This continued until Lord Shrewsbury, who never before had shown the least uneasiness at his lady’s misconduct, thought proper to resent this:  it was public enough, indeed, but less dishonourable to her than any of her former intrigues.  Poor Lord Shrewsbury, too polite a man to make any reproaches to his wife, was resolved to have redress for his injured honour:  he accordingly challenged the Duke of Buckingham; and the Duke of Buckingham, as a reparation for his honour, having killed him upon the spot, remained a peaceable possessor of this famous Helen.  The public was at first shocked at the transaction; but the public grows familiar with everything by habit, and by degrees both decency, and even virtue itself, are rendered tame, and overcome.  The queen was at the head of those who exclaimed against so public and scandalous a crime, and against the impunity of such a wicked act.  As the Duchess of Buckingham was a short fat body, like her majesty, who never had had any children, and whom her husband had abandoned for another; this sort of parallel in their situations interested the queen in her favour; but it was all in vain:  no person paid any attention to them; the licentiousness of the age went on uncontrolled, though the queen endeavoured to raise up the serious part of the nation, the politicians and devotees, as enemies against it.

The fate of this princess was in many cases truly melancholy:  The king, indeed, paid her every outward attention; but that was all:  She easily perceived that the respect he entertained for her daily diminished, in proportion as the credit of her rivals increased:  She saw that the king her husband was now totally indifferent about legitimate children, since his all-charming mistresses bore him others.  As all the happiness of her life depended upon that blessing, and as she flattered herself that the king would prove kinder to her if Heaven would vouchsafe to grant her desires, she had recourse to all the celebrated secrets against sterility:  pious vows, nine days’ prayers, and offerings having been tried in all manners, but all to no purpose, she was at last obliged to return to natural means.

What would she have given on this occasion for the ring which Archbishop Turpin wore on his finger, and which made Charlemagne run after him, in the same manner as it had made him run after one of his concubines, from whose finger Turpin had taken it after her death!  But it is now many years since the only talismans for creating love are the charms of the person beloved, and foreign enchantments have been looked upon as ineffectual.  The queen’s physicians, men of great prudence, sagacity, and wisdom, as they always are, having duly weighed and considered that the cold waters of Tunbridge had not succeeded in the preceding year, concluded that it would be advisable for her to try the warm baths at Bristol—­[Probably Bath, D.W.]—­This journey was therefore fixed for the next season; and in the confidence of its