or shoulders of eighty--
She could not sustain such a trophy:
Her hand, too, already
Has grown so unsteady,
She can't hold a sceptre:
So Providence kept her
Away--poor old dowager Sophy!'"

Sir Richard threw his head back, and indulged in unfeigned merriment.
Phoebe, in her corner, felt rather indignant. Why should the Princess
Sophia, or any other woman, be laughed at solely for growing old?

"Capital good jest!" said the Baronet, his amusement over. "I heard
from a friend that I met at the Bath, that the Queen is looking vastly
well this summer--quite rid of her gout."

"So do I hear," returned the Bishop. "What think you of the price set
on the Pretender's head?"

Sir Richard whistled.

"The Queen's own sole act, without any concurrence of her Ministers,"
continued the Bishop.

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "Five thousand, I was told?"

"Five thousand. An excellent notion, I take it."

"Well--I--don't--know!" slowly answered Sir Richard. "I cannot but feel
very doubtful of the mischievous consequence that may ensue. A price on
the head of the Prince of Wales! Sounds bad, my Lord--sounds bad!
Though, indeed, he be not truly the Queen's brother, yet 'tis unnatural
for his sister to set a price on his head."

By which remark it will be seen that Sir Richard's intellect was not of
the first order. The intellect of Bishop Atterbury was: and a slightly
contemptuous smile played on his lips for a moment.

"`The Prince of Wales!'" repeated he. "Surely, Sir, you have more wit
than to credit that baseless tale? Why not set a price on the
Pretender?"

Be it known to the reader, though it was not to Sir Richard, that on
that very morning Bishop Atterbury had forwarded a long letter to the
Palace of Saint Germain, in which he addressed the aforesaid Pretender
as "your Majesty," and assured him of his entire devotion to his
interests.

"Oh, come, I leave the whys and wherefores to yon gentlemen of the black
robe!" answered Sir Richard, laughing. "By the way, talking of prices,
have you heard the prodigious price Sir Nathaniel Fowler hath given for
his seat in the Commons? Six thousand pounds, 'pon my honour!"

"Surely, Sir, you have been misinformed. Six thousand! 'Tis amazing."

"Your Lordship may well say so. Why, I gave but eight hundred for mine.
By the way, there is another point I intended to acquaint you of, my
Lord. Did you hear, ever, that there should be a little il