lowed, with her usual sweetness encourag-fireside in order to breathe a little fresh ing them. air; while his mind, from the combined Her color did not abandon her till the effects of terror and neglect, has begun last moment, which she bore with fortitude to sink into a gradual state of imbecility. and religion, when her soul was separated Let us quote Madame Royale's own from her body in order to go and enjoy account of her unhappy little brother's beatitude in the bosom of a God whom she end, which forms the conclusion of the had always loved. journal. The last chapter of this little journal adds but another touch to the profound gloom of this picture of human agony and endurance. After Madame Elisabeth's death of which, however, she remains for long in ignorance Madame Royale is condemned to a life of absolute solitude, knowing nothing of what is passing outside, and without books or other occupation wherewith to fill up the weary hours. Yet, strange and almost incredible force of vital energy and of youth's elasticity, she remains uncrushed by these accumulated misfortunes; and nothing can be more touching than the gratitude expressed whenever her gaolers condescend to treat her with somewhat less cruelty. In spite of the many tears she has shed, the young princess has yet not forgotten how to smile whenever her lot becomes a little less unbearable. Thus, whereas on one page we find her lamenting that she has no other distractions than some prayer-books, some travels which she has read and re-read till she knows them by heart, and a piece of knitting which she complains of as very tiresome, a little further on she expresses her satisfaction at the kindness of her gaolers, who had consented to let her have wood for firing, as well as some other books by way of amusement. Meanwhile the poor little dauphin, languishing down-stairs in solitude, has likewise become the object of a little more humane treatment. He is allowed to take a bath in order to cleanse his skin from the vermin which infested it, and his filthy bed is exchanged for a fresh one. But these tardy attentions are powerless to arrest the malady which is gradually consuming him. His joints have begun to swell up from debility and want of exercise, and he can scarcely be induced to leave the Luckily his illness did not cause him much suffering: it was rather a sort of stupor and depression than active pain; he was consumed like an old man. He had several violent crises, fever seized him, and, his strength always diminishing, he softly expired without agony on the 9th of June, at 3 o'clock of the afternoon, after having had the fever eight days, and lying in bed for two days. He was aged 10 years and 2 months. he had made himself beloved by them for The commissaries wept bitterly, so much his amiable qualities. He had a great deal of intellect, but his prison had done him much harm, and it is even to be feared that had he lived he might have become imbecile. He had all the good qualities of his father. Without the prison, he would have been a great man, for he had character, loved his country and the great things which were to be done. It is not true that he was poisoned, as was and is still said. This is false by the testimony of the doctors who opened his body, and did not find the slightest trace of poison. The medicines which he took in his last illness were analyzed, and found to be wholesome. He might have been poisoned by the commune, but that is false. The only poison which curtailed him of days is the want of cleanliness in which he lived for nearly a year, and the harshness with which he was treated. Such was the life of my virtuous and unfortunate relations during the last years of their august life. I attest that this memoir contains truth. MARIE-THERESE CHARLOTTE. Done at the tower of the Temple this 14th October [1795]. If this journal, which comes to us, so to say, from the tomb, has power to touch the most indifferent bystander, to the writer of these lines its value is enhanced and its pathos intensified by a deeper and more personal feeling. As was said a little while ago, the orig- made of Holyrood Palace his tempoinal manuscript of this journal was lat-rary abode, along with his grandchilterly in possession of the late Duchess dren, the Comte de Chambord and of Madrid, with whose gracious per- Mademoiselle, son and daughter of the mission it was last autumn prepared for murdered Duc de Berri; and here at the press; and it was from H.R.H. Riedenburg thirty years later, it was herself that I received a copy of this my good fortune first to know the Prinwork, bearing on the fly-leaf an affec- cess Marguerite, and to form an actionate dedication, and accompanied by quaintance which, like that of our a long, interesting letter dated Viareg-parents, speedily ripened into a lifelong gio, January 25, 1893. friendship. Little, indeed, did I then think that Gifted with a rare intelligence, a this would be the last letter I should truly wonderful memory, and a genuine ever receive from the friend I had passion for study, Princess Marguerite loved and revered for over thirty years; de Bourbon would, even without the that scarcely four days later the hand prestige attached to a royal name, have which wrote it would be cold and stiff, always been one of the most noteand that bright and dauntless spirit worthy and prominent figures in this have left us, to find in a better world school, numbering about a hundred that happiness denied to her here on boarders. Treated with strict imparearth! tiality by her teachers, she distinguished herself in almost every branch of science and literature, and the numerous prizes she carried off over less favored companions were fairly won without favor or flattery. A threefold exile through her father, her mother, and her husband, Princess Marguerite de Bourbon's life may be said to have been one long flight from land to land, everywhere seeking for rest and peace, but finding them no- Unaffected and genial in manner, the where. Daughter of Princess Louise princess was beloved by all her schoolde Bourbon, the last Mademoiselle de fellows, for she had the rare gift of France, H.R.H. belonged by her moth- putting herself in sympathy with every er's side to the exiled French Bour-one she met, and of never making a bons; by her father, the Duke of single enemy. In the autumn of 1863 Parma, she was of the Italian Bour- she left school; and soon after, in bons, expulsed by Victor Emmanuel in 1859; and by her husband and cousin, Don Carlos, she was, as the rightful and legitimate queen of Spain, likewise exiled from that country. When her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Parma, who, since her husband's assassination, had been acting as regent for her son, Duke Robert, was expelled from Italy in 1859, it was on the shores of Lake Constance, just over the Swiss frontier, that she established herself at Chateau Wartegg, placing her two daughters, the Princesses Marguerite and Alix, to complete their education at the adjacent convent of the Sacré Cœur at Riedenburg, by Bregenz, situated at the other, or Tyrolese, side of the lake. February, 1864, had the misfortune to lose her idolized mother, carried off at Venice by gastric fever after a few days' illness. After this bereavement she found a home in the house of her uncle, the Comte de Chambord, with whom she remained until her marriage in 1867 to her cousin Don Carlos of Spain, her junior by a year, and nephew to the Comtesse de Chambord. This union-in every way a mistaken and ill-advised one was further disturbed by political complications and intrigues, which space forbids me to do more than touch upon here, so that even the paltry boon of a quiet retreat was for many years denied to the unfortunate princess. From 1868, when she left Austria to join her husband in Paris, in view of the then preparing Carlist movement, till 1882, when she finally settled down in Italy, it was her 4287 Our mothers had already been friends since childhood, ever since the time when the exiled King Charles X. had fate, Ahasuerus-like, to flee from land trace of that conceit or undue selfto land, in search of that repose which assertion which so often attaches to continued to evade her. When at two otherwise gifted persons; while her different times Don Carlos was per- sparkling wit and keen sense of humor emptorily forced to leave Paris, she were chastened and counterbalanced by followed him into exile, first to Switzer- shrewd common-sense and a rare inland and then to England, with rare tuition of human nature. Her vivid self-abnegation careful only to devote and rapid perception of the ridiculous herself to her children's education, and was absolutely untainted by the slightshield, so far as lay in her power, her est shade of ill-natured sarcasm; and husband's position and dignity. if her temper was occasionally quickas could not be otherwise in a person of her temperament—so was she likewise endowed with a great and gener sons of her rank for the feelings and requirements of her dependants. Finally, in 1882, when it had become evident that Don Carlos's chances in Spain had come to an end for the nonce, the duchess retired with her ous sympathy for others, as well as a children to Viareggio, near Pisa, a consideration most uncommon in perproperty which she had inherited from her grandfather, Charles II., Duke of Parma, who in 1849 had abdicated in Possessing in superlative degree the favor of his son, Charles III., where almost forgotten art of letter-writing, she made her permanent residence, those who, like myself, had the privisave for a few months in summer oc- lege to be among H.R.H.'s regular corcasionally spent at Frohsdorf, near respondents, were able to appreciate Vienna Don Carlos, on his side, the extent and variety of talents which selecting Venice as his principal home. it is scarcely too much to define by the Here, therefore, at Viareggio, sur-name of genius. rounded by her five children, and Her active brain would not permit leading a simple patriarchal life, the duchess, as she herself expressed it, found at last some degree of that peace, if not happiness, which had hitherto been denied her. An early riser and of active habits, she was an excellent housekeeper, and devoted much attention to gardening and the vine-culture on her estate, as well as to the education of her children, every detail of which she personally directed; while simultaneously contriving to find time for decorative painting on porcelain, wood, and parchment, for which she possessed considerable talent, as well as for very extensive reading of every sort in French, Spanish, German, English, and Italian, all of which languages she spoke and read with almost equal facility. Essentially French in the quickness and vivacity of her turu of mind, the duchess had inherited from her mother the gift of singularly brilliant conversational powers, which rendered her most fascinating in society, without, however, the slightest 1 Charles III., Duke of Parma, and father of the Duchess of Madrid, was assassinated in 1854. her to remain idle for a single moment, and those who have been able to watch her in the intimacy of daily life can only marvel that a woman's brain should have been capable of bearing the strain of such ceaseless and continued exertion. She never took a rest, never suffered herself to enjoy a single day of mere idle relaxation, and it may well be that this excessive mental activity served to accelerate her death. Once only, when I ventured to remonstrate with H.R.H. on the subject of the little rest she allowed herself, she answered me with an expression I shall never forget, "I cannot do otherwise than keep my mind busy from morning to night, for I dare not allow myself to stop and think." Another time, when I had advised her to go and see Sarah Bernhardt in one of her great tragic parts, which I had been describing as delightfully harrowing, she replied that this was unnecessary, as she could get all the tragedy she wanted out of her own life without the trouble of having to go to the theatre for it, and that when she went to the play she preferred to From The Contemporary Review. IN THE POETS' GARDEN. see a good comedy which would make her laugh. Yet such was the power of self-control of this admirable woman, that few but her most intimate friends were able to guess at the depth of suffering hidden away beneath her apparent high spirits, and which would only assert itself at rare moments of despondency. The Duchess of Madrid had long spicuous with sweetbriar about the been suffering from a nervous disorder, gate, and woodbine above the porch. clearly the result of the trials she had Vaguely, too, one sees the hall garden, endured; but it appears to have been a stroke of cerebral paralysis which, swiftly and painlessly, put an end to her life on the morning of the 29th of January, 1893. THERE is no formula for the planting of the poets' garden, for they have left us no description that can be followed. But they have bequeathed us the outlines of their ideals. Vaguely, one sees the cottage garden, a confusion of flowers, pink roses and white; con Deeply pious by nature, the duchess fulfilled the religious duties of her Church with conscientious precision; making it also her special care that all those under her charge should do the same. Along with her children and the members of her household, she attended daily mass in the chapel at Viareggio, and had there received the sacraments on the morning preceding her death. with its terraces and peacocks and fountains, and its south wall where the apricots ripen and the lilies blow.. There are roses in plenty and beds of violets and jessamines on pillars, and solemn evergreens of great age, and limes "the summer home of murm'rous wings." But whatever their garden may be like it must be a place of restfulness and of shade, the resort and refuge of many birds. Apt emblem (for reproof of pride) Of its floral contents the poets have no need to care, for where poets are, as Keats says, the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; and besides — Though in appearance Princess Marguerite de Bourbon's career was marked by less tragic incidents than that of her august relative, Madame Royale, we who have had occasion to look behind the scenes, do not hesitate to affirm that she as fully deserved a martyr's crown as any member of the unfortunate royal family interred in the Temple a hundred years ago. There are greater a poet's muse is degrees of human torture than those to To make them grow just as he chooses. which the senseless fury of an unedu- But it would make the flintiest of garcated rabble exposes its victims, and deners weep were he called upon to those sufferings are often the keenest produce the posies which the poets ask. to which is refused the solace of pro- They think nothing when walking with claiming them aloud. If, therefore, the their love, of stepping aside and pickunfortunate daughter of Louis XVI. ing snowdrops and red roses for a chaphas a strong claim on public sympathy, let for her brow. But what have poets may not in like manner the great-grand- to do with the seasons of the flowers, daughter of the last French monarch or the flowers of the seasons? It is be entitled to some share of the interest enough for them, and for us, that they attached to those whose heroic and gather the most beautiful and point blameless lives have furnished the with each most beautiful thoughts. strongest argument in favor of the monarchical system, by worthily illustrating the truth of the time-honored adage that noblesse oblige ? Their garden is a treasury of emblems and similes, and they take what they want when they want it. How finely, too, their preferences turn to wild flow ers, "the nurslings of the dew and flowers, being withal sweet and sight-` darlings of the sun.” You shall find a thousand primroses to a single tulip, a million daisies to every dahlia. ly." And others of these heaps were to be set with shrubs of juniper and taller roses, holly, barberry, and currant, rosemary, and bay, "and such like." Is it not all delightful? Just such a garden every poet has in mind, for though he never describes it, it must be somewhere in his fancy, or he could not as he does let drop beauty after beauty from it in his verse. Very few flowers suffice the poet. At one time or another every blossom, indeed every vegetable — whether shrub, waterplant, "weed," or grass finds notice in its place; but a dozen or less are all he makes real use of to point the lessons he teaches and to adorn his poems. It is just this same wish for a "wilderness" that gives Bacon's garden its finest touch. First, you will remember, you find yourself on coming out from the house, on a noble " green of fine turf," with trellised aisles overhung with creepers on either side, and a broad pathway down the midst. In front, like a great green curtain, stretches a stately hedge of bays and yews concealing the garden. An archway in this green wall admits you to the place of flowers, square and surrounded on all four sides with the same trellised and overarched "alleys," with birds in cages between the arches, and -the pity of it-devices in colored glass set at intervals in the trellis ; these shady alleys being raised above the ordinary level on gently shelving banks set with flower-beds. In the centre is a mount, with a banquetinghouse on the top, and numerous alleys edged with little low hedges “round The rose is everywhere telling of like welts; with some pretty pyra- passionate love and of grief; the viomids "— running away to the wider let, like the turtle, dwells apart in alleys; and arbors with seats and fountains. Then here we come upon the "pretty common-land." For through the arches of the trellis opens up a view of the "heath," planted so as to resemble as much as may be "a natural wilderness." 66 Conspicuous among the individual flowers specially honored by separate poems to themselves, are the rose, the violet, the lily, and the daisy, which occupy in poetic botany the positions of distinction and utility, filled, among the poets' birds, by the nightingale, dove, swan, and linnet. modest seclusion, an emblem of selfsatisfying affection. Like the lilywhite, silver swan, the flower that gives it its epithets is of stately mien and of spotless robe, a thing of ornament, and conscious of its beauty, while the daisy is like the linnet, artless -a pretty wilding, supplying the poet with an innocent simile of uncultured grace, and lending a rural charm to every verse in which it sings its little simple country song. They are sweet flowers, all four. Trees, I would have none in it, but some thickets, made only of sweetbriar and honeysuckles, and some wild vines amongst, and the ground set with violets, strawberries, and primroses, for these are sweet and proper in the shade. And these to be in the heath, Pride of place for the rose. It is here and there, not in any order." the universal flower. For it is a naNote, too, those "little heaps in the tive, so far as we can tell now, of every nature of molehills, such as are in wild continent. It is the foremost flower. heaths," to be set some with wild For it is recognized in every country as thyme, some with pinks, some with the queen of flowers. It is - the flower germander, "that gives a good flower of all time. For it lives in every lan to the eye;" some with periwinkles, guage, however ancient, and in all of some with violets, some with daisies, them it is consecrated to the future some with red roses, some with lilies of and eternity. It is the flower of the valley, some with sweetwilliams, legend. For it is an epitome of the some with bearsfoot, "and the like low pious traditions and folk-lore of the |