dancers from Italy, and actors from France. Dancing was a monomania with Philip III. of Spain and Portugal, and his Prime Minister distinguished himself as the best dancer of his time--the result being that the whole aristocracy of Spain and Portugal became affected by the dancing rage, which was ridiculed by Manuel de Mello. The wife of Ferdinand VI. of Spain, the Infanta of Portugal, was haunted by the fear of death and of poverty--apprehensions which she tried to conquer by the extravagant indulgence of a passion for music and dancing. With this melancholy, and oppressed by asthma and unwieldy corpulency, she could scarcely have been a very graceful dancer, for M. de Noailles said of her, “Son visage est tel qu’on ne peut la regarder sans peine.” A romantic tale is told of Queen Joan of Naples, who, at a magnificent feast given in her castle of Gaeta, gave her hand to Galeazzo of Mantua for the purpose of opening the ball. At the conclusion of the dance the gallant knight knelt down before his royal partner, and, as an acknowledgment of the honour conferred upon him, he made a solemn vow not to rest until he had subdued two valiant knights, and had presented them prisoners at her royal footstool, to be disposed of at her pleasure. Accordingly, after a year spent in visiting various scenes of action in Brittany, England, France, Burgundy, and elsewhere, he returned and offered his two prisoners of rank to Queen Joan. The Queen received the gift very graciously, but, declining to avail herself of the right she had to impose rigorous conditions on the captives, she gave them liberty without ransom, in addition to bestowing on them several marks of liberality. An early Danish ballad tells how one of the ancient kings of Denmark, dancing at a wake with a fair peasant girl, requested her to sing to him, which she did in tones so clear and thrilling that she woke the Queen Sophie, who had retired to bed. Her Royal Highness’s curiosity being aroused, she got up, put on her purple mantle, and went out to see what sort of girl the songstress might be. On seeing her husband dance with the peasant girl, the Queen’s jealousy was excited, and she exclaimed that it was “a monstrous thing that Signellile”--the peasant girl--“should dance with Denmark’s king.” So she ordered one of her attendants to bring her “the richly moulded horn” filled with wine, giving instructions for an edder-corn to be first dropped in. Then, when the King asked his royal consort if she would not dance with him, Queen Sophie replied-- “Before a place in the dance I fill, Must drink to my health fair Signellile.” Whereupon Signellile took the horn, and though she “Drank but a sip to quench her thirst, Her guileless heart in her bosom burst.”