The close of the pleasant day was a little spoilt by the heat and glare, which sent the Queen ill to her cabin. The next day saw the party bound for Falmouth, where they arrived under a beautiful moon, with the sea smooth as glass—not an unacceptable change from the rolling swell of the first part of the little voyage.

Something unexpected and unwelcome had happened before the close of the excursion, while the French coast which the Queen had hailed with so much pleasure was still full in sight. Whether the news which arrived with the other dispatches had anything to do with the fit of indisposition that rendered the heat and glare unbearable, it certainly marred the enjoyment of the last part of her trip. Before quitting Jersey the Queen was made acquainted with the fact that Louis Philippe's voluntary protestations with regard to the marriage of his son, the Duc de Montpensier, had been so many idle words. He had stolen a march both upon England and Europe generally. The marriage of the Due de Montpensier with the Infanta Luisa of Spain was announced simultaneously with the marriage of her sister, the Queen of Spain, to her cousin the Due de Cadiz.

Everybody knows at this date how futile were Louis Philippe's schemes for the aggrandisement of his family, and how he learnt by bitter experience, as Louis XIV. had done before him, that a coveted Spanish alliance, in the very fact of its attainment, meant disaster and humiliation for France.

Louis Philippe had the grace, as we sometimes say, to shrink from writing to announce the double marriage against which he had so often solemnly pledged himself to the Queen. He delegated the difficult task to Queen Amelie, who discharged it with as much tact as might have been expected from so devoted a wife and kind a woman.

The Queen of England's reply to this begging of the question is full of spirit and dignity:—

"OSBORNE, September 10, 1846.

"MADAME,—I have just received your Majesty's letter of the 8th, and I hasten to thank you for it. You will, perhaps remember what passed at Eu between the King and myself. You are aware of the importance which I have always attached to the maintenance of our cordial understanding, and the zeal with which I have laboured towards this end. You have no doubt been informed that we refused to arrange the marriage between the Queen of Spain and our cousin Leopold (which the two Queens [Footnote: The reference is to the young Queen of Spain and her mother the Queen-dowager Christina.] had eagerly desired) solely with the object of not departing from a course which would be more agreeable to the King, although we could not regard the course as the best. [Footnote: The confining of the Queen of Spain's selection of a husband to a Bourbon prince, a descendant of Philip V.] You will therefore easily understand that the sudden announcement of this double marriage could not fail to cause us surprise and very keen regret.

"I crave your pardon, Madame, for speaking to you of politics at a time like this, but I am glad that I can say for myself that I have always been sincere with you. Begging you to present my respectful regards to the King, I am, Madame, your Majesty's most devoted friend,

"VICTORIA."

The last yachting excursion of the season was to Cornwall. The usual party accompanied the Queen and the Prince, the elder children, and the ladies and gentlemen in waiting, her Majesty managing, as before, to hear her little daughter repeat her lessons. Lizard Point and Land's End were reached. At Penzance Prince Albert landed to inspect the copper and serpentine-stone works, while the Queen sketched from the deck of the Fairy. As the Cornish boats clustered round the yacht, and the Prince of Wales looked down with surprise on the half- outlandish boatmen, a loyal shout arose, "Three cheers for the Duke of Cornwall."

The romantic: region of St. Michael's Mount, dear to the lovers of Arthurian legends, was visited, the Queen climbing the circuitous path up the hill to enter the castle, the Prince mounting to the tower where "St Michael's chair," the rocky seat for betrothed couples, still tests their courage and endurance. Each man and woman races up the difficult path, and the winner of the race who first sits down in the chair claims the right to rule the future home.

The illustration from a painting by Stanfield represents the imposing pile of the "old religious house" crowning the noble rock, the royal yacht lying off the shore commanding St. Michael's Mount, the numerous spectators on shore and in boats haunting the royal footsteps—in short, the whole scene in the freshness and stir which broke in upon its sombre romance.

On Sunday service was held under the awning with its curtains of flags, Lord Spencer—a captain in the navy—reading prayers "extremely well." On Monday there was an excursion to the serpentine rocks, where caves and creeks, cormorants and gulls, lent their attractions to the spot. At Penryn the corporation came on board, "very anxious to see the Duke of Cornwall." The Queen makes a picture in writing of the quaint interview. "I stepped out of the pavilion on deck with Bertie. Lord Palmerston told them that that was the Duke of Cornwall, and the old mayor of Penryn said he hoped 'he would grow up a blessing to his parents and his country.'"

The party were rowed up the beautiful rivers Truro and Tregony, between banks covered with stunted oaks or woods of a more varied kind down to the water's edge, past charming pools, creeks, and ferries, with long strings of boats on the water and carts on the shore, and a great gathering of people cheering the visitors, especially when the little Duke of Cornwall was held up for them to see. The Queen took delight in the rustic demonstration, so much in keeping with the place, and the simple loyalty of the people.

Her Majesty went to Fowey, and had the opportunity of driving through some of the narrowest, steepest streets in England, till she reached the hilly ground of Cornwall, "covered with fields, and intersected with hedges," and at last arrived at her little son's possession, the ivy-covered ruin of the old castle of Restormel, an appanage of the Duchy of Cornwall, in which the last Earl of Cornwall had resided five hundred years before.

The Queen also visited the Restormel iron-mines. She was one of the comparatively few ladies who have ventured into the nether darkness of a pit. She saw her underground subjects as well as those above ground, and to the former no less than to the latter she bore the kindly testimony that she found them "intelligent good people." We can vouch for this that these hewers and drawers of ore, in their dark-blue woollen suits, the arms bare, and caps with the candles or lamps stuck in the front, lighting up the pallid grimy faces, would be fully conscious of the honour done them, and would yield to no ruddy, fustian-clad ploughman or picturesque shepherd, with his maud and crook in loyalty to their Queen.

The Queen and the Prince got into a truck and were drawn by the miners, the mineral agent for Cornwall bringing up the rear, into the narrow workings, where none could pass between the truck and the rock, and "there was just room to hold up one's head, and not always that." As it is with other strangers in Pluto's domains, her Majesty felt there was something unearthly about this lit-up cavern-like place, where many a man spent the greater part of his life. But she was not deterred from getting out of the truck with me Prince, and scrambling along to see the veins of ore, from which Prince Albert was able to knock off some specimens. Daylight was dazzling to the couple when they returned to its cheerful presence.

The last visit paid in Cornwall was by very narrow stony lanes to "Place," a curious house restored from old plans and drawings to a fac-simile of a Cornwall house of the past as it had been defended by one of the ancestresses of the present family, the Treffrys, against an attack made upon her, by the French during her husband's absence. The hall was lined with Cornwall marble and porphyry.

On the 15th of September the new part of Osborne House was occupied for the first time by its owners. Lady Lyttelton chronicled the pleasant event and some ceremonies which accompanied it. "After dinner we were to drink the Queen and Prince's health as a 'house-warming.' And after it the Prince said very naturally and simply, but seriously, 'We have a hymn' (he called it a psalm) 'in Germany for such occasions. It begins'—and then he repeated two lines in German, which I could not quote right, meaning a prayer to 'bless our going out and coming in.' It was long and quaint, being Luther's. We all perceived that he was feeling it. And truly entering a new house, a new palace, is a solemn thing to do, to those whose probable span of life in it is long, and spite of rank, and health, and youth, down- hill now."

Sir Theodore Martin, who quotes Lady Lyttelton's letters in the "Life of the Prince Consort," gives such a hymn, which is a paraphrase of the 121st Psalm, as it appears in the Coburg Gesang-Buch, and supplies a translation of the verse in question.

Unsern ausgang segne Gott, Unsern erngang gleicher massen, Segne unser taglich brod, Segne unser thun und lassen. Segne uns mit sel'gem sterben, Und mach uns zu Himmel's Erben

* * * * *

By Tre, Con and Pen, You may know the Cornish men God bless our going out, nor less Our coming in, and make them sure, God bless our daily bread, and bless Whate'er we do, whate'er endure, In death unto his peace awake us, And heirs of his salvation make us

"I forgot," writes Lady Lyttelton again, "much the best part of our breaking in, which was that Lucy Kerr (one of the maids of honour) insisted on throwing an old shoe into the house after the Queen, as she entered for the first night, being a Scotch superstition. It looked too strange and amusing. She wanted some melted lead and sundry other charms, but they were not forthcoming. I told her I would call her Luckie, and not Lucy."

During the autumn the Princess of Prussia, who was on a visit to her aunt, Queen Adelaide, went to Windsor Castle, where Madame Bunsen met her. "I arrived here at six," writes Madame Bunsen "and at eight went to dinner in the great hall, hung round with Waterloo pictures, the band playing exquisitely, so placed as to be invisible, so that what with the large proportions of the hall and the well-subdued lights, and the splendours of plate and decorations, the scene was such as fairy tales present; and Lady Canning, Miss Stanley, and Miss Dawson were beautiful enough to represent an ideal queen's ideal attendants.

"The Queen looked well and rayonnante, with the expression of countenance that she has when pleased with what surrounds her, and which you know I like to see. The old Duke of Cambridge failed not to ask after you.

"This morning at nine we were all assembled at prayers in the private chapel, then went to breakfast, headed by Lady Canning, after which Miss Stanley took the Countess Haach and me to see the collection of gold plate. Three works of Benvenuto Cellini, and a trophy from the Armada, an immense flagon or wine-fountain, like a gigantic old- fashioned smelling-bottle, and a modern Indian work—a box given to the Queen by an Indian potentate—were what interested me the most. Then I looked at many interesting pictures in the long corridor.

"I am lodged in what is called the Devil's Tower, and have a view of the Round Tower, of which I made a sketch as soon as I was out of bed this morning."

In October the Queen and the Prince spent several days on a private visit to the Queen-dowager at her country house of Cashiobury. From Cashiobury the royal couple went on, in bad weather, to Hatfield House, which had once been a palace, but had long been the seat of the Cecils, Marquises of Salisbury. Here more than anywhere else Queen Victoria was on the track of her great predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, while the virgin queen was still the maiden princess, considerably oppressed by her stern sister Queen Mary. Queen Victoria inspected all the relics of the interesting old place, "the vineyard," the banqueting-room fallen down into a stable, and the oak still linked with the name of Queen Bess.

At Hatfield there was a laudable innovation on the usual round of festivities. From four to five hundred labourers were regaled on the lawn with a roasted ox and hogsheads of ale.

On the 1st of December, the Queen and Prince, who had been staying at Osborne, paid the Duke of Norfolk a visit at Arundel. Not only was the Duke the premier duke and Earl-Marshal of England, but he held at this time the high office in the Household of Master of the Horse. The old keep and tower at Arundel were brilliantly illuminated in honour of the Queen's presence, and bonfires lit up the surrounding country. The Duke of Wellington was here also, walking about with the Queen, while the younger men shot with Prince Albert. On the second day of her stay her Majesty received guests in the state drawing-room. The third day included the usual commemorative planting of trees in the Little Park. In the evening there was dancing, in which the Queen joined.

There were great changes, ominous of still further transitions, in the theatrical and literary world. Liston, the famous comedian who had delighted a former generation, was dead, and amateur actors, led by authors in the persons of Charles Dickens, Douglas Jerrold, &c. &c., had come to the front, and were winning much applause, as well as solid benefits for individuals and institutions connected with literature requiring public patronage. A man and a woman unlike in everything save their cordial admiration for each other, bore down all opposition in the reading world: William Makepeace Thackeray, in 1846, in spite of the discouragement of publishers, started his "Vanity Fair," and Charlotte Bronte, from the primitive seclusion of an old- fashioned Yorkshire parsonage, took England by storm with her impassioned, unconventional "Jane Eyre." The fame of these two books, while the authors were still in a great measure unknown, rang through the country.

Art in England was still following the lines laid down for the last twenty or thirty years, unless in the case of Turner, who had entered some time before on the third period of his work, the period marked by defiance and recklessness as well as by noble power.



CHAPTER VI.

INSTALLATION OF PRINCE ALBERT AS CHANCELLOR OF CAMBRIDGE.

One thousand eight hundred and forty-seven began with the climax of the terrible famine in Ireland, and the Highlands, produced by the potato disease, which, commencing in 1845, had reappeared even more disastrously in 1846. In the Queen's speech in opening Parliament, she alluded to the famine in the land with a perceptibly sad fall of her voice.

In spite of bad trade and bad times everywhere, two millions were advanced by the Government for the relief of the perishing people, fed on doles of Indian meal; yet the mortality in the suffering districts continued tremendous.

In February, 1847, Lord Campbell describes an amusing scene in the Queen's closet. "I had an audience, that her Majesty might prick a sheriff for the county of Lancaster, which she did in proper style, with the bodkin I put into her hand. I then took her pleasure about some Duchy livings and withdrew, forgetting to make her sign the parchment roll. I obtained a second audience, and explained the mistake. While she was signing, Prince Albert said to me, 'Pray, my lord, when did this ceremony of pricking begin?' CAMPBELL. 'In ancient times, sir, when sovereigns did not know now to write their names.' QUEEN, as she returned me the roll with her signature, 'But we now show we have been to school.'" In the course of the next month his lordship gives a lively account of dining along with his wife and daughter at Buckingham Palace. "On our arrival, a little before eight, we were shown into the picture gallery, where the company assembled. Bowles, who acted as master of the ceremonies, arranged what gentlemen should take what lady. He said, 'Dinner is ordered to be on the table at ten minutes past eight, but I bet you the Queen will not be here till twenty or twenty-five minutes after. She always thinks she can dress in ten minutes, but she takes about double the time.' True enough, it was nearly twenty-five minutes past eight before she appeared; she shook hands with the ladies, bowed to the gentlemen, and proceeded to the salle a manger. I had to take in Lady Emily de Burgh, and was third on her Majesty's right, Prince Edward of Saxe- Weimar and my partner being between us. The greatest delicacy we had was some very nice oat-cake. There was a Highland piper standing behind her Majesty's chair, but he did not play as at State dinners. We had likewise some Edinburgh ale. The Queen and the ladies withdrawing, Prince Albert came over to her side of the table, and we remained behind about a quarter of an hour, but we rose within the hour from the time of our sitting down to dinner.... On returning to the gallery we had tea and coffee. The Queen came up and talked to me. She does the honours of the palace with infinite grace and sweetness, and considering what she is both in public and domestic life, I do not think she is sufficiently loved and respected. Prince Albert took me to task for my impatience to get into the new House of Lords, but I think I pacified him, complimenting his taste. A dance followed. The Queen chiefly delighted in a romping sort of country-dance, called the Tempete. She withdrew a little before twelve."

The beginning of the season in London was marked by two events in the theatrical and operatic world. Fanny Kemble (Mrs. Pierce Butler) reappeared on the stage, and was warmly welcomed back. Jenny Lind sang for the first time in London at the Italian Opera House in the part of "Alice" in Roberto il Diavolo, and enchanted the audience with her unrivalled voice and fine acting.

In the month of May, in the middle of the Irish distress, the great agitator of old, Daniel O'Connell, died in his seventy-second year, on his way to Rome. The news of his death was received in Ireland as only one drop more in the full cup of national misery. In the same month of May another and a very different orator, Dr. Chalmers, the great impassioned Scotch divine, philosopher, and philanthropist, one of the leaders in the disruption from the Church of Scotland, died in Edinburgh, in his sixty-eighth year.

Prince Albert had been elected Chancellor of Cambridge University—a well-deserved compliment, which afforded much gratification both to the Queen and the Prince. They went down to Cambridge in July for the ceremony of the installation, which was celebrated with all scholarly state and splendour.

"The Hall of Trinity was the scene of the ceremony for which the visit was paid. Her Majesty occupied a chair of state on a dais. The Chancellor, the Prince in his official robes, supported by the Duke of Wellington, Chancellor of Oxford, the Bishop of Oxford, the Vice- Chancellor of Cambridge, and the Heads of the Houses entered, and the Chancellor read an address to her Majesty congratulatory on her arrival. Her Majesty made a gracious reply and the Prince retired with the usual profound obeisances, a proceeding which caused her Majesty some amusement," so says the Annual Register. This part of the day's proceedings seems to have made a lively impression on those who witnessed it.

Bishop Wilberforce gives his testimony. "The Cambridge scene was very interesting. There was such a burst of loyalty, and it told so on the Queen and Prince. E—- would not then have thought that he looked cold. It was quite clear that they both felt it as something new that he had earned, and not she given, a true English honour; and so he looked so pleased and she so triumphant. There was also some such pretty interludes when he presented the address, and she beamed upon him and once half smiled, and then covered the smile with a gentle dignity, and then she said in her clear musical voice, 'The choice which the University has made of its Chancellor has my most entire approbation.'" The Queen records in her Diary, "I cannot say how it agitated and embarrassed me to have to receive this address and hear it read by my beloved Albert, who walked in at the head of the University, and who looked dear and beautiful in his robes, which were carried by Colonel Phipps and Colonel Seymour. Albert went through it all admirably, almost absurd, however, as it was for us. He gave me the address and I read the answer, and a few kissed hands, and then Albert retired with the University."

After luncheon a Convocation was held in the Senate House, at which the Queen was present as a visitor. The Prince, as Chancellor, received her at the door, and led her to the seat prepared for her. "He sat covered in his Chancellor's chair. There was a perfect roar of applause," which we are told was only tamed down within the bounds of sanity by the dulness of the Latin oration, delivered by the public orator. Besides the princes already mentioned, and several noblemen and gentlemen, Sir George Grey, Sir Harry Smith (of Indian fame), Sir Roderick Murchison, and Professor Muller, received university honours.

Her Majesty and the new Chancellor dined with the Vice-Chancellor at Catherine Hall—probably selected for the honour because it was a small college, and could only accommodate a select party. After dinner her Majesty attended a concert in the Senate House—an entertainment got up in order to afford the Cambridge public another opportunity of seeing their Queen. Later the Prince went to the Observatory, and her Majesty walked in the cool of the evening in the little garden of Trinity Lodge, with her two ladies.

The following day the royal party again went to the Senate House, the Prince receiving the Queen, and conducting her as before to her seat. With the accompaniment of a tremendous crowd, great heat, and thunders of applause, the prize poems were read, and the medals distributed by the Prince. Then came the time for the "Installation Ode," written at the Prince's request by Wordsworth, the poet laureate, set to music, and sung in Trinity Hall in the presence of the Queen and Prince Albert with great effect. Poetry, of all created things, can least be made to order; yet the ode had many fine passages and telling lines, besides the recommendation claimed for it by Baroness Bunsen: "The Installation Ode I thought quite affecting, because the selection of striking points was founded on fact, and all exaggeration and humbug were avoided."

The poem touched first on what was so prominent a feature in the history of Europe in the poet's youth—the evil of unrighteous and the good of righteous war, identifying the last with the successes of England when Napoleon was overthrown.

Such is Albion's fame and glory, Let rescued Europe tell the story

Then the measure changes to a plaintive strain.

But lo! what sudden cloud has darkened all The land as with a funeral pall? The rose of England suffers blight, The flower has drooped, the isle's delight Flower and bud together fall, A nation's hopes he crushed in Claremont's desolate hall

Hope and cheer return to the song.

Time a chequered mantle wears, Earth awakes from wintry sleep, Again the tree a blossom bears Cease, Britannia, cease to weep, Hark to the peals on this bright May morn, They tell that your future Queen is born

A little later is the fine passage—

Time in his mantle's sunniest fold Uplifted on his arms the child, And while the fearless infant smiled Her happy destiny foretold Infancy, by wisdom mild, Trained to health and artless beauty, Youth by pleasure unbeguiled From the lore of lofty duty, Womanhood, in pure renown Seated on her lineal throne, Leaves of myrtle in her crown Fresh with lustre all their own, Love, the treasure worth possessing More than all the world beside, This shall be her choicest blessing, Oft to royal hearts denied.

After a brief period of rest, which meant a little quiet "reading, writing, working, and drawing"—a far better sedative for excited nerves than entire idleness—the Queen and the Prince attended a flower-show in the grounds of Downing College, walking round the gardens and entering into all the six tents, "a very formidable undertaking, for the heat was beyond endurance and the crowd fearful." In the evening there was a great dinner in Trinity Hall. "Splendid did that great hall look," is Baroness Bunsen's admiring exclamation; "three hundred and thirty people at various tables ... the Queen and her immediate suite at a table at the raised end of the hall, all the rest at tables lengthways. At the Queen's table the names were put on the places, and anxious was the moment before one could find one's place." Then the Queen gave a reception in Henry VIII.'s drawing-room, when the masters, professors and doctors, with their wives, were presented. When the reception was over, at ten o'clock, in the soft dim dusk, a little party again stole out, to see with greater leisure and privacy those noble trees and hoary buildings. Her Majesty tells us the pedestrians were in curious costumes: "Albert in his dress-coat with a mackintosh over it, I in my evening dress and diadem, and with a veil over my head, and the two princes in their uniforms, and the ladies in their dresses and shawls and veils. We walked through the small garden, and could not at first find our way, after which we discovered the right road, and walked along the beautiful avenues of lime-trees in the grounds of St. John's College, along the water and over the bridges. All was so pretty and picturesque, in particular the one covered bridge of St. John's College, which is like the Bridge of Sighs at Venice. We stopped to listen to the distant hum of the town; and nothing seemed wanting but some singing, which everywhere but here in this country we should have heard. A lattice opened, and we could fancy a lady appearing and listening to a serenade."

Shade of quaint old Fuller! thou who hast described with such gusto Queen Elizabeth's five days' stay at Cambridge, what wouldst thou not have given, hadst thou lived in the reign of Victoria, to have been in her train this night? Shades more formidable of good Queen Bess herself, Bluff King Hal, Margaret Countess of Richmond, and that other unhappy Margaret of Anjou, what would you have said of this simple ramble? In truth it was a scene from the world of romance, even without the music and the lady at the lattice. An ideal Queen and an ideal Prince, a thin disguise over the tokens of their magnificence, stealing out with their companions, like so many ghosts, to enjoy common sights and experiences and the little thrill of adventure in the undetected deed.

On the last morning there was a public breakfast in the grounds of Trinity College, attended by thousands of the county gentry of Cambridge and Lincolnshire. "At one the Queen set out through the cloisters and hall and library of Trinity College, to pass through the gardens and avenues, which had been connected for the occasion by a temporary bridge over the river, with those of St. John's." Madame Bunsen and her companions followed her Majesty, and had the best opportunity of seeing everything, and in particular "the joyous crowd that grouped among the noble trees." The Queen ate her dejeuner in one of the tents, and on her return to Trinity Lodge, she and Prince Albert left Cambridge at three o'clock for London. Baroness Bunsen winds up her graphic descriptions with the statement, "I could still tell much of Cambridge— of the charm of its 'trim gardens,' of how the Queen looked and was pleased, and how well she was dressed, and how perfect in grace and movement."



CHAPTER VII.

THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO THE WESTERN ISLANDS OP SCOTLAND AND STAY AT ARDVERIKIE.

On the 11th of August her Majesty and Prince Albert, with the Prince of Wales, the Princess Royal, and the Prince of Leiningen, attended by a numerous suite, left Osborne in the royal yacht for Scotland. They followed a new route and succeeded, in spite of the fogs in the Channel, in reaching the Scilly Isles. The voyage, to begin with, was not a pleasant one. There had been a rough swell on the sea as well as fogs off shore. The children, and especially the Queen, on this occasion suffered from sea-sickness. However, her Majesty landed on the tiny island of St. Mary's.

As the royal party approached Wales the sea became calmer and the sailing enjoyable. The yacht and its companions lay in the great harbour of Milford Haven, under the reddish-brown cliffs. Prince Albert and the Prince of Leiningen went to Pembroke, while the Queen sat on the deck and sketched.

On a beautiful Sunday the Queen sailed through the Menai Straits in the Fairy, when the sight of "Snowdon rising splendidly in the middle of the fields and woods was glorious." The "grand old Castle of Caernarvon" attracted attention; so did Plas Newydd, where her Majesty had spent six weeks, when she had visited Wales as Princess Victoria, in one of her girlish excursions with the Duchess of Kent. The Isle of Man, with the town of Douglas, surmounted by bold hills and cliffs, a castle and a lighthouse, looked abundantly picturesque, but the landing there was reserved for the return of the voyagers, though it was on this occasion that a tripping Manxman described Prince Albert, in a local newspaper, as leading the Prince Regent by the hand; a slip which drew from the Prince the gay rejoinder that "usually one has a regent for an infant, but in Man it seems to be precisely the reverse."

The Mull of Galloway was the first Scotch land that was sighted, and just before entering Loch Ryan the huge rock, Ailsa Craig, with its moving clouds of sea-fowl, rose to view.

Arran and Goatfell, Bute and the Bay of Rothesay, were alike hailed with delight. But the islands were left behind for the moment, till more was seen of the Clyde, and Greenock, of sugar-refining and boat- building fame, was reached. It was her Majesty's first visit to the west coast of Scotland, and Glasgow poured "down the water" her magistrates, her rich merchants, her stalwart craftsmen, her swarms from the Gorbels and the Saut Market, the Candle-rigs and the Guse- dibs. Multitudes lined the quays. No less than forty steamers over- filled with passengers struggled zealously in the wake of royalty. "Amidst boats and ships of every description moving in all directions," the little Fairy cut its way through, bound for Dumbarton.

On the Queen's return to Greenock she sailed past Roseneath, and followed the windings of Loch Long, getting a good view of the Cobbler, the rugged mountain which bears a fantastic resemblance to a man mending a shoe. At the top of the loch, Ben Lomond came in sight. "There was no sun, and twice a little mist; but still it was beautiful," wrote the Queen.

On "a bright fresh morning" in August, when the hills were just "slightly tipped with clouds," the Queen sailed through the Kyles of Bute, that loveliest channel between overtopping mountains, and entered Loch Fyne, another fine arm of the sea, of herring celebrity.

A Highland welcome awaited the Queen at the little landing-place of Inverary, made gay and fragrant with heather. Old friends, whom she was honouring by her presence, waited to receive her, the Duke and Duchess of Argyle—the latter the eldest daughter of the Duchess of Sutherland, who was also present with her son, Lord Stafford, her unmarred daughter, Lady Caroline Leveson-Gower, and her son-in-law and second daughter, Lord and Lady Blantyre. An innocent warder stood in front of the old feudal keep. In the course of the Queen's visit to Germany she had made the acquaintance, without dreaming of what lay concealed in the skirts of time, of one of her future sons-in-law in a fine little boy of eight years. Now her Majesty was to be introduced, without a suspicion of what would be the result of the introduction, to the coming husband of another daughter still unborn. Here is the Queen's description of the son and heir of the house of Argyle, who was yet to win a princess for his bride. "Outside, stood the Marquis of Lorne, just two years old—a dear, white, fat, fair little fellow, with reddish hair but very delicate features, like both his mother and father; he is such a merry, independent little child. He had a black velvet dress and jacket, with a 'sporran,' scarf, and Highland bonnet."

Her Majesty lunched at the castle, "the Highland gentlemen standing with halberts in the room," and returned to the Fairy, sailing down Loch Fyne when the afternoon was at its mellowest, and the long shadows were falling across the hillsides. At five Lochgilphead was reached, when Sir John Orde lent his carriage to convey the visitors to the Crinan Canal. The next day's sail, in beautiful weather still, was through the clusters of the nearest of the western islands, up the Sound of Jura, amidst a flotilla of small boats crowned with flags. Here were fresh islands and mountain peaks, until the strangers were within hail of Staffa.

It is not always that an approach to this northern marvel of nature is easy or even practicable; but fortune favours the brave. Her Majesty has described the landing. "At three we anchored close before Staffa, and immediately got into the barge, with Charles, the children, and the rest of our people, and rowed towards the cave. As we rounded the point the wonderful basaltic formation came into sight. The appearance it presents is most extraordinary, and when we turned the corner to go into the renowned Fingal's Cave the effect was splendid, like a great entrance into a vaulted hall; it looked almost awful as we entered, and the barge heaved up and down on the swell of the sea. It is very high, but not longer than two hundred and twenty-seven feet, and narrower than I expected, being only forty feet wide. The sea is immensely deep in the cave. The rocks under water were all colours— pink, blue, and green, which had a most beautiful and varied effect. It was the first time the British standard, with a queen of Great Britain and her husband and children, had ever entered Fingal's Cave, and the men gave three cheers, which sounded very impressive there."

On the following day the Atlantic rains had found the party, though for the present the affliction was temporary. It poured for three hours, during which her Majesty drew and painted in her cabin. The weather cleared in the afternoon; sitting on the deck was again possible, and Loch Linnhe, Loch Eil, and the entrance to Loch Leven were not lost.

At Fort William the Queen was to quit the yacht and repair to the summer quarters of Ardverikie. Before doing so she recorded her regret that "this delightful voyage and tour among the western lochs and isles is at an end; they are so beautiful and so full of poetry and romance, traditions and historical associations."

Rain again, more formidable than before, on Saturday, the 21st of August. It was amidst a hopeless drenching drizzle, which blots out the chief features of a landscape, that the Queen went ashore, to find "a great gathering of Highlanders in their different tartans" met to do her honour. Frasers, Forbeses, Mackenzies, Grants, replaced Campbells, Macdonalds, Macdougals, and Macleans. By a wild and lonely carriage-road, the latter part resembling Glen Tilt, her Majesty reached her destination.

Ardverikie, which claimed to have been a hunting-seat of Fergus, king of the Scots, was a shooting lodge belonging to Lord George Bentinck, rented from him by the Marquis of Abercorn, and lent by the marquis to the Queen. It has since been burnt down. It was rustic, as a shooting lodge should be, very much of a large cottage in point of architecture, the bare walls of the principal rooms characteristically decorated with rough sketches by Landseer, among them a drawing of "The Stag at Bay," and the whole house bristling with stags' horns of great size and perfection. In front of the house lay Loch Laggan, eight miles in length.

The Queen remained at Ardverikie for four weeks, and doubtless would have enjoyed the wilds thoroughly, had it not been for the lowest deep of persistently bad weather, when "it not only rained and blew, but snowed by way of variety."

Lord Campbell heard and wrote down these particulars of the royal stay at Ardverikie. "The Queen was greatly delighted with the Highlands in spite of the bad weather, and was accustomed to sally for a walk in the midst of a heavy rain, putting a great hood ever her bonnet, and showing nothing of her features but her eyes. The Prince's invariable return to luncheon about two o'clock, in spite of grouse-shooting and deer-stalking, is explained by his voluntary desire to please the Queen, and by the intense hunger which always assails him at this hour, when he likes, in German fashion, to make his dinner."

In a continuance of the most dismally unpropitious weather, the Queen and her children left Ardverikie on the 17th of September, the Prince having preceded her for a night that he might visit Inverness and the Caledonian Canal. The storm continued, almost without intermission, during the whole of the voyage home.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE FRENCH FUGITIVES—THE PEOPLE'S CHARTER.

Long before the autumn of 1847, the mischievous consequences of the railway mania, complicated by the failure of the potato crop, showed itself in great bankruptcies in the large towns all over the country.

The new year came with trouble on its wings. The impending storm burst all over Europe, first in France. Louis Philippe's dynasty was overthrown.

In pairs or singly, sometimes wandering aside in a little distraction, so as to be lost sight of for days, the numerous brothers and sisters, with the parent pair, reached Dreux and Eu, and thence, with the exception of the Duchesse d'Orleans and her sons, straggled to England.

One can guess the feelings of the Queen and Prince Albert when they heard that their late hosts, doubly allied to them by kindred ties, were fugitives, seeking refuge from the hospitality of a foreign nation. And the first confused tidings of the French revolution which reached the Queen and Prince Albert were rendered more trying, by the almost simultaneous announcement of the death of the old Dowager- Duchess of Gotha, to whom all her grandchildren were so much attached.

The ex-King and Queen arrived at Newhaven, Louis Philippe bearing the name of Mr. Smith. Queen Victoria had already written to King Leopold on the 1st of March: "About the King and Queen (Louis Philippe and Queen Amelie) we still know nothing.... We do everything we can for the poor family, who are, indeed, sorely to be pitied. But you will naturally understand that we cannot make common cause with them, and cannot take a hostile position to the new state of things in France. We leave them alone; but if a Government which has the approbation of the country be formed, we shall feel it necessary to recognise it in order to pin them down to maintain peace and the existing treaties, which is of the greatest importance. It will not be pleasant to do this, but the public good and the peace of Europe go before one's personal feelings."

As soon as it could be arranged under the circumstances, the Queen had an interview with the exiles. What a meeting after the last parting, and all that had come to pass in the interval! This interview took place on the 6th of March, when Louis Philippe came privately to Windsor.

The same intelligent chronicler, Lady Lyttelton, who gave such a graphic account of the Citizen-King's first visit to Windsor, had also to photograph the second. Once more she uses with reason the word "historical." "To-day is historical, Louis Philippe having come from Claremont to pay a private (very private) visit to the Queen. She is really enviable now, to have in her power and in her path of duty, such a boundless piece of charity and beneficent hospitality. The reception by the people of England of all the fugitives has been beautifully kind."

That day the Queen wrote sadly to Baron Stockmar: "I am quite well; indeed, particularly so, though God knows we have had since the 25th enough for a whole life—anxiety, sorrow, excitement; in short, I feel as if we had jumped over thirty years' experience at once. The whole face of Europe is changed, and I feel as if I lived in a dream." She added, with the tenderness of a generous nature, referring to the very different circumstances in which her regard for the Orleans house had been established, and to the alienation which had arisen between her and some of its members: "You know my love for the family; you know how I longed to get of terms with them again ... and you said, 'Time will alone, but will certainly, bring it about.' Little did I dream that this would be the way we should meet again and see each other, all in the most friendly way. That the Duchesse de Montpensier, about whom we have been quarrelling for the last year, and a half, should be here as a fugitive and dressed in the clothes I sent her, and should come to thank me for my kindness, is a reverse of fortune which no novelist would devise, and upon which one could moralise for ever."

It was a comfort to the Queen and Prince Albert that Belgium, which had at first appeared in the greatest danger, ended by standing almost alone on the side of its King and Government.

The tide of revolution, which swept over the greater states, did not spare the small. The Duke of Coburg-Gotha's subjects, who had seemed so happily situated and so contented at the time of the Queen's visit, were in a ferment like the rest of their countrymen. Bellona's hot breath was in danger of withering the flowers of that Arcadia. The Princes of Leiningen and Hohenlohe, the Queen's brother and brother- in-law, were practically dispossessed of seigneurial rights and lands, and ruined. The Princess of Hohenlohe wrote to her sister: "We are undone, and must begin a new existence of privations, which I don't care for, but for poor Ernest" (her husband) "I feel it more than I can say."

In the meantime, on the 18th of March a fourth English Princess was born. There was more than usual congratulation on the safety and well- being of mother and child, because of the great shocks which had tried the Queen previously, and the anxiety which filled all thoughtful minds for the result of the crisis in England. Her Majesty's courage rose to the occasion. She wrote to King Leopold in little more than a fortnight: "I heard all that passed, and my only thoughts and talk were political. But I never was calmer or quieter, or less nervous. Great events make one calm; it is only trifles that irritate my nerves."

England had its own troubles and was in high excitement about an increased grant of money for the support of the army and navy, and the continuance of the income-tax. The Chartists threatened to make a great demonstration on Kennington Common.

The first threat in London, for the 13th of March, a few days before the birth of the little Princess, ended in utter failure. The happy termination was assisted by the state of the weather, great falls of rain anticipating the work of large bodies of police prepared to scatter the crowd. But as another demonstration, with the avowed intention of walking in procession to present to the House of Commons a monster petition, miles long, for the granting of the People's Charter, was announced to take place on the 10th of April, great uncertainty, and agitation filled the public mind. It was judged advisable that the Queen should go to the Isle of Wight for a short stay at Osborne, though it was still not more than three weeks since her confinement.

The second demonstration collapsed like the first. Only a fraction— not more than twenty-three thousand of the vast multitude expected to appear—assembled at the meeting-place, and the people dispersed quietly. But it is only necessary to mention the precautions employed to show how great had been the alarm. The Duke of Wellington devised and conducted the steps which were taken beforehand. On the bridges were massed bodies of foot and horse police, and special constables, of whom nearly two hundred thousand—one of them Prince Louis Napoleon, the future Emperor of the French—are said to have been sworn in. In the immediate neighbourhood of each bridge strong forces of military, while kept out of sight, were ready "for instant movement." Two regiments of the line were at Millbank Penitentiary, twelve hundred infantry at Deptford Dockyard, and thirty pieces of heavy field ordnance at the Tower prepared for transport by hired steamers to any spot where help might be required. Bodies of troops were posted in unexpected quarters, as in the area of the untenanted Rose Inn yard, but within call. The public offices at Somerset House and in the City were liberally supplied with arms. Places like the Bank of England were "packed" with troops and artillery, and furnished with sand-bag parapets for their walls, and wooden barricades with loopholes for firing through, for their windows.

"Thank God," her Majesty wrote to the King of the Belgians, "the Chartist meeting and procession have turned out a complete failure. The loyalty of the people at large, has been very striking, and their indignation at their peace being interfered with by such wanton and worthless men immense."

Never was cheerfulness more wanted to lighten a burden of work and care. In this year of trouble "no less than twenty-eight thousand dispatches were received or sent out from the Foreign Office." All these dispatches came to the Queen and Prince Albert, as well as to Lord Palmerston, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.

Across the Channel the inflammatory speeches and writings of Messrs. Mitchel, Meagher, and Smith O'Brien became so treasonable in tone that, after the passing of a Bill in Parliament for the better repression of sedition, the three Irish leaders were arrested and brought to trial, the jury refusing to commit in the case of Meagher and Smith O'Brien, but in that of Mitchel, who was tried separately, finding him guilty, and sentencing him to transportation for fourteen years.

On the 2nd of May the Court returned to Buckingham Palace, and the baptism of the infant princess took place on the 13th, in the private chapel of Buckingham Palace, when the Archbishop of Canterbury officiated. The sponsors were Duke Augustus of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, represented by Prince Albert, and the Duchess of Saxe-Meiningen and the Grand-Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, represented by the Queen- dowager and the Duchess of Cambridge. The names given to the child were, "Louise Caroline Alberta," the first and last for the child's grandmother on the father's side and for the royal father himself. A chorale was performed, which the Prince had adapted from an earlier composition written to the hymn—

In life's gay morn, ere sprightly youth By vice and folly is enslaved, Oh! may thy Maker's glorious name Be on thy infant mind engraved; So shall no shades of sorrow cloud The sunshine of thy early days, But happiness, in endless round, Shall still encompass all thy ways.

Bishop Wilberforce describes the scene. "The royal christening was a very beautiful sight, in its highest sense of that word 'beauty.' The Queen, with the five royal children around her, the Prince of Wales and Princess Royal hand-in-hand, all kneeling down quietly and meekly at every prayer, and the little Princess Helena alone, just standing, and looking round with the blue eyes of gazing innocence."

When the statues of the royal children were executed by Mrs. Thornycroft, Princess Helena was modelled as Peace. The engraving is a representation of the graceful piece of sculpture, in which a slender young girl, wearing a long loose robe and having sandalled feet, holds the usual emblematic branch and cluster—one in each hand.

As one Princess was born, another of a former generation, whose birth had been hailed with equal rejoicing, passed away, on the 27th of May, immediately after the Birthday Drawing-room. Princess Sophia, the youngest surviving daughter and twelfth child of George III. and Queen Charlotte, died in her arm-chair in the drawing-room of her house at Kensington, aged seventy-one. At her own request she was buried at Kensal Green, where the Duke of Sussex was interred.



CHAPTER IX.

THE QUEEN'S FIRST STAY AT BALMORAL.

From France, in June, came the grievous news of the three days' fighting in the streets of Paris, because no Government provision could secure work and bread for the artisans. The insurrection was only put down by martial law under the Dictator, General Cavaignac.

In Sardinia the King, Charles Albert, fighting gallantly against the Austrian rule, was defeated once and again, and driven back.

In England, though the most swaggering of the Chartists still blustered a little, attention could be given to more peaceful concerns. In July Prince Albert went to York, though he could "ill be spared" from the Queen's side in those days of startling events and foreign turmoil, to be present at a meeting of the Royal Agricultural Society, of which he had been governor for half-a-dozen years. The acclamations with which the Prince was received, were only the echo of the tempest of cheers which greeted and encouraged her Majesty every time she appeared in public this year.

In August strong measures had again to be taken in Ireland. These included the gathering together of a great military force in the disturbed districts, and the assemblage of a fleet of war-steamers on the coast. As in the previous instance, little or no resistance was offered. In the course of a few days the former leaders, Meagher, Smith O'Brien, and Mitchel, were arrested. They were brought to trial in Dublin, convicted of high treason, and sentenced to death—a sentence commuted into transportation for life.

The Queen had the pleasure of finding her brother, the Prince of Leiningen, appointed head of the department of foreign affairs in the short-lived Frankfort assembly of the German states. It showed at least the respect in which he was held by his countrymen.

On the 5th of September the Queen went in person to prorogue Parliament, which had sat for ten months. The ceremony took place in the new House of Lords. There was an unusually large and brilliant company present on this occasion, partly to admire the "lavish paint and gilding," the stained-glass windows, with likenesses of kings and queens, and Dyce's and Maclise's frescoes, partly to enjoy the emphatically-delivered sentence in the royal speech, in which the Queen acknowledged, "with grateful feelings, the many marks of loyalty and attachment which she had received from all classes of her people."

The Queen and the Prince, with three of their children and the suite, sailed from Woolwich for a new destination in Scotland—a country- house or little castle, which they had so far made their own, since the Prince, acting on the advice of Sir James Clark, the Queen's physician, had acquired the lease from the Earl of Aberdeen.

The royal party were in Aberdeen Harbour at eight o'clock in the morning of the 7th September. On the 8th Balmoral was reached. The first impression was altogether agreeable. Her Majesty has described the place, as it appeared to her, in her Journal. "We arrived at Balmoral at a quarter to three. It is a pretty little castle in the old Scottish style. There is a picturesque tower and garden in the front, with a high wooded hill; at the back there is a wood down to the Dee, and the hills rise all around."

During the first stay of the Court at Balmoral, the Queen has chronicled the ascent of a mountain. On Saturday, the 16th of September, as early as half-past nine in the morning, her Majesty and Prince Albert drove in a postchaise four miles to the bridge in the wood of Ballochbuie, where ponies and guides awaited them. Macdonald, a keeper of Farquharson of Invercauld's and afterwards in the service of the Prince, a tall, handsome man, whom the Queen describes as "looking like a picture in his shooting-jacket and kilt," and Grant, the head-keeper at Balmoral, on a pony, with provisions in two baskets, were the chief attendants.

Through the wood and over moss, heather, and stones, sometimes riding, sometimes walking; Prince Albert irresistibly attracted to stalk a deer, in vain; across the stony little burn, where the faithful Highlanders piloted her Majesty, walking and riding again, when Macdonald led the bridle of the beast which bore so precious a burden; the views "very beautiful," but alas! mist on the brow of Loch-na-gar. Prince Albert making a detour after ptarmigan, leaving the Queen in the safe keeping of her devoted guides, to whom she refers so kindly as "taking the greatest care of her." Even "poor Batterbury," the English groom, who seems to have cut rather a ridiculous figure in his thin boots and gaiters and non-enjoyment of the expedition, "was very anxious also" for the well-being of his royal lady, whose tastes must have struck him as eccentric, to say the least.

The mist intensified the cold when the citadel mountain was reached, so that it must have been a relief to try a spell of walking once more, especially as the first part of the way was "soft and easy," while the party looked down on the two lochans, known as Na Nian. Who that has any knowledge of the mountains cannot recall the effect of these solitary tarns, like well-eyes in the wilderness, gleaming in the sunshine, dark in the gloom? The Prince, good mountaineer as he was, grew glad to remount his pony and let the docile, sure-footed creature pick its steps through the gathering fog, which was making the ascent an adventure not free from danger.

Everything not within a hundred yards was hidden. The last and steepest part of the mountain (three thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven feet from the sea-level) was accomplished on foot, and at two o'clock, after four hours' riding and walking, a seat in a little nook where luncheon could be taken was found; for, unfortunately, there was no more to be done save to seek rest and refreshment. There was literally nothing to be seen, in place of the glorious panorama which a mountain-top in favourable circumstances presents.

This was that "dark Loch-na-gar" whose "steep frowning glories" Lord Byron rendered famous, for which he dismissed with scorn, "gay landscapes and gardens of roses."

No doubt the snowflakes, in corries on the mountain-side, do look deliciously cool on a hot summer day. But such a drizzling rain as this was the other side of the picture, which her Majesty, with a shiver, called "cold, wet, and cheerless." In addition to the rain the wind began to blow a hurricane, which, after all, in the case of a fog was about the kindest thing the wind could do, whether or not the spirits of heroes were in the gale.

At twenty minutes after two the party set out on their descent of the mountain. The two keepers, moving on as pioneers in the gloom, "looked like ghosts." When walking became too exhausting, the Queen, "well wrapped in plaids," was again mounted on her pony, which she declared "went delightfully," though the mist caused the rider "to feel cheerless."

In the course of the next couple of hours, after a thousand feet of the descent had been achieved, by one of those abrupt transitions which belong to such a landscape, the mist below vanished as if by magic, and it was again, summer sunshine around.

But the world could not be altogether shut out at Balmoral, and the echoes which came from afar, this year, were of a sufficiently disturbing character. Among the most notable, Sir Theodore Martin mentions the Frankfort riots, in which two members of the German States Union were assassinated, and the startling death of the Conservative leader, Lord George Bentinck, who had suddenly exchanged the role of the turf for that of Parliament, and come to the front during the struggle over the abolition of the Corn Laws.

A third strangely significant omen was the election of Prince Louis Napoleon, by five different French Departments, as a deputy to the new French Chamber.

The Court left Balmoral on the 28th of September, stayed one night in London, and then proceeded for ten days to Osborne. On the return of the Queen and the Prince to Windsor, on the 9th of October, a sad accident occurred in their sight. As the yacht was crossing on a misty and stormy day to Portsmouth, she passed near the frigate Grampus, which had just come back from her station in the Pacific. In their eagerness to meet their relations among the crew on board, five unfortunate women had gone out in an open boat rowed by two watermen, though the foul-weather flag was flying. "A sudden squall swamped the boat" without attracting the attention of anyone on board the Grampus or the yacht. But one of the watermen, who was able to cling to the overturned boat, was seen by the men in a Custom-house boat, who immediately aroused the indignation of Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence and his brother-officers by steering, apparently without any reason, right across the bows of the Fairy. Prince Albert, who was on deck, was the first to discover the cause of the inexplicable conduct of the men in the Custom-house boat. "He called out that he saw a man in the water;" the Queen hurried out of her pavilion, and distinguished a man on what turned out to be the keel of a boat. "Oh dear! there are more!" cried Prince Albert in horror, "which quite overcame me," the Queen wrote afterwards. "The royal yacht was stopped and one of its boats lowered, which picked up three of the women—one of them alive and clinging to a plank, the others dead." The storm was violent, and the responsibility of keeping the yacht exposed to its fury lay with Lord Adolphus. Since nothing further could be attempted for the victims of their own rashness, he did not think it right that the yacht should stay for the return of the boat, as he held the delay unsafe, although both the Queen and the Prince, with finer instincts, were anxious this should be done. "We could not stop," wrote her Majesty again, full of pity. "It was a dreadful moment, too horrid to describe. It is a consolation to think we were of some use, and also that, even if the yacht had remained, they could not have done more. Still, we all keep feeling we might, though I think we could not.... It is a terrible thing, and haunts me continually."

The Magyar War under Kossuth was raging in Hungary. In the far-away Punjab the Sikh War, in which Lieutenant Edwardes had borne so gallant a part in the beginning of the year, was still prolonged, with Mooltan always the bone of contention.

In October all aristocratic England was excited by the sale of the Art treasures of Stowe, which lasted for forty days. Mrs. Gaskell made a fine contribution to literature in her novel of "Mary Barton," in which genius threw its strong light on Manchester life.

The Queen had a private theatre fitted up this year in the Rubens Room, Windsor Castle. The first of the dramatis personae in the best London theatres went down and acted before the Court, giving revivals of Shakespeare—which it was hoped would improve the taste for the higher drama—varied by lighter pieces.

On the 24th of November the Queen heard of the death of her former Minister and counsellor William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne. "Truly and sincerely," her Majesty wrote in her Journal, "do I deplore the loss of one who was a most disinterested friend of mine, and most sincerely attached to me. He was, indeed, for the first two years and a half of my reign, almost the only friend I had, except Stockmar and Lehzen, and I used to see him constantly, daily. I thought much and talked much of him all day."



CHAPTER X.

PUBLIC AND DOMESTIC INTERESTS—FRESH ATTACK UPON THE QUEEN.

The Queen and the Prince were now pledged—alike by principle and habit—to hard work. They were both early risers, but before her Majesty joined Prince Albert in their sitting-room, where their writing-tables stood side by side, we are told he had already, even in winter, by the light of the green German lamp which he had introduced into England, prepared many papers to be considered by her Majesty, and done everything in his power to lighten her labours as a sovereign.

Lord Campbell describes an audience which he had from the Queen in February. "I was obliged to make an excursion to Windsor on Saturday, and have an audience before Prince Albert's lunch. I was with the Queen in her closet, solus cum sola. But I should first tell you my difficulty about getting from the station at Slough to the Castle. When we go down for a council we have a special train and carriages provided for us. I consulted Morpeth, who answered, 'I can only tell you how I went last—on the top of an omnibus; but the Queen was a little shocked.' I asked how she found it out. He said he had told her himself to amuse her, but that I should be quite en regle by driving up in a fly or cab. So I drove up in my one horse conveyance, and the lord-in-waiting announced my arrival to her Majesty. I was shown into the royal closet, a very small room with one window, and soon she entered by another door all alone. My business was the appointment of a sheriff for the County Palatine, which was soon despatched. We then talked of the state of the finances of the Duchy, and I ventured to offer her my felicitations on the return of this auspicious day—her wedding-day. I lunched with the maids of honour, and got back in time to take a part in very important deliberations in the Cabinet."

In February, 1849, the Queen opened Parliament in person. Perhaps the greatest source of anxiety was now the Sikh War, in which the warlike tribes were gaining advantages over the English troops, though Mooltan had been reduced the previous month. A drawn battle was fought between Lord Gough's force and that of Chuttar Singh at Chillianwallah. While the English were not defeated, their losses in men, guns and standards were sore and humiliating to the national pride. Sir Charles Napier was ordered out, and, in spite of bad health, obeyed the order. But in the meantime Lord Gough had retrieved his losses by winning at Goojerat a great victory over the Sikhs and Afghans, which in the end compelled the surrender of the enemy, with the restoration of the captured guns and standards. On the 29th of March the kingdom of the Punjaub was proclaimed as existing no longer, and the State was annexed to British India; while the beneficial influence of Edwardes and the Lawrences rendered the wild Sikhs more loyal subjects, in a future time of need, than the trained and petted Sepoy mercenaries proved themselves.

On the afternoon of the 19th of May, after the Queen had held one of her most splendid Drawing-rooms, when she was driving in a carriage with three of her children up Constitution Hill, she was again fired at by a man standing within the railings of the Green Park. Prince Albert was on horseback, so far in advance that he did not know what had occurred, till told of it by the Queen when he assisted her to alight. But her Majesty did not lose her perfect self-possession. She stood up, motioned to the coachman, who had stopped the carriage for an instant, to go on, and then diverted the children's attention by talking to them. The man who had fired was immediately arrested. Indeed, he would have been violently assaulted by the mob, had he not been protected by the police. He proved to be an Irishman, named Hamilton, from Limerick, who had come over from Ireland five years before, and worked as a bricklayer's labourer and a navvy both in England and France. Latterly he had been earning a scanty livelihood by doing chance jobs. There was this to distinguish him from the other dastardly assailants of the Queen: he was not a half-crazed, morbidly conceited boy, though he also had no conceivable motive for what he did. He appears to have taken his measures, in providing himself with pistol and powder, from a mere impulse of stolid brutality. His pistol contained no ball, so that he was tried under the Felon's Act, which had been provided for such offences, and sentenced to seven years' transportation.

The education of their children was a subject of much thought and care to the Queen and Prince Albert. Her Majesty wrote various memoranda on the question which was of such interest to her. Some of these are preserved in the life of the Prince Consort. She started with the wise maxim, "that the children should be brought up as simply and in as domestic a way as possible; that (not interfering with their lessons) they should be as much as possible with their parents, and learn to place their greatest confidence in them in all things." She dwelt upon a religious training, and held strongly the conviction that "it is best given to a child, day by day, at its mother's knee." It was a matter of tender regret to the Queen when "the pressure of public duty" prevented her from holding this part of her children's education entirely in her own keeping. "It is already a hard case for me," was the pathetic reflection of the young mother in reference to the childhood of the Princess Royal, "that my occupations prevent me being with her when she says her prayers." At the same time the Queen and the Prince had strong opinions on the religious training which ought to be given to their children, and strove to have them carried out. The Queen wrote, still of the Princess Royal, "I am quite clear that she should be taught to have great reverence for God and for religion, but that she should have the feelings of devotion and love which our Heavenly Father encourages His earthly children to have for Him, and not one of fear and trembling; and that the thoughts of death and an after life should not be represented in an alarming and forbidding view, and that she should be made to know as yet no difference of creeds, and not think that she can only pray on her knees, or that those who do not kneel are less fervent and devout in their prayers."

Surely these truly reverent, just, and liberal sentiments on the religion to be imparted to young children must recommend themselves to all earnest, thoughtful parents.

In the accompanying engraving the girl-Princesses, Helena and Louise, who are represented wearing lilies in the breasts of their frocks, look like sister-lilies—as fresh, pure, and sweet.

In 1849 Mr. Birch, who had been head boy at Eton, taken high honours at Cambridge, and acted as one of the under masters at Eton, was appointed tutor to the Prince of Wales when the Prince was eight years of age.



CHAPTER XI.

THE QUEEN'S FIRST VISIT TO IRELAND.

Parliament was prorogued by commission, and the Queen and the Prince, with their four children, sailed on the 1st of August for Ireland. Lady Lyttelton watching the departing squadron from the windows of Osborne, wrote with something like dramatic emphasis, "It is done, England's fate is afloat; we are left lamenting. They hope to reach Cork to-morrow evening, the wind having gone down and the sky cleared, the usual weather compliment to the Queen's departure."

The voyage was quick but not very pleasant, from the great swell in the sea. At nine o'clock, on the morning of the 2nd, Land's End was passed, and at eight o'clock in the evening the Cove of Cork was so near that the bonfires on the hill and the showers of rockets from the ships in the harbour to welcome the travellers, were distinctly visible. Unfortunately the next day was gray and "muggy"—a quality which the Queen had been told was characteristic of the Irish climate. The saluting from the various ships sent a roar through the thick air. The large harbour with its different islands—one of them containing a convict prison, another a military depot—looked less cheerful than it might have done. The captains of the war-steamers came on board to pay their respects; so did the Lord-Lieutenant, Lord Bandon, and the commanders of the forces at Cork. Prince Albert landed, but the Queen wrote and sketched till after luncheon. The delay was lucky, for the sun broke out with splendour in the afternoon. The Fairy, with its royal freight, surrounded by rowing and sailing boats, went round the harbour, all the ships saluting, and then entered Cove, and lay alongside the gaily-decorated crowded pier. The members, for Cork, the clergymen of all denominations, and the yacht club presented addresses, "after which," wrote the Queen, "to give the people the satisfaction of calling the place 'Queenstown,' in honour of its being the first spot on which I set foot upon Irish ground, I stepped on shore amid the roar of cannon (for the artillery was placed so close as quite to shake the temporary room which we entered), and the enthusiastic shouts of the people.".

The Fairy lay alongside the pier of Cork proper, and the Queen received more deputations and addresses, and conferred the honour of knighthood on the Lord Mayor. The two judges, who were holding their courts, came on board in their robes.

Then her Majesty landed and entered Lord Bandon's carriage, accompanied by Prince Albert and her ladies, Lord Bandon and General Turner riding one on each side. The Mayor went in front, and many people in carriages and on horseback joined the royal cortege, which took two hours in passing through the densely-crowded streets and under the triumphal arches. Everything went well and the reception was jubilant. To her Majesty Cork looked more like a foreign than an English town. She was struck by the noisy but good-natured crowd, the men very "poorly, often-raggedly, dressed," many wearing blue coats and knee-breeches with blue stockings. The beauty of the women impressed her, "such beautiful dark eyes and hair, and such fine teeth; almost every third woman was pretty, and some remarkably so. They wear no bonnets, and generally long blue cloaks."

Re-embarking at Cork, the visitors sailed to Waterford, arriving in the course of the afternoon.

The travellers sailed again at half-past eight in the morning, having at first a rough passage, with its usual unacceptable accompaniment of sea-sickness, but near Wexford the sea became gradually smooth, and there was a fine evening. At half-past six Dublin Bay came in sight. The war-steamers, four in number, waiting for her Majesty, were at their post. Escorted by this squadron, the yacht "steamed slowly and majestically" into Kingstown Harbour, which was full of ships, while the quays were lined with thousands of spectators cheering lustily. The sun was setting as this stately "procession of boats" entered the harbour, and her Majesty describes in her Journal "the glowing light" which lit up the surrounding country and the fine buildings, increasing the beauty of the scene.

Next morning, while the royal party were at breakfast, the yacht was brought up to the wharf lined with troops. The Lord-Lieutenant, Lord Clarendon, and Lady Clarendon, Prince George of Cambridge, Lords Lansdowne and Clanricarde, the Archbishop of Dublin, &c. &c., came on board, an address was presented from the county by the Earl of Charlemont, to which a written reply was given. At ten Lord Clarendon, bowing low, stepped before the Queen on the gangway, Prince Albert led her Majesty on shore, the youthful princes and princesses and the rest of the company following, the ships saluting so that the very ground shook with the heavy 68-pounders, the bands playing, the guard of honour presenting arms, the multitude huzzaing, the royal standard floating out on the breeze.

Along a covered way, lined with ladies and gentlemen, and strewn with flowers, the Queen proceeded to the railway station, and after a quarter of an hour's journey reached Dublin, where she was met by her own carriages, with the postillions in the Ascot liveries.

The Queen and Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal, occupied one carriage, Prince Alfred and Princess Alice, with the ladies-in-waiting, another. The Commander-in-chief of the soldiers in Ireland, Sir Edward Blakeney, rode on one side of the Queen's carriage, Prince George of Cambridge on the other, followed by a brilliant staff and escort of soldiers. "At the entrance of the city a triumphal arch of great size and beauty had been erected, under which the civic authorities—Lord Mayor, town-clerk, swordbearer, &c. &c.— waited on their sovereign." The Lord Mayor presented the keys and her Majesty returned them. "It was a wonderful and stirring scene," she described her progress in her Journal; "such masses of human beings, so enthusiastic, so excited, yet such perfect order maintained. Then the number of troops, the different bands stationed at certain distances, the waving of hats and handkerchiefs, the bursts of welcome that rent the air, all made it a never-to-be-forgotten scene when one reflected how lately the country had been under martial law."

The Queen admired Dublin heartily, and gave to Sackville Street and Merrion Square their due meed of praise. At the last triumphal arch a pretty little allegory, like a bit of an ancient masque, was enacted. Amidst the heat and dust a dove, "alive and very tame, with an olive- branch round its neck," was let down into the Queen's lap.

The viceregal lodge was reached at noon, and the Queen was received by Lord and Lady Clarendon and their household.

On the 7th of August, a showery day, the Queen drove into Dublin with her ladies, followed by the gentlemen, but with no other escort. Her Majesty was loudly cheered as she proceeded to the bank, the old Parliament House before the Union, where Curran and Grattan and many a "Monk of the Screw" had debated, "Bloody Toler" had aroused the rage of the populace, and Castlereagh had looked down icy cold on the burning commotion. The famous Dublin schools were next visited. Their excellent system of education and liberal tolerant code delighted the Prince. At Trinity College, with its memories of Dean Swift and "Charley O'Malley," the Queen and the Prince wrote their names in St. Columba's book, and inspected the harp said to have belonged to "King O'Brian." After their return to the lodge, when luncheon had been taken, and Prince Albert went into Dublin again, the Queen refreshed herself with a bit of home life. She wrote and read, and heard her children say some of their lessons.

At five the Queen drove to Kilmainham Hospital, Lord Clarendon accompanying her and her ladies, while the Prince and the other gentlemen rode. The Irish Commander-in-chief and Prince George received her Majesty, who saw and no doubt cheered the hearts of the old pensioners, going into their chapel, hall, and governor's room. Afterwards she drove again into Dublin, through the older quarters, College Green—where Mrs. Delany lived when she was yet Mrs. Pendarvis and the belle of the town, and where there still stands the well- known, often maltreated statue of William III., Stephen's Green, &c. &c. The crowds were still tremendous.

On the 8th of August, before one o'clock, the Queen and her ladies in evening dress, and Prince Albert and the gentlemen in uniform, drove straight to the castle, where there was to be a levee the same as at St. James's. Her Majesty, seated on the throne, received numerous addresses—those of the Lord Mayor and corporation, the universities, the Archbishop and bishops (Protestant and Catholic), the different Presbyterians, and the Quakers. No fewer than two thousand presentations took place, the levee lasting till six o'clock—some five hours.

On the following day there was a review of upwards of six thousand soldiers and police in the Phoenix Park.

The Queen and the Prince dined alone, but in the course of the evening they drove again into Dublin, to the castle, that she might hold a Drawing-room. Two or three thousand people were there; one thousand six hundred ladies were presented. Then her Majesty walked through St. Patrick's Hall and the other crowded rooms, returning through the densely-filled, illuminated streets, and the Phoenix Park after midnight.

On the 10th of August, the Queen had a little respite from public duties in a private pleasure. She and Prince Albert, in company with Lord and Lady Clarendon and the different members of the suite, went on a short visit to Carton, the seat of "Ireland's only Duke," the Duke of Leinster. The party passed through Woodlands, with its "beautiful lime-trees," and encountered a number of Maynooth students near their preparatory college. At Carton the Queen was received by the Duke and Duchess and their eldest son, the Marquis of Kildare, with his young wife, Lady Caroline Leveson-Gower, one of the daughters of the Duchess of Sutherland. All the company walked, to the music of two bands, in the pretty quaint garden with its rows of Irish yews. Was it the same in 1798, when a son of the Leinster house, after thinking to be a king, was hunted down in a poor Dublin lodging, fought like a lion for his life, was taken a wounded prisoner to the castle, and then to Newgate to die?

The Duke led the Queen round the garden, while Prince Albert conducted the Duchess. Her Majesty wrote warmly of her host that "he was one of the kindest and best of men." After luncheon the country people danced jigs in the park, the men in their thick coats, the women in their shawls; one man, "a regular Irishman, with his hat on, one ear," the music furnished by three old and tattered pipers. Her Majesty pronounced the steps of the dancers "very droll."

The Duke and Duchess took their guests a drive, the people riding, running, and driving with the company, but continuing perfectly well- behaved, and ready to obey any word of the Duke's. It must have been a curious scene, in which all ranks took part. The Queen could not get over the spectacle of the countrymen running the whole way, in their thick woollen coats, in the heat.

On the Queen's departure from Kingstown she was followed by the same enthusiasm that had greeted her on her arrival. "As the yacht approached the extremity of the pier near the lighthouse, where the people were most thickly congregated and were cheering enthusiastically, the Queen suddenly left the two ladies-in-waiting with whom she was conversing, ran with agility along the deck, and climbed the paddle-box to join Prince Albert, who did not notice her till she was nearly at his side. Reaching him and taking his arm, she waved her right hand to the people on the piers." As she stood with the Prince while the yacht steamed out of the harbour, she waved her handkerchief in "a parting acknowledgment" of her Irish subjects' loyalty. As another compliment to the enthusiastic farewells of the people, the Queen gave orders "to slacken speed." The paddlewheels became still, the yacht floated slowly along close to the pier, and three times the royal standard was lowered by way of "a stately obeisance" made in response to the last ringing cheers of the Irish. Lord Clarendon wrote afterwards, that "there was not an individual in Dublin who did not take as a personal compliment to himself the Queen's having gone upon the paddle-box and ordered the royal standard to be lowered three times." It was a happy thought of her own.

The weather was thick and misty, and the storm which was feared came on in a violent gale before the yacht entered Belfast Harbour, early on the morning of the 11th of August. The Mayor and other officials came on board to breakfast, and in the course of the forenoon the Queen and the Prince, with the ladies and gentlemen in attendance, entered the barge to row to the Fairy. Though the row was only of two minutes' duration, the swell on the water was so great that the embarkation in the Fairy was a matter of difficulty; and when the smaller yacht was gained the Queen had to take shelter in the pavilion from the driving spray. In such unpropitious circumstances her Majesty passed Carrickfergus, the landing-place of William III., and arrived at the capital of Ulster just as the sun came out and lent its much-desired presence to the gala. Lord Londonderry and his wife and daughters, Lord Donegal, the proprietor of the greater part of Ulster, &c. &c., came on board with various deputations, especially of Presbyterians and members of the linen trade. The Queen knighted the mayor, as she had knighted his brother-magistrate at Cork.

By an odd blunder the gangway, which had been carefully constructed for the Queen's use, was found too large. Some planks on board the yacht had to form an impromptu landing-stage; but the situation was not so awkward as when Louis Philippe had to press a bathing-machine into the royal service at Treport. The landing-place was covered in and decorated, the Londonderry carriage in waiting, and her Majesty's only regret was for Lord Londonderry, a big man, crowded on the rumble along with specially tall and large sergeant-footmen.

The Scotch-descended people of Belfast had outdone themselves in floral arches and decorations. The galleries for spectators were thronged. There was no stint in the honest warmth of the reception. But the Irish beauty, and doubtless also something of the Irish spirit and glee, had vanished with the rags and the tumbledown cabins. The douce, comfortable people of Ulster were less picturesque and less demonstrative.

Linen Hall, the Botanic Gardens, and the new college were visited, and different streets driven through in returning to the place of embarkation at half-past six on an evening so stormy that the weather prevented the yacht from setting sail. As it lay at anchor there was an opportunity for seeing the bonfires, streaming in the blast, on the neighbouring heights.

Before quitting Ireland the Queen determined to create her eldest son "Earl of Dublin," one of the titles borne by the late Duke of Kent.



CHAPTER XII.

SCOTLAND AGAIN—GLASGOW AND DEE-SIDE.

In the course of the afternoon the yacht sailed for Loch Ryan. The object of this second visit to the West of Scotland was not so much for the purpose of seeing again the beautiful scenery which had so delighted the Queen and the Prince, as with the view of making up for the great disappointment experienced by the townspeople of Glasgow on her Majesty's having failed to visit what was, after London, one of the largest cities in her empire.

The weather was persistently bad this time, squally and disagreeable. On August 15th the Fairy, with the Queen and Prince on board, sailed for Glasgow, still in pouring rain and a high wind. The storm did not prevent the people from so lining the banks that the swell from the steamer often broke upon them. Happily the weather cleared at last, and the day was fine when the landing-place was reached. As usual, the Lord Provost came on board and received the honour of knighthood, after he had presented one of the many addresses offered by the town, the county, the clergy of all denominations, and the House of Commerce. The Queen landed, with the Prince and all the children that had accompanied her. Sheriff Alison rode on one side of her carriage, the general commanding the forces in Scotland on the other. The crowd was immense, numbering as many as five hundred thousand men, women, and children. The Queen admired the streets, the fine buildings, the quays, the churches. At the cathedral she was received by a man who seemed as venerable as the building itself, Principal MacFarlane. He called her Majesty's attention to what was then the highest chimney in the world, that of the chemical works of St. Rollax. The inspection of the fine cathedral, which the old Protestants of the west protected instead of pulling down, included the crypt. The travellers proceeded by railway to Stirling and Perth.