Chapter XXII: Family Cares and Royal Duties

Education of the Prince of Wales--Selection of Mr. Birch as
Tutor--The Queen’s Jealousy of her Parental Authority--Her Letter
to Melbourne on the Management of her Nursery--Her Ideas on
Education--Prince Albert’s Plans for the Education of the Prince of
Wales--Stockmar’s Advice--The Visit to Ireland--The Queen at
Waterford--“Rebel Cork” _en fête_--The Visit to Dublin--Viceregal
Festivities--The Visit to the National Model Schools--Shiel’s
Speech--The Queen and the Duke of Leinster--Farewell at
Kingstown--The Queen Dips the Royal Ensign--Loyal Ulster--The Visit
to the Linen Hall--Lord Clarendon on the Queen’s Visit--A Cruise on
the Clyde--Home in Balmoral--The Queen’s “Bothie”--The Queen’s
University of Ireland--First Plans for the Great
Exhibition--Opening of the London Coal Exchange--The Queen’s
Barge--Death of Queen Adelaide.

In April, 1849, Prince Albert is found writing a letter to the Dowager Duchess of Gotha announcing a very important event in the Queen’s family. “The children,” he says, “grow more than well. Bertie (the Prince of Wales) will be given over in a few weeks into the hands of a tutor, whom we have found in a Mr. Birch, a young, good-looking, amiable man.” Mr. Birch, subsequently Rector of Prestwich, near Manchester, was eminently qualified for the grave and delicate duty for which the Queen selected him. He had taken high honours at Cambridge, and had been not only Captain of the School, but had also served as an under-master at Eton. Yet Mr. Birch can hardly be credited with the Scheme of Education adopted in the Royal Family. That had been arranged by the Queen herself, in consultation with her consort and Baron Stockmar. Her fixed idea was that the heart as well as the head must be trained, and that not only must the education of her children be truly moral, but it must be essentially English. She resolved to discover the kind of tutor whom she could trust, and then, having found him, to trust him implicitly.

The Queen, it may here be said, has ever set an example to women of exalted rank and station by reason of the undeviating support she has given to those who undertook the education of her children. But in doing this her Majesty has been most jealous in asserting her parental rights, and punctilious in recognising the high responsibilities which they involve. As far back as 1842, in a very pretty letter to Lord Melbourne, she asked him for advice about the reorganisation of her nursery, and a question came up as to the choice of the lady who should superintend it. The Queen, accepting the fact that her public duties prevented her from personally managing the education of her family as completely as she might have wished, fully admitted that it was necessary to appoint a lady of high rank and culture for that purpose. But then arose the difficulty of satisfying her Majesty’s desire to retain in her own hands the completest headship of her family. A governess of high rank really competent to do the work as the Queen meant that it should be done

might choose to consider herself as an official responsible to the country first, and to the parents of the Royal children afterwards. Against such an idea the Queen most resolutely set her face. “I feel,” her Majesty writes, on behalf of herself and her husband, that “she (the Royal governess) ought to be responsible only to _us_, and _we_ to the country and nation.”[4] It was in pursuance of this idea that her Majesty made great sacrifices to keep her children as closely as possible in contact with her. Many curious memoranda from her pen exist, and through them all there runs the same thought--simplicity and domesticity must be the leading characteristics of the training of the Royal family. For example, whenever it was possible, the Queen insisted on retaining in her own hands the _religious_ education of her family, and it is now known that she did this from a dread lest their minds might at the most plastic period of life receive a sectarian bias. High Anglicanism was then militant, and many intrigues were set on foot by its professors to effect a lodgment in the Palace. The education of the Princess Royal, afterwards Princess Imperial of Germany, was almost entirely supervised and directed by the Queen herself, and with results much appreciated in Germany, where, through her tact, culture, high character, and strong common sense, her Imperial Highness has won for herself a position of unique political and social influence. The education of the Prince of Wales, however, now came more directly under the hands of Prince Albert; and one point of the highest importance to decide was whether it should be conservative or

liberal in its character. Prince Albert decided that it must be liberal in this sense, that it should prepare the Heir Apparent for taking his position in a changeful state of society, whose institutions were, to a great extent, in a transition stage. Every effort was to be made to prevent him from getting into his mind a notion that existing institutions were _sacrosanct_, and that resistance to all change was a sacred and patriotic duty. The history of George III. had evidently not been studied in vain. “The proper duty of Sovereigns in this country,” wrote Stockmar to Prince Albert, “is not to take the lead in change, but to act as a balance-wheel on the movements of the social body.” Above all, it was determined that the education of the young Prince must be at bottom English, and not foreign. Furnished with these principles to guide him, and with general instructions to make the basis of the young Prince’s training as broad and comprehensive as possible--to make it scientific as well as classical--Mr. Birch essayed his arduous task, aided not a little by shrewd advice from Bishop Wilberforce and Sir James Clark, the Queen’s favourite physician.

The sweetest days of summer were clouded for the Queen in 1849 by painful memories of the shock she received on the 19th of May. On that day an Irishman named Hamilton, with a morbid craving for notoriety, tried to shoot her when she was driving with her children in her carriage down Constitution Hill. Her Majesty, with great tact, engaged the attention of her little ones by conversation, and with a sign directed her coachman to drive on as if nothing had happened, so that her husband, who was riding in advance, knew nothing of the affair--not even of the attempt of the mob to “lynch” Hamilton. His pistol was loaded with blank cartridge, but in spite of that he was sentenced to seven years’ transportation.

It has been said that Ireland, exhausted by the abortive rebellion of 1848, had been settling down into sullen tranquillity. There were many signs visible of a better feeling towards the Government in the country. The Queen accordingly suggested that it might be well to take advantage of the improving condition of things, and pay a Royal visit to Ireland. Her Majesty, however, primarily desired that the Irish people should benefit, and not be burdened, by the presence of Royalty. She therefore expressed a wish that the visit should not be made in such a form as to put the country, which had suffered so much from distress, to any great expense. Prince Albert, ever practical, suggested that in that case the best way of carrying out the Queen’s idea was to make this visit a simple yachting cruise. The Queen, he said, might call at the ports of Cork, Waterford, Wexford, Dublin, and Belfast on her annual journey to the North of Scotland, and perchance touch at Glasgow, thereby compensating it for the loss of the Royal visit in 1847. Lord Clarendon fully endorsed the views of the Queen and her husband in a letter to Lord John Russell. “Everything,” he wrote, “tends to secure for the Queen an enthusiastic reception, and the one drawback, which is the general distress of all classes, has its advantage, for it will enable the Queen to do what is kind and considerate to those who are suffering.”

On the 27th of June the official intimation that the Queen was to visit Ireland was received by the Irish people with every manifestation of delight. If there were some who, rebels at heart, sympathised little with the tone of popular feeling, they concealed their aversion. The sex of the Sovereign indeed ensured her a courteous reception, from a nation proud of its gallantry, and justly renowned for the warmth of its hospitality. It was then finally decided that the visit should be made when Parliament rose. On the 27th of August the Queen, Prince Albert, and their four eldest children accordingly embarked for Ireland. “It is done!” writes the amiable and somewhat effusive Lady Lyttelton, who watched the squadron from the windows of Osborne, till it faded from her eyes. “England’s fate is afloat ... and _we_ are left lamenting.” There was, however, no serious cause for anxiety. When the Royal squadron steamed into the Cove of Cork, in the golden light of a summer sunset, the air was soon gleaming with rockets, and bonfires, kindled by the excitable and kindly peasantry, blazed on every height in welcome of their Queen. The next morning, the 3rd of August, brought a happy omen. The day was dull and grey, but no sooner did the Queen set her foot on land at the Cove--since called Queenstown in honour of the event--than a sudden sunburst lit up the scene with dazzling radiance. The Royal party in the _Fairy_ steamed up “the pleasant waters of the river Lee,” and all along the route crowds of loyal people lined the banks, cheering the Queen and her family as she passed along. In Cork itself--“rebel Cork”--there was no sign of disaffection. Nothing could be warmer or more cordial than the welcome accorded to her Majesty, who was touched by the hearty gaiety and good humour of her excitable hosts. A true kindly Celtic welcome, such as any Sovereign might have envied, made her experiences of Cork sunny memories for many long years afterwards. The extreme beauty of the women seems, however, to have produced an equally deep impression on her Majesty, who refers to this point in her diary of the visit.

On the 4th of August the Royal party proceeded to Waterford, which they reached in the afternoon. Curiously enough, one of the ships in their squadron of escort had actually been stationed there two years previously, to overawe the rebellious people. Now all these dark and bitter memories seemed to have passed away. Waterford vied with Cork in its loyal demonstration, and the feeling of regret was universal that the Royal party did not land and go through the town. Prince Albert and his two sons, however, steamed up to the city from the anchorage opposite Duncannon fort, ten miles from the town. Next came the visit to Dublin--never to be forgotten in the annals of the Irish capital.

It was on the 5th of August, as the sun was going down, that the Royal squadron reached Kingstown--threading its way with some difficulty through the craft, gay with joyful bunting, that crowded the sea. The Queen was greatly struck by the picturesque appearance of the place, and when she and the Prince landed next morning, amidst a salute from the men-of-war in the harbour, her reception was a revelation even to those who had anticipated that she would be lovingly greeted. Never was there such cheering--especially from the ladies, whose hearts were captivated by the Royal children. If, said one old lady, the Queen would only consent to call one of the young princes Patrick, all Ireland would die for her. The Royal party soon arrived at the Viceregal Lodge, in the Phœnix Park, and the routefrom Sandymount Station was again lined by crowds of enthusiastic and loyal sightseers. It was noted that even the poorest houses were gay with flowers. “It was a most wonderful and striking spectacle,” says the Queen, in her notes of her visit--“such masses of human beings, so enthusiastic, so excited, and yet perfect order maintained.” All that was worth seeing in Dublin was seen, and the people were charmed with the simple, gracious bearing of her Majesty, and the ease and freedom with which she went among them. A memorable visit was made by the Queen to the National Model Schools, where she and the Prince were introduced by Archbishop Whateley to the venerable Archbishop Murray, a picturesque and patriarchal Catholic prelate, whose saintly life and generous liberal ideas had previously attracted the attention of Prince Albert. His Grace had indeed risked much by protecting these schools against the attacks of some of the bigots of his church, and the Queen was powerfully impressed with the excellence of the system of instruction given at them. Speaking of this interesting episode in the House of Commons, Richard Lalor Shiel--the last of the great Irish rhetoricians--said, “Amongst the most remarkable incidents that occurred when the Queen was in Ireland was her visit to the schools of the National Board of Education, which took place (by accident, of course) before she visited the College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity. It was a fine spectacle to see the consort, so worthy of her, attended by the representatives of the Presbyterian Church, by the Protestant Archbishop of Dublin, and by the Catholic Archbishop of Dublin--with those venerable ecclesiastics at her side, differing in creed, but united by the common brotherhood of Christianity in the performance of one of the noblest duties which their common Christianity prescribed; it was a fine thing to see the Sovereign of a great empire surrounded by groups of those little children who gazed on her with affectionate amazement, while she returned their looks with fondness almost maternal; and, better than all, it was noble and thrilling, indeed, to see the emotions by which that great lady was moved when her heart beat with a high and holy aspiration that she might live to see the benefits of education carried out in their full and perfect development.” There was a levée, of course, at which four thousand persons attended to pay their respects to their Sovereign. There was a brilliant review of the troops in the Phœnix Park, followed by visits to the Royal Irish Academy, the College of Surgeons, and the Royal Dublin Society, at whose cattle-shows Prince Albert was a frequent competitor. His speech, in reply to an Address from the Society, attracted much attention at the time, on account of his sound advice on the economic condition of Ireland, and the grateful thanks which he gave to the Irish people for their marks of warm attachment to the Queen and her family. The Prince was one of the first rural economists to impress on the chiefs of the Society the necessity for anticipating impending changes in agriculture. He advised them to stimulate to the utmost stock-breeding in Ireland.

A visit paid by the Queen to Carton appears to have made a strong impression on her. Carton is the seat of the Duke of Leinster, and his delicate attentions to her and her family, and his skill in planning a pleasant excursion for them, elicits from her pen the remark in her “Diary” that his Grace was “one of the kindest and best of men.” The Royal leave-taking at Kingstown was quite an affecting ceremony. The crowd at the pier was denser than it had ever been within living memory, and its shouts rent the air. When the Queen heard how her kind hosts were bidding her Godspeed, she immediately climbed up on the paddle-box and stood waving her handkerchief in token of her appreciation of their loyalty. She directed the ship’s engines to be slowed, so that the vessel might glide slowly past the pier. By a felicitous inspiration she ordered the Royal Standard to be dipped three times, in honour of the people on the shore, and as a mark of her grateful appreciation of their affection.

Loyal Ulster was next visited, and, as might have been expected, the reception of the Queen in this busy hive of industry was exceptionally effusive, even for Ireland. Belfast was _en fête_ when the Royal visitors landed, and old folk still speak of the scene on the quay as marking a red letter day in their lives. Bunting was streaming everywhere in the air. Dense crowds cheering and shouting, and waving hats and handkerchiefs, occupied every coign of vantage, and though the Queen had only four hours to spend in the city, she contrived, under competent guidance, to see many of the more interesting places and institutions which illustrate the strong character of the mixed race whose energy, ability, pertinacity, and industry have made Ulster, with her unkindly soil and climate, the richest province in Ireland. Ulster commands the bulk of the linen trade of the world, and, naturally, the institutions and factories connected with that industry arrested the Queen’s attention during her flying visit to the commercial capital of Ireland. An alarming gale detained her the next day in Belfast Lough, but after it blew over the Royal party steamed away to the Scottish shore.

The Royal visit to Ireland had two good results. It brought home to the minds of the Irish people the fact that their country, and their interests, were of great personal concern to the Queen and her husband. It demonstrated to the rest of the United Kingdom the fact that the personal attachment of the Irish people to the Monarchy was as strong as could be desired, and that if they were rebels at heart it was not the Queen, but the Viceregal Bureaucracy in Dublin Castle, who had soured their blood. Everybody who had observed the effect of the Queen’s progress through Ireland was charmed with the success of the expedition. “I saw Lord Lansdowne last night,” writes Mr. Greville in his Journal (14th August), “just returned from Ireland, having had an escape on the railroad, for the train ran off the rails. He said nothing could surpass the success of the Queen’s visit in every respect; every circumstance favourable, no drawbacks or mistakes, all persons and parties pleased, much owing to the tact of Lord Clarendon, and the care he had bestowed on all the arrangements and details, which made it all go off so admirably. The Queen herself was delighted, and appears to have played her part uncommonly well. Clarendon, of course, was overjoyed at the complete success of what was his own plan,[5] and satisfied with the graciousness and attention of the Court to him. In the beginning, and while the details were in preparation, he was considerably disgusted at the petty difficulties that were made, but he is satisfied now. Lord Lansdowne says the departure was quite affecting, and he could not see it without being moved; and he thinks beyond doubt that this visit will produce permanent good effects in Ireland.”[6] Clarendon himself was evidently more than delighted with the effect of the Royal visit. He informed Sir George Grey that he believed “there was not an Irishman in Dublin who did not consider that the Queen had paid him a personal compliment by mounting the paddle-box of her steamer as she was leaving, and ordering the Royal Standard to be dipped in acknowledgment of the affectionate adieus which came from the crowds on the shore.”[7] But the odd thing was that the members of the seditious clubs who had threatened to create disturbances when the Queen’s visit was first mooted, caught the prevailing contagion of loyalty, and professed to be among the most affectionate of her subjects. Still, Clarendon was far too astute a statesman to imagine that a Royal visit would smooth away all the difficulties of his position and administration as Viceroy. It could not, as he acknowledges in another letter to Sir George Grey, “remove evils which are the growth of ages.” At the same time, it indirectly helped the country by bringing some money into it. Royalty can always beneficially direct the expenditure of Fashion, and after the Queen had by her example shown that there was no danger to be dreaded in visiting Ireland, rich English tourists began to go over there holiday-making, greatly to the advantage of the people. But when all this was apparent to the Queen’s advisers, it seems strange that they did not then deem it their duty to devise a plan for strengthening the golden link of the Crown between England and Ireland. If one brief Royal visit produced such an excellent effect, why did they not propose another? If it were impossible to provide for the residence for the Queen regularly during a portion of the year in Ireland, it might have been possible for the Royal Family to arrange that in their annual visit to Balmoral they should cruise northwards along the Irish coast, and gladden some of the Irish towns and provinces with their presence.

Ugly weather followed the Royal squadron from Belfast Lough to the Clyde, but a singularly brilliant reception at Glasgow compensated the Queen for any discomforts she may have endured on the voyage. The visit to “the second city of the Empire,” as its inhabitants love to call it, was all too brief, for the Festival of St. Grouse had been celebrated two days before, and Prince Albert was eagerly desirous of pressing on to the moors. On the evening of the 14th of August--the day of the reception at Glasgow--he wrote to Stockmar a hurried note, deploring the “vile passage” on the 12th from Belfast to Loch Ryan, and saying how much he had been impressed by their procession, through five to six hundred thousand human beings all cheering wildly in the streets of Glasgow.

On the 15th of August they were at Balmoral, the Queen recording in her “Diary” that it seemed like a dream to her after all the excitement of their tour to be in “our dear Highland home again.” For a brief time her Majesty was able to enjoy a real holiday. She was not much worried by politics--which have been, after all, the chief business of her life. The seclusion, and the dry, bracing air of Balmoral, acted like tonics on her mind and spirits. In a letter which he wrote to Stockmar on his thirtieth birthday, which was gaily celebrated in the family circle at Balmoral, Prince Albert said, “Victoria is happy and cheerful, and enjoys a love and homage in this country, of which in the summer’s tour we have received the most striking proofs. The children are well and grow apace. The Highlands are glorious, and the game abundant.” One of the pleasantest of surprises was prepared for the Queen a fortnight after her arrival. It was an excursion to a small mountain cabin, or “bothie” as the Highlanders call it, to which she had taken a fancy at Alt-na-Giuthasach. In “Leaves from the Journal of Our Life in the Highlands,” the Queen gives the following description of her expedition:--“We arrived at our little ‘bothie’ at two o’clock, and were amazed at the transformation. There are two huts, and to the one in which we live a wooden addition has been made. We have a charming little dining-room, sitting-room, bedroom, and dressing-room, all _en suite_; and there is a little room where Caroline Dawson (the Maid of Honour) sleeps, one for her maid, and a little pantry. In the other house, which is only a few yards

distant, is the kitchen, where the people generally sit, a small room where the servants dine, and another, which is a sort of store-room, and a loft above in which the men sleep. Margaret French (my maid), Caroline’s maid, Löhlein[8] (Albert’s valet), a cook, Shackle[9] (a footman), and Macdonald are the only people with us in the house, old John Gordon and his wife excepted. Our rooms are delightfully papered, the ceilings as well as walls, and very nicely furnished. We lunched as soon as we arrived, and at three walked down (about twenty minutes’ walk) to the loch called ‘Muich’; which some say means ‘darkness’ or ‘sorrow.’ Here we found a large boat, into which we all got, and Macdonald, Duncan, Grant, and Coutts rowed; old John Gordon and two others going in another boat with the net.”

But neither the Queen nor Prince Albert was of a mind that their Irish visit should be a fruitless one, and soon their busy brains were brooding over schemes for Ireland which marked their interest in her affairs. The “Godless” Colleges, which had been founded by Sir Robert Peel, were to be opened in October. They were three in number--one in Belfast, one in Cork, and one in Galway, and their education was to be secular and untheological. But each College gave facilities for conducting the spiritual training of the students under “Deans” appointed by the various sects and churches. The Queen and her husband had many conversations with men of light and leading of all parties in Ireland, as to the organisation of these Colleges, and the Prince, as a practical educationist, soon hit the blot in it. Who was to confer the degrees? Were the Colleges to do so? Or were they to be united by the common federating bond of a University, whose officials should guide the examinations, and form the policy that would best advance, not the interests of one College, but the interests of all? Her Majesty and the Prince, when they were in Ireland, came to the conclusion that unless the Colleges were affiliated under a University, they would soon degenerate into sectarian seminaries. But, before taking active steps in the matter, they laid their opinions before Sir Robert Peel. He at once concurred in the Prince’s views; and Lord Clarendon, who had at first felt doubtful about their soundness, ultimately accepted them also. Thus it came to pass that the Queen’s Colleges were federated under the Queen’s University of Ireland, and that a general desire was manifested that Prince Albert should be the first Chancellor. This office he declined to accept, mainly in the interest of the Queen. The Colleges and the University, he feared, might one day become the battle-grounds of faction, and it would then be very distressing for her Majesty to find her husband entangled in the political blood-feuds of Ireland. Subsequent events proved that these anticipations were correct. Lord Clarendon ultimately accepted the Chancellorship of the Queen’s University of Ireland.

At this time, as has been stated, the present Castle at Balmoral was not built. Balmoral, in fact, was simply the modest family residence of a Highland laird, and by no means well fitted for the establishment of the Court. However, the business of the Court and the State could not be neglected on that account, and Ministers and officials showed great zeal and consideration in assisting her Majesty to the utmost of their power in transacting it in such a remote corner of her Empire. In Mr. Greville’s Journal we have a curious entry (15th September) bearing on this point, and illustrating the holiday life of the Queen in the Highlands at that time. “On Monday, the 3rd,” writes Mr. Greville, “on returning from Hillingdon, I found a summons from John Russell to be at Balmoral on Wednesday, the 5th, at half-past two, for a Council, to order a prayer for relief against the cholera.... I started on Wednesday morning at half-past six, and arrived at Balmoral exactly at half-past two. It is a beautiful road from Perth to Balmoral, particularly from Blairgowrie to the Spittal of Glenshee, and thence to Braemar. Much as I dislike Courts and all that appertains to them, I am glad to have made this expedition, and to have seen the Queen and Prince in their Highland retreat, where they certainly appear to great advantage. The place is very pretty; the house very small. They live there without any state whatever; they live not merely like private gentlefolks, but like very small gentlefolks--small house, small rooms, small establishment. There are no soldiers, and the whole guard of the Sovereign and Royal Family is a single policeman, who walks about the grounds to keep off impertinent intruders or improper characters. Their attendants consisted of Lady Douro and Miss Dawson, Lady and Maid of Honour; George Anson and Gordon; Birch, the Prince of Wales’s tutor; and Miss Hildyard, the governess of the children. They live with the greatest simplicity and ease. The Prince shoots every morning, returns to luncheon, and then they walk and drive. The Queen is running in and out of the house all day long, and often goes about alone, walks into cottages, and sits and chats with the old women. I never before was in society with the Prince or had any conversation with him. On Thursday morning John Russell and I were sitting together after breakfast, when he came in and sat down with us, and we conversed for about three-quarters of an hour. I was greatly struck with him. I saw at once (what I had always heard) that he is very intelligent and highly cultivated; and, moreover, that he has a thoughtful mind, and thinks of subjects worth thinking about. He seemed very much at his ease, very gay, pleasant, and without the least stiffness or air of dignity. After luncheon we went to the Highland gathering at Braemar--the Queen, the Prince, four children, and two ladies in one pony-carriage, John Russell, Mr. Birch, Miss Hildyard, and I in another; Anson and Gordon on the box; one groom, no more. The gathering was at the old castle at Braemar, and a pretty sight enough. We returned as we came, and then everybody strolled about till dinner. We were only nine people, and it was all very easy and really agreeable--the Queen in very good humour, and talkative; the Prince still more so, and talking very well; no form, and everybody seemed at their ease. In the evening we withdrew to the only room there is besides the dining-room, which serves for billiards, library (hardly any books in it), and drawing-room. The Queen and Prince and her ladies, and Gordon, soon went back to the dining-room, where they had a Highland dancing-master, who gave them lessons in reels. We (John Russell and I) were not admitted to this exercise, so we played at billiards. In process of time they came back, when there was a little talk, and soon after they went to bed.”[10]

Shortly before the holiday at Balmoral ended, the Queen and Prince Albert were a little mortified to find that one of their projects, or rather one of the Prince’s projects, was going awry. This was the preliminary movement which was intended to lead up to the organisation of a great International Industrial Exhibition. The idea of holding such an exhibition had occurred to the Prince in July, 1849. It seems to have been suggested to him by the great Frankfort Fairs of the sixteenth century. His Royal Highness had also noticed that one or two small pioneer exhibitions held by the Society of Arts, had produced good effects in improving the quality of English products. He argued that an exhibition on an international scale would produce still greater effects, not only on our manufactures, but on those of the world. It would be a tournament of Peace, in which the Captains of Industry would be the competitors in the lists.

On the 30th of July, 1849, the Prince held a conference at Buckingham Palace with four confidential persons--Mr. Henry Cole, Mr. Francis Fuller, Mr. Scott Russell, and Mr. Thomas Cubitt, and they resolved to hold the exhibition if possible, not in the quadrangle of Somerset House, as the Government had suggested, but in Hyde Park itself. They also arranged to take steps to test the feeling of the industrial districts on the subject before going further. But in all this preliminary work of “sounding” influential persons, the Prince had given peremptory orders that his name should not be publicly mentioned. Unfortunately, Mr. Cole, with Hibernian effusiveness, had been tempted to disobey these orders at a meeting in Dublin, much to the annoyance of the Queen and her husband. “Praising me at meetings,” wrote his Royal Highness to Colonel Phipps, “looks as if I were to be advertised and used as a means of drawing a full house, &c.”--and if there was anything which was unspeakably offensive to the Queen, it was the use of her or her husband’s name for purposes of puffery.

A few days after this disagreeable little episode (27th September) the Queen and her family left Balmoral for Osborne. They broke their journey at Howick, where they spent a night with Lord Grey, and in a few days after that they received tidings which filled their hearts with the utmost sorrow. The ever-faithful Anson, the Prince’s first Secretary, died, and the Queen’s household was filled with the deepest regret. The Queen herself wrote a touching letter to King Leopold, which shows how her heart bled for the widow of her most zealous servant; and Lady Lyttelton, writing on the 9th of November, says: “Every face shows how much has been felt; the Prince and Queen in floods of tears, and quite shut up.” All through the record of the Queen’s life, indeed, we find evidence of the cordial relations which bound her to those who served her. Their zeal indeed has been great, but it has been more than equalled by her sympathetic appreciation of it.

Colonel Phipps succeeded Mr. Anson as Privy Purse, and Colonel (afterwards General) Grey as the Prince’s Secretary.

When the gloom of winter began to spread over London, the loyal citizens were sadly distressed to learn that a projected Royal visit to the city would be robbed of more than half its _éclat_. The Queen had promised to come and open the New Coal Exchange on the 30th of October. But alas, her Majesty had sickened with the chicken-pox, and the ceremony was performed by Prince Albert alone. Yet the Londoners were not without compensation. This visit to the City was memorable because of the first public appearance in a pageant of State, of the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Royal. The spectacle revived picturesque memories of “the spacious times of Great Elizabeth,” for the Royal party proceeded to London by the silent highway of the river. Twenty-seven brawny watermen rowed the Queen’s Barge from Westminster Stairs to the City, and, strange to say, for once the fog and murky atmosphere of London in early winter cleared away, and the ceremony took place in the sunshine, under a sky of Italian brilliancy. The crowds covered every possible corner where human beings could cluster. The long lines of shipping on each bank of the Pool were bright with bunting, and black with swarming sightseers. The cheering was overpowering when the fair-haired young Prince was seen in the barge, and both the Royal children, though they went through the ordeal quietly and prettily, were obviously a little frightened and nervous. “The Prince,” wrote Lady Lyttelton to Mrs. Gladstone, “was perfect in taste and manner, putting the Prince of Wales forward without affectation, and very dignified and kind himself.” The procession on the water was gorgeous in the extreme. State liveries were blazing everywhere. Civic costumes of feudal times kindled many ancient memories; and the Lord Mayor’s barge, which led the way, was a miracle of garish splendour. Lady Lyttelton says that what struck her most was not only the cheering, but the affectionate expression on the faces of the people when they craned forward to get a glimpse of the little Prince and Princess. But of one civic speaker and his speech in the Rotunda her ladyship says it “was most pompous; and he is ridiculous in voice and manner. And his immense size, and cloak, and wig, and great voice addressing the Prince of Wales about his being the ‘pledge and promise of a long race of kings,’ looked quite absurd. Poor Princey did not seem at all to guess what he meant.” The Queen was rather sad-hearted at missing this first public reception of her children, which was the occasion of such an outburst of popular enthusiasm, loyal huzzas, and joy-bells ringing all over London town, not to mention thunderous salutations from the Tower guns--“enough,” says Lady Lyttelton, “to drive one mad.”

On the 2nd of December the Royal home was turned into a house of mourning. On that day the good Dowager-Queen Adelaide passed away from among the small but appreciative circle of friends and relatives who admired and loved her. The Queen’s grief was deep and sincere. “Though we daily expected this sad event,” writes her Majesty to King Leopold, “yet it came so suddenly when it did come, as if she had never been ill, and I can hardly realise the truth now.... She was truly motherly in her kindness to us and our children, and it always made her happy to be with us and to see us!”[11]

Queen Adelaide, it may be here noted, was one of the earliest of funeral reformers. Struck by the wastefulness and the bad taste of funereal pageants, she left what the Queen calls “the most affecting directions” for her burial, ordering that it should be conducted with the utmost simplicity and privacy--the only exceptional arrangement being that she desired her coffin to be borne by seamen, in homage to the memory of her husband, William IV., the Sailor-King. A simple-hearted, kindly, Christian lady, whose hands were ever swift in doing good--such is a brief abstract of the life and character of the Dowager-Queen Adelaide.