ewife, and, perhaps, you have never been more bored than you are
to-day in viewing "Sir Courtly Nice." Nor can the performance be as
delightful as it might otherwise prove to her of Marlborough; 'tis but
a few months since her son, the Marquis of Blandford, had ended in
small-pox a career which promised to carry on the greatness of his
house.

[Footnote A: "Sir Courtly Nice; or, It Cannot be," was from the pen of
John Crown. In dedicating it to the Duke of Ormond, as can be seen in
the original publication of the piece ("London, Printed by H.H. Jun.
for R. Bently, in Russell street, Covent Garden, and Jos. Hindmarsh,
at the Golden-Ball over against the Royal Exchange in Cornhill,
MDCLXXXV"). The author says: "This comedy was Written by the Sacred
Command of our late Most Excellent King, of ever blessed and beloved
Memory (Charles II.). I had the great good fortune to please Him often
at his Court in my Masque, on the Stage in Tragedies and Comedies, and
so to advance myself in His good opinion; an Honour may render a
wiser Man than I vain; for I believe he had more equals in extent of
Dominion than of Understanding. The greatest pleasure he had from the
Stage was in Comedy, and he often Commanded me to Write it, and lately
gave me a Spanish Play called 'No' Puedeser Or, It Cannot Be' out of
which I took part o' the Name and design o' this."]

[Footnote B: It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that in the
private correspondence between Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough,
the former signed herself "Mrs. Morley," while her friend masqueraded
as "Mrs. Freeman."]

The comedy is about to begin as a common-looking person makes his
appearance in the box. He is a dull, heavy fellow, who suggests
nothing more strongly than a fondness for brown October ale and a good
dinner into the bargain. Anne turns towards him with as affectionate
a glance as she thinks it seeming to bestow in public. Is he not her
husband, George of Denmark, and the father of all those children whom
she never has succeeded in rearing to man's, or woman's, estate? He is
a faithful consort, too, which is saying not a little in the days when
Royal constancy, on the male side, is the rarest of jewels. George
has vices, to be sure, but they belong to the stomach rather than the
heart--that obese heart which, such as it is, the good Queen can call
her own.

"Hath your Royal Highness ever seen this Cibber act?" asked the
Duchess, by way of making convers