“Indeed, Mr. Bernard, the presence which you seem to esteem so highly depends entirely on my father's permission—but I will unite with you in urging that as it is a novelty to me, he will not deny his assent. I should like of all things to go.” “Well, my daughter, as you please—but what says mother to the plan? You know she is not queen consort only, and she must be consulted.” “I am sure, Colonel Temple,” said the good lady, “that I do as much to please Virginia as you can. To be sure, a masque in Virginia can afford but little pleasure to me, who have seen them in all their glory in England, but I have no doubt it will be all well enough for the young people, and I am always ready to contribute to their amusement.” “I know that, my dear, and Jeanie can testify to it as well as I. But, Mr. Bernard, what is to be the subject of this masque, and who is the author, or are we to have a rehash of rare Ben Jonson's Golden Age?” “It is to be a kind of parody of that, or rather a burlesque;” replied Bernard, “and is designed to hail the advent of the Restoration, a theme worthy of the genius of a Shakspeare, though, unfortunately, it is now in far humbler hands.” “A noble subject, truly,” said the Colonel, “and from your deprecating air, I have no doubt that we are to be indebted to your pen for its production.” “Partly, sir,” returned Bernard, with an assumption of modesty. “It is the joint work of Mr. Hutchinson, the chaplain of his excellency, and myself.” “Oh! Mr. Bernard, are you a poet,” cried the old lady in admiration; “this is really an honour. Mr. Temple used to write verses when we were young, and although they were never printed, they were far prettier than a great deal of the lovesick nonsense that they make such a fuss about. I was always begging him to publish, but he never would push himself forward, like others with not half his merit.” “I do not pretend to any merit, my dear madam,” said Bernard, “but I trust that with my rigid loyalty, and parson Hutchinson's rigid episcopacy, the roundhead puritans will not meet with more favour than they deserve. Neither of us have been long enough in the colony to have learned from observation the taste of the Virginians, but there is abundant evidence on record that they were the last to desert the cause of loyalty, and to submit to the sway of the puritan Protector.” “Right, my friend, and she ever will be, or else old Henry Temple will seek out some desolate abode untainted with treason wherein to drag out the remainder of his days.” “Your loyalty was never more needed,” said Bernard; “for Virginia, I fear, will yet be the scene of a rebellion, which may be but the brief epitome of the revolution.” “Aye, you refer to this Baconian movement. I had heard that the demagogue was again in arms. But surely you cannot apprehend any danger from such a source.”