ishingly beautiful Maria
Cotherstone, who, forty years ago, was swept by Fate into the track of
the late King of Scandalmongria, and well-nigh caused that singularly
unstable bark to founder? It is with the kindly object of rescuing her
romance from oblivion that this brief chronicle is written.

In 1873 the Scandalmongrian Minister in London was requested to find an
English lady to take charge of the two children of his Royal master,
and, after searching enquiries, he was successful, and Miss Maria
Cotherstone turned her back on England never more to return. She was
just twenty-two, fresh and blooming, possessed of the gayest of spirits,
delightful manners and the highest accomplishments. Quietly she assumed
control of the Royal schoolroom, and by her charm no less than by her
firmness she quickly won the respect and love of her charges. Well had
it been for her memory if her influence had never spread beyond the
walls of her schoolroom; this article had then been unwritten. But alas
for human nature! One day His Majesty's eyes fell upon the person of his
children's governess, and then began one of the most sordid intrigues it
has ever been my pleasure to recall. [A large statement, as readers of
our author's _Gleanings from a Royal Dustbin_ will readily acknowledge.
However, the succeeding three-quarter of a column of details, here
omitted, prove that there is at least some foundation for the remark.]

... And so their romance ended, and His Majesty returned to the bosom of
his family and became once more the righteous upholder of the sanctity
of the marriage tie. At first his easy-going Court smiled somewhat at
the claim; but, when one or two highly-placed officials presumed to
follow in the footsteps of their Sovereign, and were in consequence
banished irrevocably from his presence, Scandalmongrian Society realised
with a pained surprise that what is venial in a monarch may, in a
subject, be a damnable offence.

And what of Maria, the charming, fascinating, much injured Maria? For
several years she is lost, and then we hear of her marriage at Rome to
"John Tubbs, Esq., of London," and once again she vanishes, only to turn
up many years later at Cannes. She is a widow now, and a model of all
the virtues. Who so staid and respectable as Madam? Who so charitable to
the poor? Few, it is to be feared, will have recognised in that handsome
old lady, so regular in her attendance at the services of the English
Church, the