lingered longest on the deck, watching the shores of France as they receded for the last time from her sight. The exiles landed at Weymouth, and spent two months under the hospitable roof of Cardinal Weld at Lulworth Castle. Thence they repaired to Edinburgh, where they occupied the palace of Holyrood. Thence, in the end of the year 1832, they returned to the Continent, and took up their residence in the old Hradschin palace at Prague. From Prague they removed to Goritz, and here, in the winter of 1836, Charles X. died. Eight years later the Duchess of Angoulême was left a widow. The last years of her life were spent at Frohsdorf, a plain, somewhat uninteresting house near Neustadt, commanding a prospect over the plain which extends to the borders of Styria, which had been purchased for her from Caroline Murat, the ex-Queen of Naples, and to which she retired after her husband’s death. The Duc de Bordeaux (better known to modern readers as the Comte de Chambord) and his sister, afterwards Duchess of Parma, resided with her, and old and faithful courtiers and servants—all of whom were French—formed her household. Distinguished Frenchmen often visited Frohsdorf, and were always received graciously and kindly. In 1848 the news was brought to the duchess of the fall of Louis Philippe. “It is enough,” she said, as the story brought vividly before her the memory of another fall eighteen years before, “I dare not listen any more; we are too completely avenged.” It was a sorrow to her that her nephew seemed content to let opportunities slip past him, and she had at last to acknowledge that he was unlikely to regain the throne of his ancestors. His training had been of a narrowing character, and he lacked the energy and the decision which, if exercised at the right time, might have led to great results. The end came to the Duchess of Angoulême at Frohsdorf, in the autumn of 1851. Her illness lasted only two days, and she died on the 16th of October, the fifty-eighth anniversary of her mother’s execution. We may not doubt that the happiest day of her long, eventful life was that which marked its close, and re-united her at last to all those she loved. “I do not fear death,” she wrote, in her last will, “and, lacking merit of my own, I place all my trust in the mercy of God.... After the example of my parents, I pardon with my entire soul, and without exception, all those who have injured or offended me; sincerely praying God to extend to them His mercy, and to me also for the pardon of my sins. I pray God to shower down His blessings upon France—France, that I have never ceased to love under my bitterest affliction.”