BEEF. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield—the Barons are victorious—King John has been defeated—Magna Charta, that venerable immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July, Old Style. PUDD. I can scarce believe my ears—but let me satisfy my eyes—show me the paragraph. BEEF. Here it is, just above the advertisements. PUDD. [_Reads._] “The great demand for Packwood’s Razor Straps”— BEEF. Pshaw!—what, ever blundering!—you drive me from my patience. See here, at the head of the column. PUDD. [_Reads._] “A hireling print, devoted to the court, Has dared to question our veracity Respecting the events of yesterday; But by to-day’s accounts, our information Appears to have been perfectly correct. The Charter of our Liberties received The royal signature at five o’clock, When messengers were instantly dispatched To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their majesties, After partaking of a cold collation, Returned to Windsor.”—I am satisfied. BEEF. Yet here again—there are some further particulars [_turns to another part of the paper_]. “Extract of a letter from Egham—My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits—the interesting event which took place this morning at Runnymede, in the neighbourhood of this town”— PUDD. Ah, Runnymede! enough—no more—my doubts are vanished—then are we free indeed! BEEF. I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. Our outlawry is reversed!—What says my friend—shall we return by the next packet? PUDD. Instantly, instantly! BOTH. Liberty! Adelaide! revenge! [_Exeunt—Young_ POTTINGEN _following and waving his hat, but obviously without much consciousness of the meaning of what has passed._ _Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey.—A Summer’s Evening; Moonlight._ _Companies of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers march across the stage confusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years War.—Shouts and martial music._ _The Abbey Gates are opened; the Monks are seen passing in procession, with the_ PRIOR _at their head; the choir is heard chanting vespers.—After which a pause; then a bell is heard, as if ringing for supper; soon after, a noise of singing and jollity._ _Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the_ PORTER, _a_ TROUBADOUR, _with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm_; TROUBADOUR _seems much in liquor, but caresses the_ FEMALE MINSTREL. FEM. MIN. Trust me, Gieronimo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?