It is worth noting that the royal lady who wrote this epistle had sufficient self-control to delay for five months forwarding it to the offending Secretary, hoping that his methods would be amended and that so severe a rebuke would become unnecessary.

CHAPTER XI

THE QUEEN IN SORROW

It had certainly become clear to all her Ministers that Victoria was no mere figurehead, for while she yielded if their judgment was against her, yet she never failed to have an opinion and a reason for her opinion. In 1861, the fact that both she and Prince Albert were able to think for themselves and had come to a wise conclusion proved to be a matter of the utmost importance to two countries, England and the United States. Everyone in England was thinking about the war in America. The English government had declared that England would be neutral, that is, it would do nothing to assist either the United States or the seceded States. The United States Government was indignant at this declaration, because it spoke of the seceded, or Confederate States, not as if they were rebelling against the government, but as if they were an independent power. The Confederate States, however, were much pleased, and thought it quite possible that England might be persuaded to help them. Their chief argument was—cotton. These States were the ones that raised cotton, and with the United States warships blockading their ports, there would be little chance for cotton to reach England. Would not England, then, help the seceders, put an end to the war, and have all the cotton that her mills wished to use?

The Confederates decided to send two men, named Mason and Slidell, across the ocean for aid, the first to England, the second to France. It was not easy to get away from a southern port, but they contrived to escape to Havana, and from there they went on board a British mail steamer named the Trent. They supposed that all difficulties were over when they were once on board a British vessel; but before the Trent had been out twenty-four hours, a United States warship fired a shot across her bows. The Trent was not armed so that she could make any resistance, therefore she stopped, and Lieutenant Fairfax was sent aboard with a strong guard of marines.

"My orders from Captain Wilkes are to ask to see the list of your passengers," he said.

"That list cannot be shown," was the reply of the English captain.

"I am here to arrest Messrs. Mason and Slidell," Lieutenant Fairfax stated, but the Captain only bowed.

"It is well known to the United States authorities that they are attempting to make their way to Europe as envoys from States in rebellion against the government," said the Lieutenant, "and, therefore, I demand their surrender."

Then Commodore Williams, who was in charge of the mail, said indignantly:

"The two gentlemen are passengers in a British vessel which is carrying the mail from one neutral port to another. On board this ship I represent her Majesty's government. This thing is an outrage, and I tell you that you and your North shall suffer for it. Does your Captain Wilkes do this on his own responsibility or on that of your government?"

"On his own," was the reply.

"It is an insult to England and a violation of international law," declared the Commodore; but nevertheless the men were seized and carried to Boston.

When the news of this action reached England, there was wild excitement. Troops were sent to Canada at once. The Canadian harbors were frozen, and England had to ask permission of the United States to land them at Portland, Maine. Permission was granted, and no one seemed to see how amusing such a request was. Thousands of Englishmen were ready to declare war upon the United States without a moment's delay. Fortunately governments move more slowly than individuals, and war could not be declared without first asking whether the United States had given authority for the seizure or approved of it. Mr. Slidell's wife and daughter had gone on to England in the Trent; and they said Captain Wilkes did not claim to have any government authority, and that the United States would probably set the envoys free as soon as they reached Washington. The Prime Minister did not believe such would be the result, and he wrote a somewhat curt demand to the United States for an apology and the freedom of the two men.

Neither the Queen nor the Prince Consort, for that title had been granted to Prince Albert long before, was satisfied with this paper, and the following morning he wrote a statement to be sent to the Prime Minister to the effect that the paper ought to mention the friendship between the two countries and the hope and expectation of England that the United States would say the seizure was not done by government authority. Prince Albert and the Queen read the statement over together. She made two or three small changes in the wording, then copied it and sent it to the Prime Minister. He admitted at once that the Queen and the Prince were in the right, and wrote another dispatch to send to the United States, saying, of course, that an apology and the surrender of the men were expected, but wording the demand in a most courteous and friendly manner.

In the United States, as soon as President Lincoln heard of the capture, he said, "This won't do. Captain Wilkes is exercising the 'right of search,' and we fought England in 1812 on that very ground. Those men must be given up." There were thousands, however, who were so excited that they were ready to fight anybody for anything or for nothing, and if the Prime Minister's first dispatch had been sent, it would have been hard to prevent hostilities; but in so moderate a request for fairness, even the most hot-blooded could find little excuse for demanding a declaration of war.

So it was that Prince Albert and the Queen saved the two countries from bloodshed, and if the Prince had done nothing else in his twenty-one years of acting as chief adviser to the Queen, that one act would have been glory enough. But when one remembers the vast number of matters which he had to consider, it does not seem as if one man's mind could have held them all. Laying corner stones, unveiling statues, presiding over learned societies, guiding the education of his children, planning palaces, and managing large estates—all this was but a small part of his labors. He carried out reforms in the navy, he studied on commercial treaties between England and other countries, he reorganized the army, he wrote on improved methods of agriculture, he constructed better national defenses, he kept himself well informed concerning the condition of the United States, India, South Africa, and every country of Europe. After twenty-one years of such intense work as this, it is no wonder that he was exhausted. He rarely spoke of his weariness; but here and there in his letters and in his conversation with the Queen, a word was dropped that showed how weak and tired he felt. He slept little, yet he never thought of sparing himself, and he wrote the letter about the Trent affair with a very feeble hand. "I could hardly hold my pen while writing," he told the Queen, and at last he admitted that he was thoroughly miserable.

Then came day after day of illness. Sometimes the Prince would listen to his wife or his daughter Alice while they read him one of Scott's novels; once he asked for music a long way off, and a piano was brought into another room so that the Princess Alice could play his favorite chorale. Sometimes he was confused and recognized no one. "We are much alarmed," said the physicians, "but we do not give up hope." Every day found him a little weaker, and soon the evening came when, as the Queen bent over him and whispered, "It is your own little wife," he could not speak, he could only bow his head and kiss her, and in a little while he was gone.

At midnight the mournful tolling of the great bell of St. Paul's spread the sorrowful news through the city of London, and the telegraph told the children of the royal family who were away from England of the loss that had befallen them.

The Princess Victoria was not alone, for her husband and her child were with her to give her comfort; but far away in the warm climate of Cannes was Prince Leopold, the delicate little boy of only eight years, with not one of his own family beside him. The child was already grieving sorely over the death of the gentleman in whose charge he had been when the telegraph brought the news of his crushing loss. "Oh, mamma, mamma," he cried. "Do take me to mamma. I want my mother. I want my mother."

The warmest sympathy was felt for the sorrowing Queen in her own land and in all lands. Even from some chiefs in New Zealand came an address, which began:

"Oh, Victoria, our mother, we greet you! All we can now do is to weep with you, oh, our good mother, who have nourished us, your ignorant children of this island, even to this day."

Every honor that could be shown was given to the dead Prince Consort. The Queen chose a sunny spot at Frogmore for the beautiful mausoleum that was to be built for the body of the one who had been dearest to her of all the world. Seven years earlier, she had said, "Trials we must have, but what are they, if we are together?" but now the time had come when she must bear alone whatever might befall her. Her greatest comforter was the Princess Alice, the girl of eighteen, who seemed no longer a merry young girl, but a sympathetic, self-controlled woman. She and the other children went with the Queen to Osborne, and there passed the first three months of the lonely woman's sorrow. King Leopold and the Princess of Hohenlohe came to her; but the weight of her grief was hers alone, and no one could lessen it.

Crushed as she was by suffering, she did not cease to feel for others. Within a month after the death of the Prince, a terrible colliery accident occurred by which many lives were lost, and the Queen sent at once a generous gift and the message, "Tell them that the Queen's own misery only makes her feel the more for them." In her own heartbreak, she could not neglect the state business, whose delay would cause many difficulties, but she could not bear to meet others than her children and a few of her nearest friends. Again it was the Princess Alice upon whom she and the whole country relied, and this girl of eighteen went back and forth between the sovereign and the Ministers with such strength of mind, such thoughtfulness and tact, that the whole realm was amazed and grateful.

It would have been a comfort to the loving mother if she could have kept her oldest son with her during those sad months; but, even to lessen her loneliness, she would not break in upon the plans that his father had made for him. It had been decided that he should travel in the Holy Land, and not many weeks after the death of the Prince, he set out with Dean Stanley and others for the East.

Balmoral Castle.

It had long been the custom in the royal family to spend at Balmoral the Queen's birthday, in May, and the birthday of the Prince, in August, and even during this sad year of 1862, the usual May visit was made. Hard as it was for the Queen to go without the Prince to a place that had been so dear to him, there was comfort for her in going among the cottagers. She loved the Scotch because, while they had a profound respect for her, they had also respect for themselves, and would talk with her without the subservience that she disliked. She taught her Scotch tenants to look upon her as a friend to whom they might come for help in time of trouble. In sickness they were encouraged to send to the castle for whatever they needed. When the Queen went to London, she did not forget them, and whenever a marriage or a death or the arrival of a new baby occurred among her Balmoral people, it was reported to her at once.

During the last visit of the Prince Consort to Balmoral, the husband of one of the cottagers was very ill, and the Queen was continually sending him delicacies from her own table, and not always by the hands of servants, for the Princess Louise was often her messenger. The story is told of the young girl's taking some dainty from one of the pockets of her jacket and asking, "Can't he eat this?" and then, when the wife shook her head sadly, of her taking something else from another pocket and saying, "Surely, he can eat this." The husband died, and when the Queen arrived at Balmoral on this first visit without the Prince, she went at once to see the widow. Both women burst into tears.

"I ask your pardon," said the cottager humbly. "I ought not to cry in your presence."

"Oh, it does me good," replied the Queen in the midst of her own tears. "I am so thankful to cry with someone who knows just how I feel. It was all so sudden, so sudden."

This visit to Balmoral was in May, and in July the brave-hearted Queen gave away her chief comforter, for she did not think it right to allow the marriage of the Princess Alice to be postponed longer. Many preparations for it had already been made before the illness of the Prince. The Highlanders were all interested in the marriage, for the Princess Alice was a great favorite among them; and in the autumn of 1861, many wedding gifts had been made by the Princess to the cottagers, for in the Queen's family it was the custom to make presents as well as receive them at the wedding seasons.

The marriage took place at Osborne. The day which all had expected to be so bright and happy was sad and lonely for the want of the dead Prince. There was no rejoicing, for everything was so associated with him that no one could be merry. Even the wedding dress of the bride was of lace whose pattern he himself had chosen.

In a few days Prince Louis and the Princess Alice left England for their German home. According to what had become a custom among the Queen's children, the Princess wrote to her mother almost every day. Her life in Darmstadt was far more simple than the Queen's had been immediately after her marriage. The usual time of rising was half-past seven or a little earlier. Coffee was drunk at eight, and generally the next two hours were spent out of doors in riding or walking. From ten to twelve, the Princess wrote or worked with her private secretary, and some time in the morning she read the newspapers, an occupation which she called "a great bore." Breakfast took the time between twelve and one. At two, people began to come to call upon her. Dinner was at four. After dinner came a little leisure, then a drive "somewhere for tea." By half-past ten the day was over. The Princess lamented that she had so little time for her music and drawing, and when she was away from the city, she made many sketches, but she was in a wooded country, "And the trees are my misfortune," she said, "as I draw them so badly." After a few months, the twelve-year-old brother Arthur went to visit her. He was a bit of home, and she was delighted to have him. "He has won all hearts," she wrote to the Queen, "and I am so proud when they admire my little brother." When September came, the Princess and her husband went to Thuringia to meet the Queen; and there, much to the Queen's pleasure, it was decided that her daughter and Prince Louis should spend the winter in England, though the Princess with her ready sympathy wrote that she should regret not remaining in Germany for the one reason that the people would feel her absence so much. "They are most kind," she added, for she shared the feeling of her mother that the devotion of the people was not a thing that they could demand, but was a personal kindness shown to them.

On this visit to the Continent, Queen Victoria spent a few days in Belgium with King Leopold; and while she was with him, a young girl was invited to be his guest whom she was especially desirous of meeting. Her name was Alexandra, and she was the eldest daughter of the heir to the throne of Denmark. She had grown up in the quaint old palace in Copenhagen within hearing of the murmur of the sea. When summer came, she was taken to a delightful house in the woods, where she had dogs and ponies and flowers and long walks through the forest; and when friends came from the town, there were picnics and boating and all sorts of good times. Indeed, every day was a kind of picnic, for in the country home the family almost lived out of doors, and there were always her two brothers and three sisters for company.

The life of the children was merry and happy, but it was even more simple than that of the little girl who went from Kensington to the throne of England, both because the father and mother believed that it was best for children to live simply, and also because, especially during the children's earlier years, there was not much money to throw away in luxuries. The little girls put on their nicer dresses, which perhaps their mother had made, when they were going out; but as soon as they came back and were ready to play, the street dresses were exchanged for something more substantial. The children had learned when they were very young that they could not have everything they wanted and that they must be obedient and helpful and punctual. If they were not ready for a meal or for their lessons, they were often sent to their rooms as a punishment. Those rooms had to be in perfect order, for each daughter was required to take care of her own. As they grew older, they were taught to do many things for themselves. If one of them wanted a new dress and her rather slender allowance would not pay the dressmaker, she knew how to make it for herself; and if a new hat was wanted, she could trim it.

This was the way in which the young girl had grown up who was going to visit the Queen of Great Britain when her first year of sorrow was drawing to its close. This was no ordinary visit, for several persons were very anxious that the Queen should like the Princess. They need not have feared. Everyone who met Alexandra loved her, for this bright, cheerful young girl carried sunshine wherever she went, and it shone upon even the lonely heart of the sorrowful Queen.

There had been a great deal of discussion about who would be the bride of the Prince of Wales, and not a little scheming among no lesser people than some of the great dignitaries of Europe; for there were several young princesses whose parents would have been glad to form an alliance with the heir of England's crown. But while the schemers were scheming, the Prince was forming a very definite opinion of his own. At the home of his grand-aunt, the Duchess of Cambridge, he saw one day a portrait of a very beautiful young girl.

"And who is that?" he asked his cousin, the Princess Mary.

"That's Alix," was the reply, "and she is the dearest girl in all the world. You know that grandfather left his palace of Rumpenheim to his six children and asked them to meet there every two years. We all go, and now there are twenty or more of us cousins, but Alix is the prettiest and sweetest and dearest of us all. You must have seen her, for she came to visit me when she was ten years old, and she went to a children's party at Buckingham Palace."

Boys of twelve do not always remember little girls of ten. The Prince of Wales did not say whether he had forgotten "Alix" or not, but while, in 1861, the officials were talking about several other European princesses as well as the Princess Alexandra, he was making it clear to his father and mother that she was the one whom he wished to see. Princess "Vicky" always had her own opinions, and she too had been charmed by the lovely Danish Princess. "Come and visit me, and you shall see her," she wrote. The Prince went to Germany, the Princess was on her way to Rumpenheim, and nothing was easier than to arrange a meeting. Prince Albert wrote, "The young people seem to have a warm liking for each other." Some months after the death of Prince Albert, the two met again; next followed the little visit to Queen Victoria, and the loving welcome to the young girl who then became the betrothed of the Prince of Wales.

Denmark was delighted, and England was no less happy. Prince Christian soon carried his daughter to London to visit Queen Victoria; and then came a busy time, for all the wedding trousseau except the lingerie was to come from England. Princess Mary was delighted to help in selecting, and probably the Prince of Wales had now and then a word to say. While this was going on in England, scores of women in Denmark were cutting and stitching the finest of linen and embroidering on every article a crown and the initials of their beloved Princess. The whole land subscribed to give her a generous dowry, and then the wedding presents began to come. There were many of great value, of course, for all the courts of Europe were interested in the marriage; but the Princess cared most for the gifts that came from her own people, who knew her and loved her. Among those tokens there was a painting of her brothers and sisters in a group, a pair of shoes embroidered in gold from the shoemakers of Copenhagen, and some vases from the villagers who lived near the summer home in the forest. The Danish king gave her a necklace of diamonds and pearls, and King Leopold sent her a most beautiful dress of Brussels lace. At the end of the last sermon that she heard in her own church, the pastor, who had known her from babyhood, gave her a loving benediction and farewell.

The wedding was to be in England, and in February of 1863 the young bride with her father and mother and brothers and sisters went aboard the royal train. The Queen had sent to Antwerp her own Victoria and Albert, the yacht that had so often carried happy people, and after a few days' rest at King Leopold's court, the party crossed the Channel with a little squadron of British men-of-war as escort. As they neared the English coast, the water swarmed with every kind of vessel that would float, from a steamship to a rowboat, for everyone was eager to see the young girl whose beauty had been heralded throughout the kingdom. There was one boat which had the right of way, and soon the Prince of Wales was meeting his bride and giving her a hearty, old-fashioned kiss that satisfied even the hundreds of spectators. Her dress would seem to-day exceedingly quaint, but it must have been wonderfully becoming. It was of mauve poplin, made very full, for those were the days of hoop-skirts. Over it she wore a long purple velvet cloak with a border of sable, and her lovely face was framed in a white "poke" bonnet trimmed with rosebuds.

As soon as she had landed the difficulties began; for the people who had been waiting for hours to see the face that they had heard was the prettiest in the world meant to see it, and they thronged about her carriage in such determined crowds that the police were helpless. There is a story that one inquisitive youth actually twisted his head between the spokes of her carriage wheels to get a glimpse of her in some way; and the legend says that the Princess herself helped him out of his dangerous position. Addresses were presented before she had fairly set her feet upon English soil, one of them signed by the eight hundred Eton boys. Whenever there was a moment's delay, some delegation was always waiting, ready to make a speech of welcome. There were rockets and bonfires and salutes from vessels and forts, and, fascinated as she was, the young girl was thoroughly tired before she was safe at Windsor Castle.

A week later the royal wedding was celebrated in St. George's Chapel. The Prince was in the long flowing purple velvet mantle of the Order of the Garter, which made a rich contrast with the white lace and satin and orange blossoms of his bride. She was loaded with jewels, for the gifts of the Queen, the Prince, and the city of London must all be treated with respect. In her bouquet were sprigs of myrtle that had a history, for they had come from a bush grown from the myrtle in the bridal bouquet of the Princess "Vicky." There was more jewelry that was of special interest, for while the Prince was satisfied with a plain hoop of gold for the wedding ring, the guard was set with stones the initials of whose names formed the word, "Bertie,"—beryl, emerald, ruby, turquoise, jacinth, emerald. The lockets that he gave to the bridesmaids were made after a new fashion, for they were wrought of crystal, and in each were the initials "A. E.—A." intertwined in a design drawn by the Princess Alice. These letters were made of diamonds and coral to display the red and white of the Danish flag.

There was all the brilliancy and gorgeousness that can be imagined, for it was the wedding of the heir to the British crown. There were heralds, drummers, and trumpeters, all in quaint and handsome costumes. The gleam of gold, the flash of diamonds, and the burning glow of rubies made the Chapel a wilderness of color and brightness. Very slowly the beautiful Princess and her bridesmaids moved up the long aisle to the altar, too slowly for the comfort of Prince Arthur and his brother Leopold in their Highland dress, for the small German nephew had been put under their care, and the naughty little Frederick William Victor Albert bit their bare legs whenever they told him to be quiet.

The whole floor of the Chapel was radiant with beauty and aglow with happiness, but in the "Closet," up above the heads of the joyous throng, stood the Queen of England in the deepest mourning, glad in the gladness of her eldest son and in her love for the maiden who was his choice, but with the sorrow at her heart that forbade her to share in the rejoicings of her people.

CHAPTER XII

THE LITTLE FOLK

In the midst of all the royalties that were present at the wedding of the Prince of Wales were the two great novelists of the realm, Thackeray and Dickens; but Tennyson, the Poet Laureate, was not there. Again "someone had blundered," and his invitation had been missent. Both the Queen and Prince Albert felt a sincere admiration and reverence for the poet, and the Prince had asked the favor of an autograph with far more hesitation than most schoolboys would have shown. This is the way in which he made his very modest petition:

"Will you forgive me if I intrude upon your leisure with a request which I have thought some little time of making, viz., that you would be good enough to write your name in the accompanying volume of the 'Idylls of the King'?" Prince Albert was very fond of the "Idylls," and when, only a month after his death, Tennyson brought out a new edition of the poems, it contained a beautiful dedication, which began:

The lines do not sound as if the poet felt obliged to write them because he had been appointed Laureate, but rather as if he meant every word that he wrote. In this dedication he speaks very earnestly of Prince Albert's wisdom and ability and unselfishness, and gives us the exquisite line which everyone quotes who writes of the Prince Consort:

The following year, just before the wedding of the Prince of Wales, Tennyson wrote a welcome to the bride, beginning:

The Queen was much pleased with the poem and said, "Thank him very warmly, and tell him with how much pleasure I have read the lines, and that I rejoice the sweet and charming bride should be thus greeted."

There is a story that when the Danish Princess was a very young girl, she and three of her girl friends sat together in the forest talking of what they should like to do when they were grown up.

"I want to be famous," said one. "I want to paint a picture that everyone will go to see, or to write a book that all Denmark will be eager to read."

"If I could do just what I liked," declared the second, "I would travel all over the world; so I will wish to be a great traveler."

"I want to be rich," said the third, "and then I can travel whenever I choose, and buy all the books I choose without having to write them, and all the pictures I choose without having to paint them. But what do you want, Alix?"

The Princess Alix had been thinking, and she answered slowly, "If I could have just what I wanted, I would choose that everyone who saw me should love me."

However it was with the others, the Princess Alexandra surely had her wish, for everyone who met her seemed to love her. The Queen called her "the fairy," and so great a dignitary as Dean Stanley thought of her in the same way, for after he had had a long talk with her in the corner of the drawing room, telling her how the service of the Church of England differed from that of the Danish Church, he wrote in his diary, "She is as charming and beautiful a creature as ever passed through a fairy tale." "The little gem of Denmark is the pet of the country," declared the newspapers. The unbounded admiration that had been shown to Queen Victoria in the early days of her reign was given to Alexandra. When the Queen came to the throne, young girls who were small and had fair hair and blue eyes were happy. Now, it was bliss to have any feature that resembled the Danish Princess. She had a custom of letting two curls of brown hair fall on each shoulder, and straightway English fashions demanded that every girl should wear four curls hanging on her shoulders. For months London was at the height of gayety. The Princess represented her royal mother-in-law at the drawing rooms of the season; no easy task, for so many ladies attended the first that it took four long hours for them to pass the throne. All this time the Princess Alexandra and the Princess Alice stood to receive them, except for one little resting time of twenty minutes. There were receptions and most magnificent balls, at which all the dignitaries tried their best to make themselves agreeable to the young Princess.

Of course the Queen had no heart for these festivities, but she was glad to have the people pleased, and for one of the most elaborate entertainments she sent decorations and furnishings from Buckingham Palace. The Princess Alice and Prince Louis were with her for several months before the marriage of the Prince of Wales; and only three or four weeks after the great event, a little Hessian granddaughter was born at Windsor Castle. The chaplain of the Hessian court came to England for the christening of the wee maiden. The usual number of names was given her, but the first two were Victoria Alberta.

In the autumn the Queen made the customary visit to Balmoral; but only a few days after her arrival she took an evening drive that put her into a great deal of danger, for the carriage turned over, and the Queen, the Princess Alice, and "Lenchen," as the Princess Helena was called, were thrown out. Brown, the Queen's favorite Highland attendant, had little regard for court manners at any time, and less than ever in this predicament. He called out, "The Lord Almighty have mercy on us! Who did ever see the like of this before! I thought you were all killed." The Queen had fallen on her face, and was somewhat bruised. Princess Alice, with her usual calmness, held a lantern so that the men could see to cut the horses free. Then while the driver went for help, the monarch of Great Britain sat in the road wrapped up in plaids and using the floor of the carriage for a back. The Princess had brought her page along, a Malay boy whose father had presented him to a traveler in return for some kindness, and little "Willem" sat in front with one lantern, while Brown held another. It was a strange situation, a Queen, with thousands of soldiers at her command, sitting in a broken carriage waiting for horses and guarded by one Highlander and a little black boy. She wrote in her journal for that day: "People were foolishly alarmed when we got upstairs, and made a great fuss. Had my head bandaged and got to bed rather late."

This soldier's daughter could make little of pain, but she could not so easily put away sorrow. Every place about Balmoral reminded her of something that Prince Albert had said or done, and she could not bear that his presence should be forgotten. On the summit of a hill which they had often visited together, she built a great cairn, on which was inscribed, "To the beloved memory of Albert, the great and good Prince Consort; raised by his broken-hearted widow, Victoria R."

She was touched and grateful when the citizens of Aberdeen wished to put up a statue of the Prince, and asked her to be present at the unveiling. It was nearly two years since his death, but she had not yet taken part in any public ceremony, and she dreaded to have the morning come. When it did come, however, she wrote in her journal the words that were the keynote of her courage in meeting difficulties, "Prayed for help and got up earlier." The rain poured, but the streets of Aberdeen were thronged with people. Out of sympathy with her grief, there was no cheering, and no band playing. For more than twenty-five years she had never appeared on public occasions without both cheering and music; and although she appreciated the thoughtful sympathy of the people, the silence only made the contrast greater between the past and the present. The exercises began with an address to the Queen by the Lord Provost. She handed him a written reply. Then he knelt before her; her Minister gave her a sword; and touching the Provost with it on each shoulder, she said "Rise, Sir Alexander Anderson." Mr. Anderson had now become a knight, and would be called Sir Alexander all the rest of his life. After this little ceremony, the bunting was drawn away from the statue, and what the Queen called a "fearful ordeal" was at an end.

The one upon whom the Queen depended most was Princess Alice. She often went on little picnics or drives "because Alice advised." The Princess and Prince Louis spent as much time in England as possible, and when they were in Germany the letters of the Princess gave her mother a great deal of pleasure. They were full of the details of her daily life, some of which might have come from a palace and some from a cottage. One described a gift just received from the Empress of Russia, "a splendid bracelet;" and a few days later, the young mother wrote exultantly that the baby looked about and laughed. This young housekeeper was deeply interested in all the details of her home. She was grateful to her Queen mother for the big turkey pie and the other good things that arrived at Christmas time; and she wrote of her various little dilemmas, ranging all the way from a half-hour's hunt for a pen just after a journey to the whirl of making the dining room into a bedroom to accommodate a guest. One morning she wrote "in the midst of household troubles," as she said, for the Emperor and Empress had just sent word that they were coming to breakfast with her, and "Louis" was out. But of all the bits of home life in her letters, those about the children—for in a year and a half there was also a little Elizabeth—must have given the most pleasure to the royal Grandmamma. On one page the Princess described some political complication between kingdoms, and on the next was the astounding news that little Victoria could get on her feet by the help of a chair and could push it across the room. Before long, she was walking out with her father before breakfast, with her independent little hands in her jacket pockets. Money was not especially plenty in the home at Darmstadt, and the Princess mother wrote at one time of the little Elizabeth's wearing Victoria's last year's gowns, and at another said that she had just made seven little dresses for the children. With a German father and an English mother, the little Victoria spoke at first a comical combination of German and English, and she announced one day, "Meine Grossmama, die Königin, has got a little vatch with a birdie."

There was also a little boy in England who was taking much of the Queen's attention, the baby son of the Prince of Wales. He was born at Frogmore House, and as all the clothes provided for him were at Marlborough, he fared no better for raiment at first than if he had been born in a cottage. The loss was made up to him, however, when he was christened; for then he was gorgeous in a robe of Honiton lace, the same one in which his father had been christened, while over the robe was a cloak of crimson velvet with a lining of ermine. Nothing could be too rich and costly, for some day, if he lived long enough, he would wear the English crown. One matter in which the royal family were most economical was in regard to names, for they used the same ones over and over. This little boy was named Albert, for his English grandfather; Victor, for the Queen; Christian, for his Danish grandfather; and Edward, for his father. Princess "Alix" was as eager to be with her precious baby as the Queen had been to stay with her children, and she looked like a mischievous child when she had succeeded in slipping away from some grand company long enough to give baby "Eddie" his bath and put him to bed.

The little Princess Beatrice was scarcely more than a baby herself, but she seems to have felt all the responsibility of being aunt to so many small people. When she was hardly more than three years old, Princess "Vicky's" second child was born, and then Prince Albert wrote of the little girl to his eldest daughter, "That excellent lady has now not a moment to spare. 'I have no time,' she says when she is asked for anything. 'I must write letters to my niece!'"

Around her and across the Channel were children in whom she was most warmly interested, but the Queen's own childhood was rapidly growing more distant, not only by the passing of time, but also by the death of those who were most closely associated with her early days. Bishop Davys died in 1864, and in 1865 the death of King Leopold occurred. He was well called "the wisest king in Europe," and more than one dispute between kingdoms had been left to him for settlement. He knew all the royal secrets, and he made a judicious and kindly use of his knowledge. Ever since the Queen's accession he had aided her with his counsel, and now there was no one to whom she could look for disinterested advice. In that same year the assassination of President Lincoln occurred. The Queen was not satisfied with a formal telegram of regret; she wrote a letter, not as the sovereign of England to the wife of the President, but as one sorrowing woman to another, expressing her warm sympathy.

Few people realized how much severe mental labor the Queen had to endure. Often in the course of a single year many thousand papers were presented to her, and of these there were few to which she did not have to give close thought. For twenty-one years she had discussed everything with Prince Albert, and when they had come to a conclusion, he would, as in the Trent affair, write whatever was necessary. Then they would read the paper together and make any changes that seemed best. After his death, the Queen had to do all this work alone. She could wear the Kohinoor diamond, and she could build a million-dollar palace if she chose, but there were few persons in the kingdom who worked harder than she. What belonged strictly to matters of state was more than enough for one person, but besides this there were schools, hospitals, and bazaars to open, prizes to distribute and corner-stones to lay. Then there were entertainments, fêtes, receptions, balls, etc., frequently in behalf of some good object, whose success was sure if it could be said that the Queen would be present. The Prince and Princess of Wales could not lessen the weight of the public business that pressed so heavily upon the Queen, but they could relieve her from the strain of these public appearances, and this they did. They were both beloved by the people, but after the Queen had lived for five years in retirement, some of her subjects began to complain.

"What has she to do," grumbled one, "but to wear handsome clothes, live in a palace, and bow to people when she drives out?"

"Yes," declared another, "she has nothing to do. Parliament makes the laws, and she just writes her name."

"She's good to her cottagers in the Highlands," said a Londoner, "but she ought to care a little for the merchants here in London. Everybody likes the Princess, but the Queen's the Queen, and there never were such sales as when she was giving her fancy-dress balls."

"She thinks of nothing but her own sorrow," said another. "She has lost all sympathy with the people."

This last speech was made at a public meeting. Mr. John Bright, the "great peace statesman," was present, and he replied to it. His closing words were, "A woman who can keep alive in her heart a great sorrow for the lost object of her life and affection is not at all likely to be wanting in a great and generous sympathy for you."

Little by little the Queen learned the feelings of her people, and she soon published a response which must have made the grumblers feel ashamed. She said she was grateful for their wish to see her, but so much was now thrown upon her which no one else could do that she was overwhelmed with care and anxiety, and did not dare to undertake "mere representation," lest she should become unable to fulfill the duties which were of real importance to the nation. Some months later, she wrote of herself in a private letter: "From the hour she gets out of bed till she gets into it again, there is work, work, work—letter-boxes, questions, etc., which are dreadfully exhausting."

The Queen wished sincerely not only to do what was best for the people, but also to please them. She could not go to balls and theaters, but early in 1866 she determined to open Parliament in person. The London world rejoiced. They tried to imagine that the old days had come again, and they put on their jewels and their most splendid robes. All the way to the Parliament Building the streets were full of crowds who shouted "Long live the Queen! Hurrah for the Queen!" In the House of Lords there was a most brilliant assembly. Silks rustled and jewels sparkled as all rose to welcome the sovereign. As she entered, the Prince of Wales stepped forward and led her to the throne. The royal Parliamentary robes with all their glitter of gold and glow of crimson were laid upon it, for the Queen wore only mourning hues, a robe of deep purple velvet, trimmed with white miniver. On her head was a Marie Stuart cap of white lace, with a white gauze veil flowing behind. The blue ribbon of the Garter was crossed over her breast, and around her neck was a collar of diamonds. All the radiant look of happiness with which those were familiar who had seen her on the throne before, was gone. She was quiet and self-controlled, but grave and sad. Instead of reading her speech, she gave it to the Lord Chamberlain. At its close, she stepped down from the throne, kissed the Prince of Wales, and walked slowly from the room.

Houses of Parliament.

The Queen's two daughters, Helena and Louise, had attended her in opening Parliament. This must have been a little embarrassing for the older one, inasmuch as the Queen's address declared that the royal permission had been given for the Princess Helena to marry Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein; but members of the royal family cannot always consult their own feelings. When they rule different countries, it is not always easy for them even to remain friendly. The fact that the Queen, her daughters, and her Danish daughter-in-law were as fond of one another at the end of 1866 as they were at the beginning of 1864 is proof that the English royal family were very harmonious. Trouble had arisen between Denmark and the German states in regard to the duchies of Schleswig-Holstein, and in 1864 war had broken out between the little kingdom of Denmark and the united powers of Prussia and Austria. Both countries were anxious to win the help of England. Princess "Vicky" and Princess Alice naturally sympathized with the German states; while Princess Alexandra's affection was of course with her own home land, which had now become her father's kingdom. The Emperor of France did not wish to have the German states increase in power, and he was ready to help Denmark, provided England would stand by him. England was willing, but England's sovereign would not hear to any talk of war with Germany, and the Ministers hesitated to act against her decided opposition. Of course the Danish Princess was grieved that the Queen would not consent to help her beloved country. Bismarck was the German statesman who was pushing on the war, therefore he was the man who was most abhorrent to the Princess of Wales. There is a story that the Queen had promised the little Beatrice a present, and that when she asked, "What shall it be?" the wee maiden, who had been carefully tutored by her sister-in-law, replied demurely, "Please, mamma, I'd like the head of Bismarck on a charger."

Two years later, there was a still more difficult condition of affairs in the Queen's family, for now that Prussia and Austria held the Schleswig-Holstein duchies, it was a question to which of the two powers they should belong; and to complicate matters even more, Princess Helena had married Prince Christian. Prussia and the north German states held together, and Austria joined the forces of the south German states. Prince "Fritz" belonged to the north and Prince Louis to the south, and therefore the husbands of the two English Princesses were obliged to fight on opposite sides. The war lasted for only seven weeks, but it was an anxious time for Queen Victoria, who shared so fully in the troubles of her daughters. Princess Alice's two little girls were sent to England to be safe in her care, but in the midst of the war, a third little daughter was born. The boom of the distant guns was heard as she lay in her cradle in Darmstadt. Wounded men were being brought into the town, and the residents were fleeing in all directions. By and by the end came, and then the little dark-eyed baby was named Irene, or peace. Never before had a child so many godfathers, for when Prince Louis said farewell to his cavalry, he delighted them by asking the two regiments, officers and men, to be sponsors to his little girl.