f country to
hear the airs of France sung by the Greek and by the Russian, and united
to national poetry on the banks of the Thames and the Tagus. The homage
thus rendered is the more flattering because the rank of the composer is
unknown. It is their intrinsic merit which gives to these natural
effusions of female sensibility the power of universal success. If
Hortense ever experienced matrimonial felicity, it must have been at
this time."

When Madame de Stael was living in exile in the old Castle of
Chaumont-sur-Loire, where she was joined by her beautiful friend Madame
Recamier, one of their favorite songs was that exquisite air composed by
Queen Hortense upon her husband's motto, "Do what is right, come what
may."

The little son of Hortense was twining himself closely around his
mother's heart. He had become her idol. Napoleon was then in the zenith
of his power, and it was understood that Napoleon Charles was to inherit
the imperial sceptre. The warmth of his heart and his daily intellectual
development indicated that he would prove worthy of the station which he
was destined to fill.

Shortly after the queen's arrival at the Hague, she received a New
Year's present from Josephine for the young Napoleon Charles. It
consisted of a large chest filled with the choicest playthings which
Paris could present. The little boy was seated near a window which
opened upon the park. As his mother took one after another of the
playthings from the chest to exhibit to him, she was surprised and
disappointed to find that he regarded them with so much indifference.
His attention seemed to be very much occupied in looking out into the
park. Hortense said to him, "My son, are you not grateful to your
grandmamma for sending you so many beautiful presents?"

"Indeed I am, mamma," he replied. "But it does not surprise me, for
grandmamma is always so good that I am used to it."

"Then you are not amused with all these pretty playthings, my son?"

"Oh yes, mamma, but--but then I want something else."

"What is it, my darling? You know how much I love you. You may be sure
that I will give it to you."

"No, mamma, I am afraid you won't. I want you to let me run about
barefooted in that puddle in the avenue."

His mother of course could not grant this request, and the little fellow
mourned very justly over the misfortune of being a prince, which
prevented him from enjoying himself like other boys in playing in the
mud.

Horten