resolved to indulge his love for retirement and a country life, which had always been more congenial to his tastes than a residence in town. Accordingly, we left Edinburgh for a lovely village in the north of England, with which my father had early and loving associations. He bought and furnished a house, in which I was nominally installed as mistress, but where Peggy really reigned supreme. We had a good garden, and sufficient pleasure-ground to keep us occupied and amused in laying it out to suit our own fancy, and in keeping it in order. Peggy's poultry-yard was stocked to her heart's content; and we were a happy little household, although I missed the companionship of my aunt and cousins. We had frequent visits from the Maitlands; Harry, oftener than the others, spending a few days with us. I thought my father did not enjoy his visits so much as those of the rest of the family, and he sometimes made an exertion to ride or walk with us, rather than let Harry and me go together, but a suspicion of the cause of his anxiety or Harry's attention never crossed my mind. Happy as our home in the sweet village of Wentworth was, we were obliged to leave it about two years after settling there. My dear father's health had been failing gradually, almost imperceptibly, at least to me, although I believe he felt that his days were numbered, and it cost him many a struggle to conceal from me his anxiety at leaving me alone in the world. He consulted an eminent physician, who recommended him to try the effect of complete change of air and scene; and it was arranged that we should go abroad. Quite unsuspicious of any cause of anxiety about my father's health, I hailed with delight the idea of visiting the continent. The only drawback to my happiness was that we should not be present at the marriages of my cousins, Gertrude and Caroline Maitland, which were to take place immediately after our departure. Ella and I looked forward to a joyful meeting in Switzerland, the land of our dreams! But it was otherwise ordered. My father's illness rapidly increased, and ere Aunt Helen and Ella joined me, I was an orphan. My father's mortal remains were laid in the little peaceful burying-place, overshadowed by the glorious Jungfrau, whose eternal snows seemed to me to be the emblem of the raiment white and glistering with which he was for ever clothed in the presence of his Redeemer. Those were indeed days of desolation that followed his death. I had now no immediate call for exertion, and I abandoned myself to the excess of a first great sorrow. It was weeks before I could be persuaded to leave the scenes hallowed by my father's presence during the last weeks of his life. But at length Aunt Helen, fearing the effect on my health of continued indulgence in violent grief, insisted that we should leave for other scenes. On first setting out on our tour, I felt only the parting from what was now the most hallowed spot on earth to me, but erelong I was roused to share Ella's enthusiastic admiration of the magnificent scenery through which we passed. When Harry wrote that he would be able to spend a week or two with us, we fixed our quarters, to await his arrival, on the shores of the grandest of the Swiss lakes. He brought with him a friend of his, Arthur Greville, who was now on furlough before his regiment should leave England for India, and who soon won all hearts. While Harry was with us, I believe by his own management, we two were generally together, while Arthur Greville was the companion of Aunt Helen and Ella. There was something in Harry's manner that roused in me the suspicion that his love for me was more than that of a brother, and as I felt that mine for him could never exceed that of a sister, I rather shrank from being alone with him, and was conscious of a restraint and coldness in my manner towards him. But he never complained, and we parted as good friends as ever. A stranger seeing Harry and Arthur together, would probably have pronounced the former the handsomer and more winning. But there was a truthfulness and honesty in Arthur's full blue eyes, and a strength and firmness of purpose in the broad brow and arched lip, that bespoke trust and confidence in time of prosperity, and promised support and protection in trial and adversity, and which more than compensated for the want of regularity in his features. In the week or two he had been with us he seemed to have become as much one of the family as Harry ; and when the latter left, Arthur remained to spend the rest of his leave with us. A day or two after Harry went home, Ella fell in running down a steep path, and sprained her ankle severely. As Aunt Helen remained much with her, and we had no friends in the place, Arthur and I were thrown much together. And oh the joy, the bliss of those few weeks! It seems even now, as I look back on it, as if it must have been a dream, as if earth could not have yielded such fulness of joy. We never thought of love; we were like children; we only knew that we were happy, and cared not to ask the reason. Every devout thought, every holy aspiration of the one awoke an echo in the other's heart. Our very griefs were a bond of union; he too had been the only child of a widowed parent, and had laid her head in the grave. How we revelled in that magnificent scenery; we were both keenly alive to the beauties of nature, and what food for our gratification was there! How insignificant we felt as we clung to the sides of the stupendous Alps, which had stood for numberless ages, while generations of human beings had, like us, climbed and panted on their sides; and when we should be gone, generations to come would repeat the task, and leave no trace on the storm-beaten rocks! And then we remembered that, grand as they were, we, with our frail, weak bodies, were grander still, for did they not contain immortal souls! Those hills had stood long, and might still see many alternations of summer and winter, but the end of the world would surely come, while for us there would be no end, on, ever on, we should live, for weal or for woe. Sometimes when we looked into the depths of the green waters of the lake, with peak on peak piled on its brink, and heard the thunder roar in awful reverberations, we felt impelled to hide ourselves from the Creator of such terrific grandeur. But as the storm passed, and the sun shone out in renewed splendour, the little floweret by our side lifted its tear-stained face, and whispered: 'It is the same God that cares for me.' But our happiness was short-lived. I sat without moving a muscle; I seemed unable to realise that Arthur must go away-that the intercourse that seemed now a necessity must be terminated, and for ever. After a short time, hearing that Arthur was to start that night, my aunt and Ella left the room, to prepare a packet for Harry, telling him that he would find me in the balcony. In a moment he was at my side, in another I was clasped weeping to his breast. My May, my own, my darling!' was all he murmured as he pressed me to him, and showered kisses on my head. It seemed but a moment till we heard Aunt Helen return to the room, and he had only time to press one long kiss on my lips ere she appeared at the window, and to whisper: I shall write immediately to you and your aunt,' and he was gone. I remained lost in the happiness of being loved, and the pain of parting was forgotten. I felt that we should soon meet again; I could leave all to Arthur without any care. But Aunt Helen's voice warned me to come in. Should I tell her what had passed? Dearly as I loved her, my secret seemed too newly acquired, too precious to share with another. Besides, there seemed so little to tell, and he said he would write. Yes; I should leave it till his letter explained all, and that would be only a few days. When I entered the room, my heart welling over with happiness, Ella exclaimed: You have been so long star-gazing, May, that their brilliance has remained reflected in your eyes. I expected to see you drowned in tears for the loss of your companion.' The true interpretation of my happy looks never occurred to them; indeed, Aunt Helen was too much absorbed in letter-writing to attend to what passed; and after Ella had rattled on till she was tired, we separated for the night. Next morning brought us news that Harry had obtained some post that greatly increased his income. Aunt Helen said with a gay smile to me, he hoped soon to be able to take a wife. The blush that rose to my cheek was, of course, misconstrued; and my gaiety for the next few days was, I believe, attributed to the news of Harry's success. I watched the post daily for letters from Arthur, and was now full of anxiety lest some accident had befallen him. But a letter from Harry in which he mentioned that he had seen him set that fear at rest. What, then, could be the meaning of my receiving no letter? A doubt of Arthur never crossed my mind: it must be some mistake. At last Aunt Helen received a letter from Harry, part of which she read aloud, while I was standing fortunately behind her chair. 'I saw Greville last night,' she read, and he sails for India to-day. Poor fellow! I thought there was something on his mind; and a friend of his tells me he has entangled himself in some love-affair which has worried him a good deal. His going to India is a good chance to break it off. Fortunately, Aunt Helen seemed to expect no answer to her remarks, for I could give none. But it had been my ambition from childhood to obtain perfect self-control, and being naturally reserved and undemonstrative, it was the more easy for me to do so; and drawing my veil over my face, to conceal its pallor, and saying quietly that I should go out for a walk, I slipped from the room, and fled like a hunted hare to seek the most solitary spot I could find, nor stopped till I sank down, exhausted, miles from home. In an agony of shame and despair, I hid my face, and thought over Harry's letter. But it was only for a short time; then I stood upright, and raised my head proudly. I would not, I could not believe it! Arthur was not untrue; open as the day, noble and God-fearing, he was incapable of falsehood. There was a mistake. There might be want of truth somewhere, but not with him. I reproached myself bitterly for the injury I had done him, even in thought. For a moment the idea flashed across me: 'Could Harry have misled us? Could he have misled him?' Instances occurred to me when, to serve his own ends, he had tampered with the truth; and although I rejected the suspicion as unjust, I never got rid of a feeling of mistrust of him. At any rate I must wait patiently; an explanation would come some day, and nothing should again shake my faith in Arthur. And through the long years that followed, when no news of him ever reached me, I loved and trusted still. Then I felt truly glad that my secret was my own; I should at least be spared the pain of hearing him reproached. With a heart much lightened, I began to retrace my steps. My long walk was of great use to me in one way: my languor and altered looks for some weeks were attributed to over-fatigue. Although my faith in Arthur was not shaken, his silence and Harry's letter convinced me that something had occurred that must for a time at least separate us, and it required a great effort to appear cheerful. We spent about a year more abroad, when we prepared to return home on account of Ella's marriage; she being engaged to a gentleman whom we had met in Germany, and who travelled with us for some months. My greatest dread in going home was of meeting Harry, as I could not get rid of the idea, however unjustifiable it seemed, that he was to blame for my separation from Arthur. On our return, while we were all together for some weeks before Ella's marriage, he resumed his attentions to me, and as it seemed acknowledged by the rest of the family that his place was by my side, I found it difficult to avoid being alone with him. Aunt Helen resolved, now that the last of her daughters was about to leave her, to make her home for the present with Harry in London, as I was determined to return to my father's house at Wentworth, where Peggy had remained since we left it. On the day of Ella's marriage, Harry found an opportunity of declaring his attachment to me, and I had the painful task of persuading him that it was impossible that I could ever become his wife. I believe his love for me was sincere, and that he was very much distressed by my refusal, but I did what I could to convince him that my answer was final. What pained me much was that I saw Aunt Helen was wounded: although I had never consciously given her cause to think that such might be the case, I am sure that she had always hoped to see me married to Harry. ODDS AND ENDS FROM DR ROBERT CHAMBERS'S SCRAP-BOOK. The next day our party separated, and my thoughts were entirely occupied by my return home, and the many changes that had taken place since my father and I had left it. Several years passed without much to mark their progress. Wentworth still continued to be my home, although I spent a great part of my time with my cousins; and when at home, I had often my aunt or one of them with me, and the house was for a time merry with the voices of their little ones. Harry I had never seen since Ella's marriage, and I hoped that he had long forgotten his attachment to me, although he had never married. Aunt Helen spoke in great praise of him, and he seemed improving much. One day, about six years after we had separated, I received a letter from Aunt Helen, imploring me to come to a watering-place in the south of England, to which she and Harry had gone for a few weeks, and where he had been taken seriously ill. He had been delirious for a day or two, and had called continually on me, and the doctor said it might calm him were I there. In an hour I was on my way to her. That journey to see Harry awakened many recollections that had been long dormant; there would rise unbidden the thought, that Arthur's long silence was by some means the consequence of his meeting with Harry in London. Something that had escaped him unawares when we were alone, one day after our return from the continent, strengthened the idea. But now that he might be dying, I felt how unjust it was, with so little foundation, to accuse him of so base a crime. All these years had brought no tidings of Arthur. I knew not if he were dead or living, but I knew that I could never love another. Harry continued for many days after I reached him hovering on the brink of the grave, and when restless or wandering, my voice or hand was always effectual in soothing him. It was a great comfort to me to be able to support my aunt in that hour of trial, and to feel that I could do something to shew my love and gratitude to her for all the care and tenderness which she had lavished on me. Harry at length shewed symptoms of improvement, and although his recovery was very slow, he was in a few weeks sufficiently well to admit of his removal to his own house in London, and I was about to return home. During his convalescence I spent many enjoyable hours with Harry; there was great improvement apparent in him in every way; and if he had not conquered all his faults, he seemed in a fair way to do so. It was a cause of great thankfulness, both on his own account and Aunt Helen's, to see him become worthy of the devoted love she bore him. 393 have come out of the fire purified, and more deserving of your pity and forgiveness.' Meanwhile I sat like one in a trance. Here, then, was proof that Arthur had loved me. When Harry finished speaking, I held out my hand for the packet; but he withheld it for a minute, while he said: May, this is the hardest task of all, to have to give you this letter with it. I have deserved all the pain that can be laid on me, but believe me my heart is very sore for you.' But I heeded not his words; I only longed to have the letter that was to tell me of Arthur. ODDS AND ENDS FROM DR ROBERT CHAMBERS'S SCRAP-BOOK. SIR Walter Scott had derived a vast number of George I., as is well known, came over without his queen, Sophia Dorothea, who spent the latter years of her life in captivity. When the king's health was drunk, not long after, on some ceremonial occasion at Aberdeen, some one in his zeal proposed that they should drink the queen's health tee' (too). He was instantly repressed by the provost: Hout, awa, man; she's i' the Towbeeth!' Aytoun of Inchdairnie, a Fife laird, might have quoted Burns's line as a fact in his family history : My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword. They afterwards found their way to foreign countries, seeking with that sword to acquire an honourable livelihood. The old man, though a Jacobite, was a Presbyterian, and regularly attended the parish church. At the next celebration of the communion there, after the affair of the Fifteen, the minister, in his preliminary address, included amongst those whom he had to debar from the table, all such as had been concerned in the late wicked rebellion ;' whereupon the laird rose up, clapped his hat on his head, took his wife under his arm, and strode ont muttering: Wad I sit and hear my ain flesh and blude spoken o' that gate?' After There is another anecdote of this old cavalier. One of his neighbours, Sir James L, had been concerned in making Charles I. a prisoner. The day before Harry was to leave for London, the Restoration, this gentleman was not allowed to go beyond a certain distance of his own house. He when I was sitting alone with him, he took a went one day to visit Inchdairnie, who, seeing him small sealed packet from his pocket, along with a approach, ran to the stair, and called out to the letter, and held them in his hand while he said to servant that he was not at home. The visitor innre: May, I made up this packet and addressed sisted on getting in; for he said he certainly heard it to you, that you might receive it after my death, Inchdairnie's voice. On this Aytoun stepped out if you should survive me; but bitterly as I repented on the balcony over the door, and said aloud : of my conduct to you and Arthur, till this longTell that fellow I am never at home to the illness, and the reflections resulting from it have murderer of my lawful sovereign?' opened my eyes to the full wickedness of my conduct, I could not resolve to give it while I lived. Oh! May, you do not know how your kindness to me during this illness has heaped burning coals of fire on my head, but I trust I About the end of last century, died Robert Hamilton of Kilbrachmont in Fife, a faithful but testy Jacobite, and very much reduced in circumstances. It is related of him, that hearing some thieves rummaging his drawers in the middle of the night, he said quietly: 'Haud ye busy, lads; if ye find onything there in the dark, it's mair than I can do in daylight.' On another occasion, all other resources being exhausted, he had a company assembled to purchase the trees round his house, and, as usual at country auctions of this kind, it was hinted to him it would be well to exhibit a bottle or two of brandy to inspire competition. 'What's in your daft heads!' exclaimed the poor laird; if I had twa or three bottles o' brandy, d'ye think I wad sell my trees?' gen ing him. Being considered a dangerous individual, the authorities conducted him to the prison of St Lazarus. When he got out of St Lazarus, where he studied a great deal and fortified his reason, he went to Rome. He demanded a public audience of the pope, on condition that no one should interrupt him during his speech; and he thus addressed him: 'Holy Father, you are Antichrist; and mark how I shall prove it to your holiness. I call him Antichrist whose life and acts are contrary to what Christ did and commanded. Now, Christ was poor, and and you exact it. He submitted to the powers of you are very rich. He paid tribute, this world, and you have become one of these powers. He went about on foot, and you go to Castel-Gaudolpho in a sumptuous equipage. He pel us to eat fish on Friday and Saturday, though ate of anything that was given him, and you comwe live far from the sea and from rivers. He forbade Simon Barjona to protect himself with the Therefore, in this sense, your Holiness is Antisword, and you have many swords to protect you. christ. I reverence you very much in every other capacity, and I ask of you an indulgence in articulo the man of pure reason into the Castle of St mortis. As might have been expected, they put Angelo. Colquhoun Grant, a noted Edinburgh character at the middle of last century, prided himself much on the prowess he had exhibited when out in the campaign of 1745-6. He had a friend in arms, or at least in sentiment, Ross of Pitcalnie, who once played upon Grant's vanity in a very laughable way. Pitcalnie wished to borrow forty pounds. Some friends, to whom he mentioned his wants, knowing his bad repute as a debtor, asserted he would not be able to achieve the loan. He said he would manage to get it out of Colquhoun Grant, and begged they would wait till he visited that tleman, in order to be satisfied with his good credit. He then proceeded to Grant's house, found him at home, and mentioned what he wanted. As was to have been expected, Colquhoun pleaded an excusesaid he had sent all his money just the day before to the bank, but for which unfortunate circumstance he would have been happy to oblige his dear friend Pitcalnie. The cunning borrower professed himself satisfied with the excuse, and then, without saying any more about money, launched into miscellaneous conversation. Soon contriving to advert to the affair of Forty-five, he began a lengthened disquisition about the share which Colquhoun had had in that glorious enterprisein particular, his energy and valour at Prestonpans, where he did not scruple to affirm that victory was mainly attributable to his single arm, in so far as he was the means of capturing the When he regained his liberty he went to Con'Stay a wee, Pitcalnie,' said Grant, at stantinople, procured an audience of the Mufti, this stage of the conversation, 'till I see if there's and spoke to him thus: Your religion, though it anything in the drawers ben the house.' So may comprehend many good things, such as the saying, he went into the next room, and returned worship of the Supreme Being, and the necessity with the sum Pitcalnie wished to borrow. The of being just and charitable, is only a patchwork ingenious borrower pocketed the money, with of Judaism, and a tiresome collection of old wives' thanks, and soon after took his leave. Well, tales. If the Archangel Gabriel did bring from Mohammed, all Arabia would have seen him some other world the leaves of the Koran to descend. Nobody saw him; therefore, Mohammed that were weak enough to believe him. Scarcely was only a bold impostor, who deceived those had he uttered these words, when he was impaled. cannon. 6 how have you come on?' inquired his friends; who had waited his return. There's the money,' was the emphatic answer. Scarcely crediting their eyes, they asked how he contrived to prevail upon so secure a man as Grant to be so unexpectedly liberal. He explained his mode of attack; observing in conclusion: This forty pounds is only made out o' the battle o' Prestonpans; I've Falkirk in my pouch yet, and I wadna gie it for auchty. People are apt to get into mischief by offering impertinent, or at least undesired advice. A droll example has been quoted from the writings of Voltaire, as follows: A Frenchman had the audacity to write to Law, the famous controller-general, telling him that he was the greatest blockhead, the greatest simpleton, or the greatest knave in propagating the belief that a nation can be made rich by the mere issue of what is called paper-money. The Frenchman was correct in his opinion as to the folly of Law's schemes, but he did not act prudently in so address hastened to Venice, and demanded an audience When he got out of the Castle of St Angelo, he of the Doge. 'Your Serene Highness,' said he to him, must commit an extravagant folly in espousing the sea every year. For, in the first place, one does not marry himself twice to the same person. Secondly, your marriage resembles that of Harlequin, which was only half a marriage, since the consent of the other party was wanting. Thirdly, will not one day step in and dispossess you of your who can assure you that the other maritime powers bride?' Thus he spoke, and they shut him up in the tower of St Mark. Nevertheless, as Voltaire remarks, he always spoke pure reason. His only error was excessive indiscretion. The naked truth must not be always told. The following is related by George Outram of the late Henry Cockburn, who was noted for his readiness of repartee. A man who was accused of murder had the good fortune to be defended by Mr Cockburn, and, relying on his powers, never doubted that the trial would terminate in his acquittal. He had not overestimated the talents of his counsel. What man could do was done for him, but human ingenuity and eloquence were insufficient to overthrow the accumulated evidence brought against him. After retiring for a short time to deliberate, the jury returned a verdict of guilty, and the prisoner was sentenced to undergo the last penalty of the law, upon Wednesday the 29th November current.' The unhappy criminal remained silent till he heard his sentence read, but before his removal from the bar he burst forth into vehement protestations of his innocence, and loudly complained to his counsel that he had not got justice. No,' coolly replied his eloquent defender, 'you have not got justice yet, but you will get it on Wednesday the 29th.' An old domestic of Mr Stuart of Ballychulish being brought to his death-bed, his master, in order to mark his grateful sense of the man's faithful service, attended him, and gave him assurance that when he died, he should have honourable burial in the churchyard of Glenorchy, among his (Mr Stuart's) own children. 'Your bairns,' said the expiring Highlander, were never company for me, dead or alive. But I'll tell you what to do with me. When the breath is out of my body, take my claymore, and break my back. Then lay me over the back of a beast, and carry me to the grave of my forefathers. Lay me with my face to those scoundrels, the Camerons, and put my claymore by my side.' With this he expired. A friend of Montrose being taunted by a Campbell for the long time that the head of that great man had been kept fixed on the Tolbooth of Edinburgh (1650 to 1660): Montrose was too good a soldier to quit his post till he was relieved,' quietly remarked the Graham, alluding to the fact of the marquis's head having been replaced there by that of his enemy, the Marquis of Argyle. A certain Stirlingshire laird-a devout Jacobite and clever man-had acceded to the possession of his estate by marrying the heiress. When shewing his grounds to visitors, he used to take them to an eminence and point out the small and unimportant place which had formed his own patrimony, at some distance across the country. Yon,' he observed, ‘is my Hanover.' NEW NOTES ON THE LAST CENTURY. AMONG the many thousands of volumes of manuscripts which have found a final resting-place in the British Museum, is a little series which seems hitherto to have escaped the notice of the industrious investigators who daily frequent the Readingroom of that institution. This series contains memoranda, personal, political, and anecdotical, of Sir Richard Kaye, Dean of Lincoln, and a holder of a variety of other ecclesiastical preferments during the latter part of the last and the early part of the present century. There is a great deal of matter of little or no interest to the present generation in these records of the past, but occasionally we meet with a note on contemporary persons or events which is really valuable as illustrating the social history of the period. Richard Kaye was the son of Sir John Lister Kaye, of Denby Grange, in Yorkshire, who was Lord Mayor of York, and also member for that city; a gentleman, therefore, of considerable weight and importance in those days, and to whose influence, no doubt, a considerable amount of his son's material success was due. In one of his notebooks the future dean sets down what he describes as Memoranda and Memoirs for the satisfaction of my family and friends;' from which we gather that he had a fortune of L.180 a year when he went to Oxford, and entered himself at Brazenose college; he became Bachelor of Arts in 1757, and first Vinerian Scholar the year following. On July 3, 1759, he spoke the only English oration in the Sheldonian theatre at the installation of the Earl of Westmoreland as Chancellor. He was shortly afterwards ordained to a curacy at Thornton in Craven. It was not until 1763 that he made the grand tour of Europe, of which he has preserved a very short diary, for the most part a bare record of the crowned heads whom he met, and by whom he seems to have been sumptuously entertained. A few entries, however, deserve a passing note. On August 22, 1763, he dined with the newly elected king of Poland, the gifted but unfortunate Stanislaus. September 5-Passed the afternoon with Monsieur Voltaire at Ferney.' '1764, Whitsunday-Read the service at Venice, after which, Mr Garrick promised me his Prayer-book with his own marginal notes, as an offering, he said, for the most perfect instance of the union of devotion with classical propriety. August 6-Danced minuets with the eldest Archduchess, Mary Anne (of Austria), country dances with the Archduchess, and permitted by the Archduke Leopold to wear his picture in a ring, with invitation to Florence.' Kaye would appear to have become very intimate with Garrick during their stay in Italy; for elsewhere we find a copy of verses headed: David Garrick to the Reverend Mr Kaye, upon his Intaglio of Comic Masks at Rome, April 10, 1763,’ which begin: Three Comic Masks! and for a Parson ! Shortly after his return to England, he was appointed sub-almoner, a position which brought him into close relations with the court, and with most of the leading men of the day. Of the active duties of his office he makes but little mention; but two instances he gives of the exercise of them are curious enough to deserve quotation. Small money given to the princes-the Prince of Wales, the Bishop of Osnaburg, Prince William Henry, Princess Charlotte, Princess Royal of England, Prince Edward, Princess Augusta; to each by Mrs Coatesworth, sub-governess, who dined at the Almonry Office on Maundy-Thursday, March 28, 1773, a white leather purse with thirty-three silver pennies, the number being the current year of their father's age, and the same as is now distributed to the Maundy men and women in the Chapel Royal of Whitehall. Also a red leather purse containing four sets of small money-fourpenny, threepenny, twopenny, and penny pieces, in lieu of the twenty shillings given in the red purses to the Maundy men and women.' 'Small money of George III. given to Captain Cook, June 12, 1776, to distribute in his third voyage round the world, twenty fourpences, thirty threepences, forty twopences, and one hundred pennies.' Dr Kaye's observations on the royal family have considerable interest. We give his anecdotes as |