reversed! What says my friend--shall we return by the next packet?

_Pudd._ Instantly, instantly!

_Both._ Liberty! Adelaide!--Revenge!

[_Exeunt. Young_ POTTINGEN _following_, _and waving his hat, but obviously without much consciousness of the meaning of what has passed_.

_Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey. A summer's evening_--_moonlight. Companies of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers march across the stage, confusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years' War. Shouts, and martial music. The Abbey gates are opened. The monks are seen passing in procession, with the Prior at their head. The choir is heard chanting vespers. After which a pause. Then a bell is heard, as if ringing for supper. Soon after, a noise of singing and jollity._

_Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the Porter, a Troubadour, with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm. Troubadour seems much in liquor, but caresses the female minstrel._

_Fem. Min._ Trust me, Gieronymo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?

_Trou._ 'Pshaw, women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be thy question--"What have I got under my cloak?" It is a riddle, Margaret--I learnt it of an almanac-maker at Gotha--if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me--and, d'ye mark! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing.

_Fem. Min._ 'Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully. [_Plays on the balalaika_.[210] _Troubadour sings._

I bear a secret comfort here, [_putting his hand on the bundle, but without showing it._ A joy I'll ne'er impart; It is not wine, it is not beer, But it consoles my heart.

_Fem. Min._ [_interrupting him._] I'll be hang'd if you don't mean the bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the Abbey cellar.

_Trou._ I mean!--Peace, wench, thou disturbest the current of my feelings.

[_Fem. Min. attempts to lay hold of the bottle. Troubadour pushes her aside, and continues singing without interruption._

This cherry-bounce, this lov'd noyau, My drink for ever be; But, sweet my love, thy wish forego, I'll give no drop to thee!

(_Both together_.)

_Trou._ {This} cherry-bounce {This} lov'd noyau, _F. M._ {That} {that} _Trou._ {My } drink for ever be; _F. M._ {Thy } _Trou._ } But, sweet my love, {thy wish forego! _F. M._ } {one drop bestow, _Trou._ {I } keep it all for {me! _F. M._ {Nor} {thee!

[_Exeunt struggling for the bottle, but without anger or animosity, the Fem. Min. appearing, by degrees, to obtain a superiority in the contest._

Act the Third contains the _eclaircissements_ and final arrangement between Casimere, Matilda, and Cecilia: which so nearly resemble the concluding act of "Stella," that we forbear to lay it before our readers.

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