the naked eye, for a few minutes in the middle of the day. Whatever the
portents in the sky might mean, the signs on the earth were not
reassuring. When the Bourbon monarchy had seemed fairly restored in
France, all the world was shocked by the assassination of the Duc de Berri
at the door of the Opera-house in Paris. Three kingdoms which had but
recently been delivered from the clutch of the usurper were in revolt
against the constituted authorities--Portugal, Spain, and Naples. Of
these, the two former were on the brink of wars of succession, when the
royal uncles, Don Miguel and Don Carlos, fought against their royal
nieces, Donna Maria and Donna Isabella. At home the summer had been a sad
one to the royal family and the country. The ferment of discontent was
kept up by the very measures--executions and imprisonments--taken to
repress anarchy, and by the continuance of crushed trade, want of work,
and high prices. The Duchess of York died, making the third member of the
royal family dead since the new year; yet she, poor lady, was but a unit
in the sum, a single foreign princess who, however, kind she might have
been to the few who came near her, was nothing to the mass of the people.

The name of another foreign princess was in every man's mind and on every
man's tongue. However, there were many reasons for the anomaly. Caroline
of Brunswick was the Queen until she should be proved unworthy to bear the
title. Her quarrel with the King had long made her notorious. Though the
story reflected little credit on her, it was so utterly discreditable to
him that it raised up friends for her where they might have been least
expected. His unpopularity rendered her popular. Her name became the
rallying-cry for a great political faction. The mob, with its usual
headlong, unreasoning appropriation of a cause and a person, elevated her
into a heroine, cheered frantically, and was ready to commit any outbreak
in her honour.