from her presence, when she fainted away. We carried her to the open window, and bathed her temples with Eau de Cologne. In a few moments, she recovered herself, and attributed her indisposition to the excessive heat of the weather; but I understood only too well the bitter conflict of womanly feeling and of royal pride which was raging in poor Catherine's breast, not to guess at the true cause of her indisposition.'

When Madame Junot announced to the princess that her equipage was ready, she rose up, and, gracefully thanking her for her kind hospitality, said that she was ready to depart.

What were the desolate feelings of poor Catherine's heart during this twilight drive from Rainey to Paris, no human being knew, nor what were her miserable anticipations of the future that lay before her. On her arrival at the Tuileries, she found the whole imperial family assembled to receive her. The emperor advanced as far as the grand staircase to bid her welcome. She attempted to kneel and kiss his hand, but he hastened to raise her up, and after embracing her, conducted her into the saloon of the throne, where he presented her to his assembled family as their sister and daughter. She was immediately surrounded, caressed, and treated from that moment as a sister of the emperor.

Such were the opening scenes in the wedded life of Catherine of Würtemberg. Need it be added that her after-path was one beset with thorns rather than strewed with flowers? Forced to bestow her hand upon a man from whom she instinctively shrank, as being in her opinion already espoused to another, the unhappy queen of Westphalia had not even the poor satisfaction of being treated with respect by her royal husband. Many were the humiliations which she suffered at the court of Cassel, and she bore them all in silence. Faithfully did she strive to fulfil the onerous duties of her position, and never was a single murmur suffered to escape her lips. The only happy moments of her crowned life were those in which she clasped her infants to her arms, although, perhaps, the name of Napoleon, which had been bestowed upon her son, often brought a pang to her heart, as reminding her of him through whose insatiable ambition a hopeless blight had fallen upon her opening life.

Time passed on. The eventful years of 1814-15 elapsed. Napoleon had fallen, and those modern dynasties, which had flourished in the sunshine of his power, were withering away beneath the shadow of 'the Holy Alliance.' The queen of Westphalia had taken refuge, with her children, beneath her father's roof. Jerome had joined his brother Napoleon in Paris on his return from Elba, and had carried with him thither all the baubles of royalty, in the hope that, at no distant day, he might once more appear in public with these insignia of power. In this expectation, however, he was quickly disappointed, and, on the evacuation of Paris, he retired with the army beyond the Loire. His situation being now a very precarious one, he gladly accepted a refuge in the Château of Douy, where, under the assumed name of Garnier, he was hospitably entertained by M. Ouvrard, the eminent financier. Owing to the frequent presence of military men who were quartered in the château, Jerome was obliged to remain secluded in his own apartments. One day, in a moment of ennui, the ex-monarch opened a trunk, took out his royal robes of state, together with the many brilliant orders which had been bestowed upon him in his happier days, and clothed himself in all the magnificence of royalty. Just as his splendid toilet was completed, the door of his apartment opened, and M. Ouvrard entered. The discreet financier was astonished at such an act of imprudence on the part of his guest, and fearing that a repetition of his folly might betray his secret to the

whole household, and thus involve the family in political danger, he counselled Jerome no longer to delay his escape out of France. On the following morning, before daylight, the deposed king was on his way to the eastern frontier, whence he hastened to Stuttgart, and, entering in secret his father-in-law's palace, besought his wife to procure for him a welcome in the home of her childhood and her youth. The princess, mindful only of her husband's forlorn position, welcomed him heartily to her apartments. The news of his arrival, however, quickly reached the ears of the king of Würtemberg, whose political position made him shrink from communication with any of the Bonaparte family. On the following morning, therefore, he signified his pleasure to the ex-queen that her husband must forthwith quit his palace, as he could not harbour beneath his roof one of a proscribed and outlawed family, pointing out to her at the same time the example of Maria-Louisa, who had consented to a separation from her husband. He also expressed his desire for an interview with his daughter, that she might learn his wishes more emphatically from his own royal lips. The princess-royal immediately addressed to her parent a reply, which merits a place in the annals of all those nations where women are counted worthy of honour as well as of love. It was in the following terms:

'SIRE-Your majesty has summoned me this morning to your presence. For the first time in my life, I have denied myself the pleasure of obeying your commands. Knowing the subject of the interview, and fearing that my mind was not sufficiently collected to speak of it, I venture here to unfold the motives of my conduct, and to make an appeal to your paternal affection. Your majesty has been rightly informed; yes, sire, Prince Jerome, your son-in-law, my husband, and the father of my children, is with me. I received him from your hands at a time when his family reigned supreme over many kingdoms, and when his own brow was encircled with a crown. The bonds imposed at first by policy have since then been strengthened and confirmed by the feelings of my own heart; and he is far dearer to me now, in the hour of his adversity, than ever he was in the time of power and prosperity. Marriage and nature impose duties which cannot be affected by the vicissitudes of fortune. I know these important duties, and I desire to fulfil them. I was once a queen, and I am still a wife and mother. Although raised by fortune above other men, we are often only the more to be pitied. A will at variance with our own may influence our destiny, but there its power ceases, for it can by no means affect the obligations which Divine Providence has imposed upon us. The husband who was given to me by God and by yourself-the child whom I have borne in my bosom; these are now a part of my very existence. With this husband, I shared a throne; with him, will I share exile and misfortune. Violence alone can separate me from him. But oh! my father, my sovereign! I know your heart-your justice and the rectitude of your principles; I know what those principles have ever been on the subject of domestic duties. I do not ask your majesty, out of affection towards me, to make any change in the line of conduct which has been adopted in conformity with the determination of the most mighty sovereigns of Europe; I only crave your permission that my husband and I may remain near your person. But oh! my father, my sovereign! if this boon is denied us, let us at least be assured of your favour and kindness before we set out for a strange land. Without some proof of your paternal love, I can scarcely find courage to appear in your presence. If we must depart at once, let us bear with us at least the assurance of your affection as well as the hope of your protection in happier times. will surely one day have an end. Europe will not

Our misfortunes

always command our humiliation; it will not always delight in degrading princes who have been recognised by former treaties, and who are allied to the most ancient and most illustrious houses in Europe. Is not their blood mingled with our own? Pardon me, my father and my sovereign, for having thus expressed myself, and deign to let me know that this letter has not been received with displeasure. Believe me, &c. CATHERINE.'

This touching and noble appeal could scarcely fail to melt the heart of a father; but political motives were at that critical period far more powerful in the breasts of monarchs than the gentler voice of domestic affection. The Princess of Würtemberg, together with her husband and son, were obliged to quit that Fatherland to which she was so tenderly attached. They took refuge in the Papal States, where they lived for many years under the name of the Duke and Duchess of Montfort. They chose a country habitation named Casino Azzolino, near the river Trento, which forms a limit between the Roman and Neapolitan states. Even here, however, they could not escape the humiliations which were at this time the portion of the Bonaparte family. They were prohibited by the king of Naples from entering his dominions, and so rigidly were his commands enforced, that the Countess Conurata, a niece of Jerome's, having ventured one day, in a girlish freak, to cross the Fiume Trento for the sake of enjoying a ride in the Neapolitan territories, she narrowly escaped being seized by the Neapolitan soldiers, who were placed there to guard the bridge. The young and ardent countess was exceedingly indignant at this curtailment of her liberty.

'Napoleon's niece,' exclaimed she, dwelling emphatically upon this word-' Napoleon's niece is not made to have her walks dictated to her; she is not the vassal of any sovereign!'

The Duke and Duchess of Montfort had all the difficulty in the world to calm her anger, and to prove to her the necessity of submitting to the ungenerous restriction imposed by the king of Naples. As for Catherine of Würtemberg, she pursued the even tenor of her way, treading in the same path of duty and affection until death closed the earthly portion of her existence. We know not what were her father's feelings on hearing that she had died in the land of her exile. But whatever they were, the memory of Catherine of Würtemberg is still fresh in many hearts; and although she did not live to witness the realisation of the hope expressed in her letter, yet to her children has it been given to enjoy the blessing of restoration to their country, and also to share in those imperial honours which have once again become the portion of Napoleon's family. Perhaps we need scarcely add, that Prince Napoleon and Princess Mathilde are the sole descendants of this noble-minded woman. No higher honour could be sought for or desired than to be the children of such a mother.

NOTES ON NATURAL HISTORY. THE great masters of natural history have left but little to be done by mere gleaners like myself; but I believe there are few persons of ordinary observation who might not contribute something, which would either interest from its singularity, or add to the common stock of knowledge. It is my purpose to collect in this paper a few such waifs and strays of observation touching birds as strike me to be worth preserving.

To begin with the kingfisher. This bird has been well styled the only one which, in our islands, decks itself with a plumage of tropical richness and lustre. How rarely is it seen!-how shy of observation!-and how dazzlingly splendid when its green and crimson

metallic scales, as one may call them, reflect the rays of the sun! I have seen this bird in an almost halfdomesticated state--that is, I have seen it in a certain pleasure-ground remain on some old timber hanging over water, until we had come so near as to have a perfect view. It-or rather they, for there were several of them-ran about briskly while we approached, and then only seemed to retire a short way among the water-weeds. I am reminded here of an anecdote for which I can vouch, and which shews that the kingfisher has a remarkable tenacity of life.

One of these birds flew, one day, in some unaccountable way, into the open windows of a country-seat in Berkshire. It entered a drawing-room by one window, and dashed at another which happened to be shut. Of course it fell struggling to the ground, stunned, if not killed, by the shock. The ladies, who alone were present, summoned the butler to put the poor creature out of pain. This he did effectually, by wringing its neck' in the ordinary way, and depositing it on a table, in order that its beauty might be admired by the whole family. Here it lay for some time, to all appearance quite dead; but at length some slight motion was perceived about its head-the head evidently was moving a little; and by and by this said head began slowly to turn round and round, which gyration was performed some five or six times, answering no doubt to the 'wrings' inflicted by the ruthless hand of the butler aforesaid, until at last it seemed to have recovered its natural position. Thus it lay with open and glittering eyes for a short space; and then, as if instinct with new life, it made a sudden effort, flapped its wings, flew to the open window, and disappeared!

This recalls a somewhat similar instance of a partridge. This bird-an old cock, I warrant him— was knocked over in the usual way 'in stubbles and turnips.' He was picked up while yet struggling, and his head severely knocked on the stock of a gun by one of the party. He was then hung by the neck' with some others in a net by a leather strap contrived for the purpose. In this durance, the poor animal remained during the rest of the day and the following night, being hung up with the bag in the gun-room. On the following day, when the keeper proceeded to hand over his prey to the cook, this bird was shaken out of his collar upon the table; whereupon he immediately got on his legs, looked about him, flew straight at the window, through a pane of which he broke his way, and escaped!

I will here mention an anecdote of another kind connected with birds, which has always struck me as most extraordinary.

I had obtained from the nest three young bullfinches, and had had them several days in perfect apparent health: they could feed alone, and seemed quite strong. One morning, they seemed, in the very act of awaking, to be all seized together with some sudden fit. They fell from the perches into the sand at the bottom of the cage, beating it about most violently with their wings, rolling over and over, and exhibiting the same appearance as wounded birds generally do. After perhaps two minutes of these extraordinary gambols, they all alike seemed to get rid of the exciting cause, whatever it was; they ceased to struggle; sat up languidly on their tails, steadying their panting bodies with their wings; and at length quite recovered their usual health. About ten days after, the same simultaneous seizure was repeated; they all fell down again, and struggled in the same way; but this time they died-together, of course.

I have often asked myself the question, what could have been the mysterious tie of sympathy between those singular birds? Had they each in turn died of some fit, it would have been a common death of the bullfinch tribe; but that the fit should have seized them all at the same moment, in the first instance

harmlessly, and in the next with fatal results, remains a mystery to me to this day.

Talking of bullfinches and their fits, I may observe that apoplexy, their great enemy, may be averted for a long time, if not entirely, by avoiding the alderman's snare-I mean, oleaginous feeding. Let them have canary-seed as a staple, and an ample supply of green food-chickweed, groundsel, salads of all sorts, and fruit in the season; and plethora may be kept in check effectually. I would allow a grain or two of hemp-seed now and then from the master's or mistress's own fingers, but only seldom, and as rewards for good behaviour.

Is it not curious, by the way, that the teaching of these charming birds to sing tunes should be, so far as I know, left entirely in the hands of foreigners? Our own artisans ought to be as capable of instructing them as any others. The process is very simple, and consists in keeping the birds in a moderately darkened cage, and letting them hear the air whistled, or played on a small flageolet, several times each day. The high price of well-taught birds would afford a good encouragement, even if no interest was found to attach to the pursuit for itself.

A very singular fact connected with the bullfinch is, that it can, at any moment, be thrown into a state of peculiar excitement, ending in the warbling of its song, if an artificial one, by seeing the head of a person whom it knows moved gently backwards and forwards before the cage. This is very convenient for the German dealers, who generally have the birds classified according to their proficiency and firmness in their music. By this standard they regulate the prices; and when the intending customer can only give so much, they at once take a bird, and thus force him to give a 'touch of his quality,' in a room adjoining the aviary, as one may call it.

occasions. So far as I have heard, there is no other bird, belonging either to the old world or the new, which appears capable of being brought under this singular fascination; and with the bullfinch it is, I repeat, altogether instinctive, and independent of any particular mode of teaching or other incidental circumstance whatever.

Respecting this beautiful and engaging little bird, I may observe in passing, that vast numbers are lost by injudicious feeding when taken from the nest. So far as I have seen, milk is entirely unfit for young birds. The proper food for bullfinches is a paste made of bread steeped in water, and rape-seed, boiled till soft, and then pounded in a mortar. A little only should be prepared at a time, as sour food is always destructive. It is important to get the young birds before they become afraid of man, yet not too young to do without the warmth of the mother by night. The critical moment is when the quill feathers of the wings and tail are just beginning to grow.

Taken young, the bullfinch is the most loving and familiar of feathered pets; otherwise, it is the wildest and most untamable; and to keep it in a cage, when caught old, is mere cruelty.

From the merely agreeable of the feathered race I now turn to the useful; observing, that the differ ences in habits and temper between different species, or rather different varieties of the same species, are exceedingly curious. For example, the common gray partridge has, so far as I know, never bred in captivity, and its unconquerable shyness will even prevent its being domesticated: I do not think it would even go as far as the pheasant, and lay eggs in a state of confinement. There is, however, a variety of the partridge, called the 'red-legged,' a very fine bird, common in France, which will not only lay, but rear its brood even in an ordinary hutch. I have seen as many as

Now, were I a lawyer, I should say, 'I demur to this on three counts:' weavers do not make the sort of motion which affects the bullfinch; weavers are not exclusively the teachers of German bullfinches; and, bullfinches which never saw a weaver, and on which the experiment was not tried until long after they had learned to pipe from persons exercising no handicraft at all, have shewn themselves, to my certain knowledge, perfectly susceptible of this strange, and, as I think it, unaccountable influence.

A reason may yet be found; but that which is now popularly received has not a shadow of foundation, either in fact or theory.

It is most curious to observe the phenomenon I am now considering. When a person, known to the bird, and who does not frighten him, moves his face gently back and forward near the cage, the bird seems to be drawn gradually under the influence of a spell; he ruffles his feathers, often looking like a perfect ball; he changes his place rapidly, and utters a low, plaintive cry. After a short time spent in these preliminaries, he stops, looks attentively at the oscillating engine' before him, and at last swells his throat and pours forth his little melody, whatever it may be, bowing gracefully from side to side, and, as it were, keeping time with the motions of his body and tail, which

circumstances; and I see no reason why this excellent sort of game should not be added to our poultry. All that is required is a small court netted over, where the birds can have choice of sun or shade,' and be supplied with food and water. There can be no doubt that they would be well worth rearing, and be an agreeable variety to the table. This gradation, so to speak, in the adaptability of different sorts of game-for, of course, all were once game—to domesti cation, is an interesting subject of observation.

The well-known Australian bird, the tallagalla, is gifted with an instinct which shews something like a knowledge of chemistry; it seems aware that vegetable matters, such as grass, leaves, bits of stick, &c., when heaped together, will ferment, and give out a certain degree of heat; accordingly, it makes no nest, and never incubates, as others do. It scrapes togetherthat is, a colony of birds will do this a heap of the materials we have named; and in this heap the hens deposit their eggs, for the hatching of which into chickens, they wait around this natural eccaleobion with anxious attention. Even in our climate, it would appear that this can be done, as has been proved at the gardens in the Regent's Park: but I should think it a good plan, with a view to greater increase, to remove the eggs, and place them apart, in a heap of the same materials. The young birds take long to hatch, and then come into the world fledged, and able to fly, so that their abode should be closely netted over, to prevent escape. They are, however, independent, as it would seem, of maternal solicitude; and no doubt a certain number of old birds would, according to general experience, produce a greater supply of young, if the eggs were thus removed, and the gratification of the parental instinct deferred for a time.

enable any one, at a small cost, to usher into this 'breathing world' any number of feathered fowls at his discretion. I shall only now add a few lines about that scourge of our poultry-yards, the dreaded 'gapes.' Many causes are assigned for this destructive malady. I believe one to be almost always in fault, and that is foul water and bad food; but chiefly the first of these-foul water. I believe also that salt is the great preventive, as well as the best remedy. The disease itself is a worm in the throat of the bird; and I have no doubt that if lumps of salt are left in the way, or a little box of common salt in a convenient place, the birds will take enough of it to prevent, or cure, the malady. When they are very sick, and gaping piteously, the best thing to do is to spurt a little salt and water into their throats. Some keepers use an aromatic decoction of cinnamon, pepper, &c., a drop or two of which is put into the bird's throat, and, I have no doubt, with excellent effect. But salt is the great vermifuge of creation, so far as the land is concerned. Our instinct for it seems intended to act as a safeguard against those parasites which, if let alone, would soon be as fatal to our peace and comfort as those of old Timon of Athens were to his.

KIRKE WEBBE,

THE PRIVATEER CAPTAIN.

CHAPTER II.

RYDE, in the Isle of Wight, though not in those days the gay and flourishing place it has since become, was, thanks to its natural advantages, a favourite resort of health and pleasure seekers; and one of its chief attractions to the latter class of tourists, was undoubtedly its commanding view of the maritime life and bustle going on in the great naval arsenal of Portsmouth, and the famous roadstead of Spithead, to which the Wight forms the natural breakwater. Very exciting to the unaccustomed mind of Cockney or other inland folk must have been the frequent spectacle of captured vessels brought in with the British jack flying above the tricolor, and anchored or moored amidst the cheers and cannon-fire of the victor-crews. And albeit, to find cause of triumph in the humiliation of another, 'enemy' though he be, may not bear to be closely scanned by the light of the Gospel morality; yet how often have I seen reverently-pious eyes, seriously-pale, lengthened faces, gleam and glow with pride at such sights! At a yet later date, I am afraid, I have witnessed the same phenomena. Yet should I be the last to cast stones at others, since few could have felt fiercer joy than I did at such spectacles -my excuse being, that my parents were prisoners to the enemy;' which spectacles, greatly to my unreasoning regret, became less and less frequent as the maritime might of Great Britain wrestled down the giant war, as far as the ocean was concerned, and so effectually blockaded or swept the seaboard of a hostile continent, that at the commencement of 1814, months had elapsed since a captured tricolor had graced Spithead; whilst the stars and stripes, with which we had fallen out about a couple of years before, yielded but a scanty harvest.

The news, consequently, that the Scout privateer, Captain Webbe, had brought in a fine Yankee bark, created quite a sensation amongst us islanders; and although it was Sunday morning, the second Sunday in February, I, instead of waiting to escort my grandame to church, hurried off to Ryde Pier, where I found a small mob of excited idlers like myself.

The prize had gone into Portsmouth harbour, but the Scout was still anchored at Spithead-a remarkably fine brig of her class, and admirably adapted by

her long, low, sharply bowed hull, and tall raking masts, for a service in which speed was the prime requisite. She carried twelve guns of moderate calibre upon a flush deck, and had generally a complement of ninety men, maintained at a cost so onerous as to leave of late years, it was understood, a very trifling margin of profit to Captain Webbe and his owners, fortunate beyond all other 'privateers '-or pirates, writ large, as some slanderers aver that he had invariably been.

Presently a blue-peter was run up at the Scout's fore-a warning, it was supposed, to the boat's crew that had come on shore about an hour previously, to hasten their return to the brig, whose anchor, I noticed, had already been hove short. The warning or signal did not appear to be much heeded by the men, several of whom were smoking and sauntering about in the immediate vicinity of the pier; and when, some quarter of an hour afterwards, I took my way Rydeward, I came, on turning a corner in the principal street, upon a number of the Scout seamen, amongst whom was Captain Webbe himself, whom I knew well, from his having several times called at Oak Villa, where he was always civilly, though coldly, received by Mrs Linwood, who had known him previous to her domiciliation in the Wight.

The sailors, having just emerged from the Crown Tavern, were standing apart from Captain Webbe, who was earnestly conversing with a showily dressed, middle-aged woman, whose piercing black eyes, sallow skin, and vivacious gesticulation sufficiently declared her nationality without the aid of the few French words I indistinctly caught. She had a servant with her, also a French woman, and seemed about to take leave of the commander of the Scout, when his always restless glance met mine, and, scarcely to be believed, though my own eyes saw it, a crimson glow, much resembling a blush, mantled his bronzed cheeks-a swiftly passing weakness!

Ha, Master William Linwood!' he exclaimed, extending his hand with frank cordiality, 'I am glad to see you looking so well. I intend paying Oak Villa a visit to-morrow. Mrs Linwood is, I hope, in the enjoyment of her usual fine health.'

I answered slightly, the lady's involuntary start and mounting colour having caught and fixed my attention. Recovering herself, she turned away with an assumed air of carelessness, and began chatting with her servant.

I passed on, and had not gone far, when, upon crossing the end of another street, I saw my granddame and her escort Nancy Dow coming onwards on their way to church. Not being in a devotional mood that morning, I accelerated my pace.

I had proceeded some distance, when the notion occurred to me, that as Mrs Linwood would necessarily pass Webbe and his companions, if they still remained where I had left them, I should like to witness her rencontre with the fierce-eyed Frenchwoman. I turned back to realise that whim, but had not taken fifty steps, when I halted, struck with the absurdity of my purpose. As I paused irresolutely, a clamorous burst of voices broke the stillness of the Sabbath morning, and hurrying at the top of my speed in the direction of the tumult, I could presently distinguish my grandame's voice, crying 'Help!-murder! Help!murder!' reinforced by frantic yells of Fire! fire!' from Nancy Dow.

I should explain that Nancy, in consequence of having narrowly escaped being burned to death just before we left Wales, in any pressing_emergency invariably shouted 'Fire! fire!" As Dr Johnson remarked of some clerical alarmists in his day, Nancy would to a certainty have cried 'Fire' at the Deluge.

I could have no doubt, therefore, as to whence the