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Rh ic day, wben the queen was present in her carriage, at tary review, the princess royal, then rather a wilful ' about thirteen, sitting on the front seat, seemed dis- to be rather familiar and coquettish with some young s of the escort. Her Majesty gave several reproving without avail ; * winked at her, but she wouldn't stay d.' At length, in flirting her handkerchief over the >f the carriage, she dropped it, — too evidently not ntally. Instantly two or three young heroes sprang their saddles to return it to her fair hand; but the voice of royalty stayed them. 'top, gentlemen I ' exclaimed the queen ; * leave it 'here it lies. Now, my daughter, get down from the ^e and pick up your handkerchief.' lere was no help for it. The royal footmen let down eps for the little, royal lady, who proceeded to lift he dust the pretty piece of cambric and lace. She d a good deal, though she tossed her head saucily, le was doubtless angry enough. But the mortifying may have nipped in the bud her first impulse towards can mothers would be equal to such a piece of Spartan line?'* ill venture to borrow another pretty story from Grace wood's budget. The following anecdote was related by the hero of it. y friend, Mr. W, is a person of very artistic — a passionate picture lover. He had seen all the paintings in the public galleries of London, and had a desire to see those of Buckingham Palace, which, ot being a * show-house,' were inaccessible to an ordi- zonnoisseur. Fortune favored him at last. He was* ')ther of a London carpet merchant, who had orders to
 * ry. It was hard, but it was wholesome. How many