astonishment of the universe, and to be able to annoy every nation of any consequence. Here, observing a smile upon His Majesty's countenance, Popanilla told the king that he was only a chief magistrate, and he had no more right to laugh at him than a parish constable. He concluded by observing that although what he at present urged might appear strange, nevertheless, if the listeners had been acquainted with the characters and cases of Galileo and Turgot, they would then have seen, as a necessary consequence, that his system was perfectly correct, and he himself a man of extraordinary merit. Here the chief magistrate, no longer daring to smile, burst into a fit of laughter, and, turning to his courtiers, said: "I have not an idea what this man is talking about, but I know that he makes my head ache. Give me a cup of wine, and let us have a dance." All applauded the royal proposition; and pushing Popanilla from one to another, until he was fairly hustled to the brink of the lagoon, they soon forgot the existence of this bore; in one word, he was cut. When Popanillo found himself standing alone, and looking grave while all the rest were gay, he began to suspect that he was not so influential a personage as he previously imagined. Rather crestfallen, he sneaked home; and consoled himself for having nobody to speak to by reading some amusing "Conversations on Political Economy". [Footnote 233: _Substance of a speech_, in Parliamentary language, means a printed edition of an harangue which contains all that was uttered in the House, and about as much again.] ROBERT BROWNING. (1812-1890.) LXVI. CRISTINA. From _Dramatic Lyrics_; written in 1842. I. She should never have looked at me if she meant I should not love her. There are plenty ... men, you call such, I suppose ... she may discover. All her soul to, if she pleases, and yet leave much as she found them; But I'm not so, and she knew it when she fixed me, glancing round them. II. What? To fix me thus meant nothing? But I can't tell (there's my weakness) What her look said!--no vile cant, sure, about "need to strew the bleakness Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed, that the sea feels"--no "strange yearning That such souls have, most to lavish where there's chance of least returning". III. Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! but not quite so sunk that moments, Sure tho' seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true endowments Stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing Or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing. IV. There are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames noondays kindle, Whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle, While just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play unstifled, Seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled. V.