From The Saturday Review. ROYAL MARRIAGES. THERE is an institution in London called the Marriage Law Defence Association. We are not aware whether the functions of this body are œcumenical, or whether they profess to redress the present wrongs to which the Marriage Law is subjected as well as to resist future encroachments on its limits. If so, a fine field has just been opened for its exertions. England and France and that, too, in the reigning families of either kingdom-have cases before their respective law courts which, as it seems, are almost ludicrously similar. So curious and complete is the parallel between the claims of the descendants of M. Jerome Bonaparte and of the so-called Princess Olive of Cumberland to be admitted to the doubtful honors of royal descent, that had these two cases occurred in history a couple of thousand years old, critical historians would have said that they were versions of the same fact. M. Jerome Bonaparte, at the age of eighteen or twenty-two, and the fact of his having or not having attained his majority in the year 1803 is the pivot upon which the French case turns, married a pretty American girl, named Paterson, and subsequently becoming a great man and a king of a certain sort, repudiated the wife of his love and youth, and contracted a second marriage with a princess of Wurtemberg. Of both marriages there was issue, and upon the recent death of the royal and imperial bigamist the descendants of the first marriage claim to inherit; and the French courts will have to decide whether the issue of the first or second marriage is legitimate. The English case is this: Henry Frederick, Duke of Cumberland, younger brother of George III., and one of the nine children of Frederick Prince of Wales, is said to have married Olive, the daughter of a certain clergyman named Wilmot, in the year 1767. This Dr. Wilmot was himself an adventurer in marriage, and his wife, with whom he had contracted a private marriage, was a king's daughter, though a king of Poland. That there are unquestionably suspicious circumstances connected with Miss Wilmot's marriage is indisputable. The duke and Olive Wilmot were, it is alleged, married by the bride's father, at the house of Lord Archer, in St. James' Square, in the presence of all people in the world-of George III. himself, the great Lord Chatham, and Lords Warwick and Archer. It is quite true that the date of the marriage is 1767, and the Royal Marriage Act was not passed till 1772, and it is within belief that George III. might have objections to clandestine unions of his own children, while he had none to assist as paranymph at his brother's private wedding. Of this marriage a daughter was the fruit-a lady notorious some forty years ago as the Princess Olive of Cumberland by birth, and Mrs. Olive Serres by marriage. Four years afterwards the royal Cumberland contracted a second marriage with the widow of Lord Carhampton, and became in the eyes of his brother a bigamist. This marriage did not please George III., as some people say, because his majesty disliked the lady, or, as the Serres family say, because the king was privy to his brother's previous marriage. Hence it is said the Royal Marriage Act of 1772, which required the king's assent to every marriage in the royal family. The Princess Olive married a marine painter named Serres, from whom, by the way, she was separated, and of this marriage one Lavinia Juvanella Horton appears as the eldest survivor. This lady married a Mr. Ryves, from whom, however, she has been divorced; and it is a curious feature that all these marriages seem to have been particularly unhappy. Mrs. Ryves now claims that her mother's legitimacy should be established; in other words, she comes into the Court of Probate and Divorce to procure a decree for the validity of the marriage between the Duke of Cumberland and Olive Wilmot. Here the parallel between the French and English cases ends. We have not heard that the ex-king of Westphalia left much money behind him. All that the Paterson-Bonapartes claim is to vindicate the fair fame of the first wife of Jerome; but Mrs. Ryves reminds the courts that the Duke of Cumberland was also Duke of Lancaster, and if the facts are as she states them, her claim on the royal property is a little more than a million of money. Without anticipating the legal points of the two cases, we may just remark, that in the French case the only point worth contesting is the age of Jerome at the first marriage; while in the Cumberland case, both document and alleged fact come before the court with some improbability on their face. Not only has the very curious marriage of the Duke of Cumberland to be proved, but even if Mrs. Ryves is the daughter of the Duke of Cumberland's daughter, her claim upon the royal estates is not concluded by what has taken place before Sir Cresswell Cresswell. The social aspect of royal marriages, however, may be looked at without any reference to these two curious cases. We have been informed on recent authority, that, as regards marriage, there ought to be, as perhaps in fact there is, one law for the Por phyrogeniti and one law for common folk; ful son of the king of Westphalia." This that kings and princes may take wives and decision-happily as yet it is not the decision get rid of them as reasons of state require, of the courts-opens out some curious rebut that Jack and Jill must be tied together sults. At what point of temporal success for life. There is nothing very new in the does repudiation of one's wife come in? fact, but there is something very new in its May a curate, when he becomes a bishop, justification upon principle. As to the fact, have two lawful wives and two lawful famwe all remember that Luther, in the case of ilies-the one begotten in Bethnal-green Elector of Saxony, allowed that bigamy or lodgings, the other the children of the palace? polygamy was, for reasons of state, permis- Is it seriously meant that a judge may take sible. Henry VIII. certainly was not slow the daughter of a Scotch earl in his successto avail himself of the royal privilegium to ful senescence, though the wife of his youth, dispense with the laws of Christian matri- won and wed in his briefless days, still surmony. A license has been assumed by vives? If a considerable rise in the world, princes which is not accorded to the general. such as that from a lieutenant in the navy Protestantism, in the cases just mentioned, to the throne of Westphalia, justifies bigamy, was only not behind the easy dispensations how low in the social scale may this priviof the court of Rome, which was ready to lege be extended; or again, how high is it dispense not only with the laws of the Church to reach? A squire promoted to a barobut the laws of nature-for a consideration; netcy may, we suppose, keep a mistress; and Morganatic marriages have been in- when promoted to the Upper House he may vented to justify a distinction which, were it establish two wives. And then in an arithpermitted to the mass of mankind, would metical ratio, if the king of Westphalia certainly destroy the bonds of society. might have two living wives, an emperor Among our own sovereigns it will be re- might indulge in a harem. At any rate, this membered that marriages exactly similar to view accounts for that profusion in matrithose of the Duke of Cumberland and Je-monial engagements which characterized rome Bonaparte have been matters of suspicion or fact in almost a regular succession. It was given out and believed by the partisans of Monmouth that Charles II. had married Lucy Waters. George III. was often charged with being the husband of the fair Quakeress. The Duke of Clarence was thought to have lawfully loved Mrs. Jordan; and it is an incontestable fact that Mrs. Fitzherbert was the wife of George IV. Had there been any issue by the last-named union, we should have been assured that such child was the legitimate offspring of Mr. George Guelph, if Guelph were the family name of the House of Hanover, and the Princess Charlotte the equally legitimate daughter of George Prince of Wales. This is the doctrine, at once a distinction and a solvent, which has been applied to the family of M. Jerome Bonaparte. "M. Jerome Bonaparte is the lawful son of Lieutenant Bonaparte, and Prince Napoleon is the law ORDER FOR MOURNING. Lord Chamberlain's Office, February 21, 1861. THE lord chamberlain and dramatic censor has just been apprised of the removal of M. Eugène Scribe from the sublunary scene. The lord chamberlain therefore suggests that British dramatic authors do forthwith put their Boyer's Dictionaries into decent mourning. Gentlemen who have annexed the entire plot and dialogue Solomon in all his glory. We must say that this rationale of the Marriage Law, as applied to sovereign princes, strikes us as somewhat akin to barbarism. It is carried out with entire consistency among the potentates of Africa; and the king of Dahomey is, like Napoleon and his brothers, to be "justified fron dynastic exigencies." These exigencies are now formally pleaded; we are invited" to construe the laws of matrimony with latitude when crowns and kingdoms are at stake." If crowns and kingdoms, why not estates-why not social position? The simplest expression of the new theory of the obligation of marriage would be in all cases to allow a marriage of affection and a mariage de convenance. If we were all permitted our Rebekah and our Leah, it would avoid the present anomaly and conflict between the Royal Marriage Law and that law which alone holds Christian society together. of any of M. Scribe's pieces will have their dictionaries re-bound in black, while for authors of black calico will suffice. Appropriators of who have simply "adapted," a temporary cover fragments and epigrams from the same source will insert black bookmarks or strips of black ribbon. Half mourning to commence on Easter Monday with the holiday spectacles, and on Shakspeare's birthday the authors will go out of mourning.—Punch. From The National Magazine. THE WIDOW MINARDS' FIRST LOVE. THE fire cracked cheerfully on the broad hearth of an old-fashioned fireplace in an old-fashioned public house, in an old-fashioned village, down in Cornwall. A cat and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a decrepit yellow dog, lying full in the reflection of the blaze, wrinkled his black nose approvingly, as he turned his hind feet where his fore feet had been. Over the chimney hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples were festooned along the ceiling, and other signs of plenty and good cheer were scattered profusely about. There were plants, too, on the window ledges, horseshoe geraniums, and dew-plants, and a monthly rose just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole place whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or round, the long settle near the fireplace shone as if it had been just varnished, and the eight-day clock in the corner had had its white face newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it. Two arm-chairs were drawn up at a cosy distance from the hearth and each other, a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red-cheeked apples, and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between them. In one of these chairs sat a comfortable-looking woman about forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and bright as they had ever been, resting her elbow on the table, and her head upon her hand, and looking thoughtfully into the fire. This was the Widow Minards, "relict" of Mr. Levi Minards, who had been mouldering into dust in the neighboring churchyard ́for more than seven years. She was thinking of her dead husband, possibly because all her work being done, and the servant gone to bed, the sight of his empty chair at the other side of the table, and the silence of the room, made her a little lonely. "Seven years," so the widow's reverie ran; "it seems as if it were more than fifty, and yet I don't look so very old neither. Perhaps it's not having any children to bother my life out, as other people have. They may say what they like-children are more plague than profit, that's my opinion. Look at my sister Jerusha, with her six boys. She's worn to a shadow, and I'm sure they have done it, though she never will own it." The widow took an apple from the dish and began to peel it. "How fond Mr. Minards used to be of these apples. He never will eat any more of them, poor fellow, for I don't suppose they have apples where he has gone to. Heigho! I remember very well how I used to throw apple peel over my head when I was a girl to see who I was going to marry." Mrs. Minards stopped short and blushed, for in those days she did not know Mr. M., and was always looking eagerly to see if the peel had formed a capital "S." Her meditations took a new turn. "How handsome Sam Payson was, and how much I used to care about him. I wonder what has become of him! Jerusha says he went away from our village just after I did, and no one has ever heard of him since. And what a silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that—” Here came a long pause, during which the widow looked very steadfastly at the empty arm-chair of Levi Minards, deceased. Her fingers played carelessly with the apple-peel, she drew it safely towards her, and looked around the room. "Upon my word it is very ridiculous, and I don't know what the neighbors would say if the saw me." Still the plump fingers drew the red peel nearer. "But then they can't see me, that's a comfort, and the cat and old Bowse never will know what it means. Of course I don't believe any thing about it." The peel hung gracefully from her hand. "But still, I should like to try; it would seem like old times, and Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little distance. Old Bowse, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall, and marched deliberately up to smell it. "Bowse-Bowse-don't touch!" cried his mistress, and bending over it with a beating heart, she turned as red as fire. There was as handsome a capital "S" as any one could wish to see. 66 A great knock came suddenly at the door. Bowse growled, and the widow screamed, and snatched up the apple-peel. "It's Mr. M.-it's his spirit come back again, because I tried that silly trick," she thought fearfully to herself. "I think you had better take off your coat and boots-you will have the rheumatic fever, or something like it, if you don't. Here Another knock-louder than the first, and are some things for you to wear while they a man's voice exclaimed,"Hillo-the house!" "Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the departed Levi was still safe in his grave upon the hill-side. "A stranger," said the voice. "What do you want?" "To get a lodging here for the night." The widow deliberated. are drying. And you must be hungry too; I will go into the pantry and get you some thing to eat." She bustled 66 away, on hospitable thoughts intent," and the stranger made the exchange with a quizzical smile playing around his lips. He was a tall, well-formed man, with a bold but handsome face, sun-burned and heavily bearded, and looking any thing but "Can't you go on? There's a house half" delicate," though his blue eyes glanced out a mile further, if you keep to the right-hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get by-" "It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate," said the stranger, coughing. "I'm wet to the skin; don't you think you can accommodate me?—I don't mind sleeping on the floor." 66 Raining, is it? I didn't know that," and the kind-hearted little woman unbarred the door very quickly. "Come in, whoever you may be; I only asked you to go on because I am a lone woman, with only one servant in the house." The stranger entered, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog upon the step, and scattering a little shower of drops over his hostess and her nicely swept floor. "Ah, that looks comfortable after a man has been out for hours in a storm," he said as he caught sight of the fire, and striding along towards the hearth, followed by Bowse, who sniffed suspiciously at his heels, he stationed himself in the arm-chair-Mr. Minards' arm-chair! which had been kept " sacred to his memory" for seven years. The widow was horrified, but her guest looked so weary and worn out that she could not ask him to move, but busied herself in stirring up the blaze that he might the sooner dry his dripping clothes. A new thought struck her; Mr. M. had worn a comfortable dressing-gown during his illness, which still hung in the closet at her right. She could not let this poor man catch his death, by sitting in that wet coat; if he was in Mr. Minards' chair, why should he not be in Mr. Minards' wrapper? She went nimbly to the closet, took it down, fished out a pair of slippers from a boot-rack below, and brought them to him. from under a forehead as white as snow. He looked around the kitchen with a mischievous air, and stretched out his feet before him, decorated with the defunct Boniface's slippers. "Upon my word, this is stepping into the old man's shoes with a vengeance! And what a hearty, good-humored looking woman she is! Kind as a kitten," and he leaned forward and stroked the cat and her brood, and then patted old Bowse upon the head. The widow bringing in sundry good things, looked pleased at his attention to her dumb friends. "It's a wonder Bowse does not growl; he generally does if strangers touch him. Dear me, how stupid!" The last remark was neither addressed to the stranger, nor to the dog, but to herself. She had forgotten that the little stand was not empty, and there was no room on it for the things she held. "Oh, I'll manage it," said her guest, gathering up paper, candle, apples, and spectacles (it was not without a little pang that she saw them in his hand, for they had been the landlord's, and were placed each night, like the arm-chair, beside her), and depositing them on the settle. "Give me the tablecloth, ma'am, I can spread it as well as any woman; I've learned that, along with scores of other things, in my wanderings. Now let me relieve you of those dishes, they are far too heavy for those hands," the widow blushed; "and now please to sit down with me, or I cannot eat a morsel." "I had supper long ago, but really I think I can take something more," said Mrs. Minards, drawing her chair nearer to the table. "Of course you can, my dear lady; in this cold autumn weather people ought to eat twice as much as they do in warm. Let me give you a piece of this ham, your own curing, I dare say." to get into a berth like this, and to have a pretty woman to speak to once again." "California! Have you been in California?" she exclaimed, dropping into the "Yes; my poor husband was very fond chair at once. Unconsciously, she had long of it. He used to say that no one under-cherished the idea that Sam Payson, the stood curing ham and drying beef better than I." "He was a most sensible man, I am sure. I drink your health, ma'am, in this cider." He took a long draught, and set down his glass. "It is like nectar." The widow was feeding Bowse and the cat (who thought they were entitled to a share of every meal eaten in the house), and did not quite hear what he said. I fancy she would hardly have known what "nectar" was—so it was quite as well. "Fine dog, ma'am, and a very pretty cat." "They were my husband's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer. "Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man." lover of her youth, with whom she had so foolishly quarrelled, had pitched his tent, after many wanderings in that far-off land. Her heart warmed to one who, with something of Sam's looks and ways about him, had also been sojourning in that country, and who very possibly had met him-perhaps had known him intimately! At that thought her heart beat quick, and she looked very graciously at the bearded stranger, who, wrapped in Mr. Minards' dressing-gown, wearing Mr. Minards' slippers, and sitting in Mr. Minards' chair, beside Mr. Minards' wife, smoked Mr. Minards' pipe with such an air of feeling most thoroughly and comfortably at home! "Yes, ma'am, I've been in California for the last six years. And before that I went The blue eyes looked at her so long, that quite round the world in a whaling ship! she grew flurried. "Is there any thing more I can get for you, sir?" she asked, at last. "Nothing, thank you, I have finished." She rose to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their hands had a queer knack of touching as they carried the dishes to the pantry shelves. Coming back to the kitchen, she put the apples and cider in their old places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco from an arched recess near the chimney. "My husband always said he could not sleep after eating supper late unless he smoked," she said. Perhaps you would like to try it." 66 66 Not if it is to drive you away," he answered, for she had her candle in her hand. 66 'Oh, no; I do not object to smoke at all." She put the candle down, some faint suggestion about "propriety” troubled her, but she glanced at the old clock, and felt re-assured. It was only half-past nine. The stranger pushed the stand back after the pipe was lit, and drew her easy-chair a little nearer the fire, and his own. "Good gracious! 99 The stranger sent a puff of smoke curling gracefully over his head. "It's very strange, my dear lady, how often you see one thing as you go wandering about the world after that fashion." "And what is that?" "Men, without house or home above their heads, roving here and there, and turning up in all sorts of odd places; caring very little for life as a general thing, and making fortunes just to fling them away again, and all for one reason. You don't ask me what that is? No doubt you know already very well." "I think not, sir." "Because a woman has jilted them! Here was a long pause, and Mr. Minards' pipe emitted short puffs with surprising rapidity. A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and the widow's cheek was dyed with blushes as she thought of the absent Sam. "I wonder how women manage when they get served in the same way," said the stranger, musingly; "you never meet them roaming up and down in that style." 66 'No," said Mrs. Minards, with some "Come, sit down," he said pleadingly; spirit, "if a woman is in trouble she must "it's not late, and when a man has been stay at home and bear it, the best way she knocking about in California and all sorts of can. And there's more women bearing such places, for a score of years, he is glad enough things than we know of, I dare say." |