pay her the scant courtesy of a visit in the house from which she could hear the loud huzzas that greeted them as they passed by it. She lived on, feverishly, and in continually disappointed hope that the Emperor of Russia would yet offer her the poor homage of a morning call. In this hope she was encouraged by some of her ladies-in-waiting, who told her that they had heard, from good authority, it was the imperial intention to pay a formal visit to Kensington on a day named. With no better official authority than this to trust to she sat up dressed, ready for the reception of the potentate whose presence, she hoped, would lend her some of the prestige of respectability which she fancied herself losing by his prolonged absence. And still he came not. On the other hand, she met with disappointment even more bitter. Her city friends did not even render her the courtesy of forwarding an invitation to the grand banquet at which they were about to regale the sovereigns and the retinue of princes in their train. Not that they entirely forgot her, but then their remembrance of her was rather insulting than flattering. Alderman Wood, for instance, was absurd enough to offer her a window in Cheapside, from which she might view the procession of monarchs and minor potentates on their way to dine with the city king! This vexed her sorely, as so emphatically ‘rude’ a proceeding was likely to do. The Princess would have less felt her exclusion from an entertainment in the city where her friends abounded had it been a festival from which ladies were altogether excluded. Her ‘sensibility’ was wounded at hearing that the Duchess of Oldenburg, the sister of the Emperor Alexander, was to be present, with four other ladies. ‘This was galling,’ says Lady Charlotte Campbell in her ‘Diary,’ and the Princess felt her own particular exclusion from this _fête_ given by the city very hard to bear, as she had considered the city folks her friends. They, however, were not to blame, as these royal ladies were self-invited or invited by the Regent, and the Princess’s friends had not time to call a council and discuss the matter. Immediately after this bitter pill came another from Mr. Whitbread, recommending her, _upon no account_, to go to Drury Lane on Thursday evening, after having, a few days before, desired her to go. ‘You see,’ said the Princess to one of her ladies; ‘you see, my dear, how I am plagued;’ and, although she mastered her resentment, the tears came into her eyes. ‘It is not,’ she said, ‘the loss of the amusement which I regret, but being treated like a child and made the puppet of a party. What does it signify whether I come in before or after the Regent, or whether I am applauded in his hearing or not; that is all for the gratification of _the party_, not for _my_ gratification; ’tis of no consequence to the Princess, but to Mr. Whitbread; and that’s the way things go, and always will till I can leave this vile country.’