Books: Life of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen V.1.

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In the same year an attempt was made to honour the memory of a greater
poet than Thomas Campbell, one whose worldly reward had not been great,
whose history ended in a grievous tragedy. The Scotchmen of the day seized
the opportunity of the return of two of Robert Burns's sons from military
service in India to give them a welcome home which should do something to
atone for any neglect and injustice that had befallen their father. The
festival was not altogether successful, as such festivals rarely are, but
it excited considerable enthusiasm in the poet's native country,
especially in his county of Ayrshire. And when the lord of the Castle of
Montgomery presided over the tribute to the sons of the ploughman who had
"shorn the harvest" with his Highland Mary on the Eglinton "lea-riggs,"
and Christopher North made the speech of the day, the demonstration could
not be considered an entire failure.

Scotch hearts warmed to the belief that the Queen understood and admired
Burns's poetry, and proud reference was made to the circumstance that
during one of her Highland excursions she applied the famous descriptive
passage in the "Birks of Aberfeldy" to the scene before her:

The braes ascend like lofty wa'e,
The foamy stream deep roaring fa's,
O'erhung with fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linn the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

This summer, brown Queen Pomare, and the affairs of far-off Tahiti, had a
strange, inordinate amount of attention from the English public. French
interference in the island, the imprisonment of an English consul and
Protestant missionary, roused the British lion. The dusky island-queen
claimed the help of her English allies, and till Louis Philippe and M.
Guizot disowned the policy which had been practised by their
representatives in the South Seas, there was actually fear of war between
England and France, in spite of the friendly visit to Chateau d'Eu.
Happily the King and his minister made, or appeared to make, reparation as
well as explanation, and the danger blew over.

On the 31st of July, down at Windsor a humble but affectionately loved
friend died. Prince Albert's greyhound Eos--his companion from his
fourteenth to his twenty-fifth year, his _avant courier_ when he came
as a bridegroom to claim his bride--was found dead, without previous
symptom of illness. She lies buried on the top of the bank above the
Slopes, and a bronze model of her marks the spot.

On the 6th of August the Queen's second son was born at Windsor Castle.
The Prince of Prussia (the present Emperor of Germany), the third royal
visitor this year, came over in time for the christening, when the little
prince received the name of the great Saxon King of England, Alfred,
together with the names of his uncle, Ernest, and his father, Albert. The
godfathers were Prince George of Cambridge, the Queen's cousin,
represented by his father; and the Prince of Leiningen, the Queen's
brother, represented by the Duke of Wellington; while the godmother was
the Queen and Prince Albert's sister-in-law, the Duchess of Coburg-Gotha,
represented by the Duchess of Kent. "To see these two children there too,"
the Queen wrote of the Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales, "seems such
a dream to me ... May God bless them all, poor little things." The
engraving represents the sailor-Prince in his childhood.

A tour in Ireland had been projected for the Queen's holiday, but the
excitement in the country consequent on the liberation of O'Connell and
his companions rendered the time and place unpropitious for a royal visit,
so it was decided that Her Majesty should go again to Scotland. On this
occasion the Queen and the Prince took their little four-year-old daughter
with them. The route was not quite the same as formerly. The party went by
a shorter way to the Highlands, the yacht sailing to Dundee, the great
manufacturing city so fortunate in its situation, where the rushing Tay
calms and broadens into a wide Frith, with a background of green hills and
a foreground of the pleasantly broken shores of Forfar and Fife. The
trades held high holiday, and gave the Queen a jubilant welcome, the air
ringing with shouts of gladness as she landed from the yacht, leaning on
Prince Albert's arm, while he led by the hand the small daughter who
reminded the Queen so vividly of herself--as the little Princess of past
years.

The Queen, escorted by the Scots Greys, proceeded by Cupar Angus to
Dunkeld, stopping at one of the hotels to get "some broth for the child,"
who proved an excellent traveller, sleeping in her carriage at her usual
hours, not put out or frightened at noise or crowds--an excellent thing in
a future empress--standing bowing to the people from the windows like a
great lady.

At Moulinearn her Majesty tasted that luscious compound of whisky, honey,
and milk known as "Athol brose."

The Queen's destination was Blair Castle, the seat of Lord Glenlyon--a
white, barrack-like building in the centre of some of the grandest scenery
of the Perthshire Highlands. There a strong body of Murrays met her
Majesty at the gate and ran by the side of the carriages to the portico of
the Castle, where the clansmen, pipers and all, were drawn up in four
companies of forty each, to receive the guests. The Queen occupied the
Castle during her stay, Lord and Lady Glenlyon, with their son and the
other members of their family, being quartered in the lodge for the time.

The Queen and the Prince led the perfectly retired and simple life which
was so agreeable to them. Spent among romantic and interesting scenery, it
was doubly delightful to the young couple. They dispensed as much as
possible with state and ceremony. The Highland Guard were ordered not to
present arms more than twice a day to the Queen, and once a day to the
Prince and the Princess Royal; but in other respects the Guard were so
much impressed by their responsibility that not only would they permit no
stranger to pass their _cordon_ without giving the password, which
was changed every day, they stopped Lord Glenlyon's brother for want of
the necessary "open sesame," telling him that, lord's brother or not, he
could not pass without the word.

Her Majesty's piper, Mackay, had orders to play a pibroch under her
windows every morning at seven o'clock. At the same early hour a bunch of
fresh heather, with a draught of icy-cold water from Glen Tilt, was
brought to the Queen. The Princess Royal, on her Shetland pony,
accompanied the Queen and the Prince in their morning rambles. Sometimes
the little one was carried in her father's arms, while he pointed out to
her any object that would amuse her and call forth her prattle. "Pussy's
cheeks are on the point of bursting, they have grown so red and plump,"
wrote the Prince to his stepmother. "She is learning Gaelic, but makes
wild work with the names of the mountains."

So free was the life that one morning when a lady, plainly dressed and
unaccompanied, left the Castle about seven o'clock no notice was taken of
her, and it was only after she had gone some distance that the rank of the
pedestrian was discovered. With a little hesitation, a body-guard was told
off and followed her Majesty, but she intimated that she would dispense
with their attendance, and went on alone as far as the lodge, where she
inquired for Lord Glenlyon. It was understood afterwards that she had
chosen to be her own messenger with regard to some arrangements to be made
respecting a visit to the Falls of the Bruar.

Lord Glenlyon was not out of bed, and the deputy-porter was electrified by
being told that the Queen had called on his master. On her Majesty's
return to the house she took a different road and lost her way, so that
she had to apply to some Highland reapers whom she met, trudging to one of
the isolated oatfields, to direct her to the Castle. They told her
civilly, but without ceremony, to cross one of the "parks" (fields or
meadows) and climb over a paling--instructions which she obeyed literally,
and found herself at home again.

On a fine September morning the two who were so happy in each other's
company rode on a dun and a grey pony, attended only by Sandy McAra, who
led the Queen's pony through the ford, up the grassy hill of Tulloch, "to
the very top." There they saw a whole circle of stupendous Bens--Ben
Vrackie, Ben-y-Ghlo, Ben-y-Chat, as well as the Falls of the Bruar and the
Pass of Killiecrankie, which the Hanoverian troopers likened to "the mouth
of hell" on the day that Dundee fell on the field at Urrard.

"It was quite romantic," declared the Queen joyfully. "Here we were with
only this Highlander behind us holding the ponies--for we got off twice
and walked about; not a house, not a creature near us, but the pretty
Highland sheep, with their horns and black faces, up at the top of
Tulloch, surrounded by beautiful mountains ... the most delightful, the
most romantic ride I ever had."

There was much more riding and driving in Glen Tilt, with its disputed
"right of way" ease, but there was none to bar the Queen's progress. Her
Majesty showed herself a fearless rider, abandoning the cart-roads and
following the foot-tracks among the mountains. She grew as fond of her
homely Highland pony, _Arghait Bhean_, with which Lord Glenlyon
supplied her, as she was of her Windsor stud, with every trace of high
breeding in their small heads, arching necks, slender legs, and dainty
hoofs.

One day the foresters succeeded in driving a great herd of red-deer, with
their magnificent antlers, across the heights, so that the Queen had a
passing view of them. On another day she was able to join in the
deer-stalking, scrambling for hours in the wake of the hunters, among the
rocks and heather, when she was not "allowed," as she described it, to
speak above a whisper, in case she should spoil the sport. It was a brief
taste of an ideal, open-air, unsophisticated life, upon which there was no
intrusion, except when stolid sightseers flocked to the little parish
church of Blair Athol for the chance of "seeing royalty at its prayers,
and hardly a regret beyond the lack of time to sketch the groups of
keepers and dogs, the deer, the mountains.

The Queen, as usual, enjoyed and admired everything there was to
admire--the pretty jackets or "short gowns" of the rustic maidens; the
"burns," clear as glass; the mossy stones; the peeps between the trees;
the depth of the shadows; the corn-cutting or "shearing," when a patch of
yellow oats broke the purple shadow of the moor; Ben-y-Ghlo standing like
a mighty sentinel commanding the course of the Garry, as when many a lad
"with his bonnet and white cockade," sped with fleet foot by the flashing
waters, "leaving his mountains to follow Prince Charlie;" Chrianean, where
the eagles sometimes sat; the sunsets when the sky was "crimson, golden
red, and blue," and the hills "looked purple and lilac," till the hues
grew softer and the outlines dimmer. Prince Albert, an ardent admirer of
natural scenery, was in ecstasy with the mountain landscape. But her
Majesty has already permitted her people to share in the halcyon days of
those Highland tours.

On the homeward journey to Dundee, Lord Glenlyon and his brother, Captain
Murray, performed the loyal feat of riding fifty miles, the whole distance
from Blair, by the Queen's carriage.

CHAPTER XX.
LOUIS PHILIPPE'S VISIT.--THE OPENING OF THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.

The Queen and the Prince returned to Windsor to receive a visit from Louis
Philippe. The King, who had spent part of his exiled youth in England,
had not been back since 1815, when he took refuge there again during "the
Hundred Days," after Napoleon's return from Elba and Louis XVIII.'s
withdrawal to Ghent, till the battle of Waterloo restored the heads of the
Bourbon and Orleans families to the Tuileries and the Palais Royal.

The King arrived on the 6th of October, accompanied by his son, the Duc de
Montpensier, M. Guizot, and a numerous suite. They had sailed from Treport
in the steamer _Gomer_, attended by three other, steamers, and
arrived at Portsmouth, where the Corporation came on board to present an
address.

The King answered in English, with much effusion and affability, shaking
hands with the whole batch of magistrates, telling those who were too slow
in removing their white gloves, "Oh! never mind your gloves, gentlemen,"
and recalling a former visit to Portsmouth when he was an exile. Prince
Albert and the Duke of Wellington went on board the steamer, when the
enthusiastic elderly gentleman saluted the Prince on both cheeks, to which
he submitted, though he did not reply in kind, contenting himself with
shaking his guest by the hand. It would seem as if the Prince had some
perception of the wiliness which was one quality of the big, bluff citizen
king, and of the discretion which must be practised in dealing with him,
no less than with the Russian bear. For in writing from Blair to a
kinswoman, in anticipation of the visit, the writer states, with a dash of
humour, that after a preliminary training on the sea, the bold deerstalker
and mountaineer would have to transform himself into a courtier to receive
and entertain a King of the French, and play the part of a staid and
astute diplomatist.

The king wore the French uniform of a Lieutenant-General--blue with red
facings. The moment he ascended the stairs of the jetty, he turned with
his hand on his heart and bowed to the multitude of spectators.

The Queen met her visitor in the grand vestibule fronting George the
Fourth's Gate at Windsor Castle; the Duchess of Kent and the ladies of the
Household, Sir Robert Peel and Lord Liverpool, and the officers of the
Household, were with her Majesty. The moment the carriage drew up, the
Queen advanced and extended her arms to her father's old friend. The two
sovereigns embraced, and she led the way to the suite of rooms which had
been previously occupied by the Emperor of Russia.

Lady Lyttelton has supplied her version of the arrival. "At two o'clock he
arrived, this curious king, worth seeing if ever a body was. The Queen
having graciously permitted me to be present, I joined the Court in the
corridor, and we waited an hour, and then the Queen of England came out of
her room to go and receive the King of France--the first time in history!
Her Majesty had not long to wait (in the armoury, as she received him in
the State apartments, his own private rooms; very civil); and from the
armoury, amidst all the old trophies and knights' armour, and Nelson's
bust, and Marlborough's flag, and Wellington's, we saw the first of the
escort enter, the Quadrangle, and down flew the Queen, and we after her,
to the outside of the door on the pavement of the Quadrangle, just in time
to see the escort clattering up and the carriage close behind. The old
man was much moved, I think, and his hand rather shook as he alighted, his
hat quite off, and grey hair seen. His countenance is striking--much
better than the portraits--and his embrace of the Queen was very parental,
and nice. Montpensier is a handsome youth, and the courtiers and ministers
very well-looking, grave, gentlemenlike people. It was a striking piece of
real history--made one feel and think much."

"He is the first king of France who comes on a visit to the sovereign of
this country," wrote the Queen in her Journal.... "The King said, as he
went up the grand staircase to his apartments, 'Heavens! how
beautiful!'.... I never saw anybody more pleased or more amused in looking
at every picture, every bust. He knew every bust, and knew everything
about everybody here in a most wonderful way. Such a memory! such
activity! It is a pleasure to show him anything, as he is so pleased and
interested. He is enchanted with the Castle, and repeated to me again and
again (as did also his people) how delighted he was to be here; how he had
feared that what he had so earnestly wished since I came to the throne
would not take place, and 'Heavens! what a pleasure it is to me to give
you my arm!'" The dinner was comparatively private, in the Queen's
dining-room.

On the 8th of the month the whole royal party went on a little pilgrimage
to Claremont and Twickenham, to the house in which Louis Philippe, as Duc
d'Orleans, had resided, and wound up the day by a great banquet in St.
George's Hall. The Queen records of this excursion, "We proceeded by
Staines, where the King recognised the inn and everything, to Twickenham,
where we drove up to the house where he used to live, and where Lord and
Lady Mornington, who received us, are now living. It is a very pretty
house, much embellished since the King lived there, but otherwise much the
same, and he seemed greatly pleased to see it again. He walked round the
garden, in spite of the heavy shower which had just fallen.... The King
himself directed the postillion which way to go to pass by the house where
he lived for five years with his poor brothers, before his marriage. From
here we drove to Hampton Court, where we walked over Wolsey's Hall and all
the rooms. The King remained a long time in them, looking at the pictures,
and marking on the catalogue numbers of those which he intended to have
copied for Versailles. We then drove to Claremont. Here we got out and
lunched, and after luncheon took a hurried walk in the grounds.... We left
Claremont after four, and reached Windsor at a little before six."

Of the conversation during the banquet her Majesty wrote, "He talked to me
of the time when he was 'in a school in the Grisons, a teacher merely,'
receiving twenty pence a day, having to brush his own boots, and under the
name of Chabot. What an eventful life his has been!" On the 9th there was
an installation of a Knight of the Garter. Sir Theodore Martin reminds his
readers, 'with regard to the ceremony, that it "must have been pregnant
with suggestions to all present who remembered that the Order had been
instituted by Edward III. after the battle of Cressy, and that its
earliest knights were the Black Prince and his companions, whose prowess
had been so fatal to France. "In the Throne-room, in a State chair, sat
Queen Victoria, in the (blue velvet) mantle of the Order, its motto
inscribed on a bracelet that encircled her arm; a diamond tiara on her
head. The chair of State by her side was vacant. Round the table before
her sat the knights-companions of the highest rank; on the steps of the
throne behind the Queen's chair were seated the high civil ministers of
the two sovereigns, and some officers of the French suite. At the
opposite end of the room were the royal ladies (members of the royal
family) and the two young Princes (the Duc de Montpensier and Prince
Edward of Saxe-Weimar) visiting at the Castle.... The King, dressed in a
uniform of dark blue and gold, was introduced by Prince Albert and the
Duke of Cambridge, preceded by Garter King-at-Arms, the Queen and the
knights all standing. The sovereign (Queen Victoria) in French announced
the election. The declaration having been pronounced by the Chancellor of
the Order, the new knight was invested by the Queen and Prince Albert with
the Garter and the George, and received the accolade."

"Albert then placed the Garter round the King's leg," wrote the Queen. "I
pulled it through while the admonition was being read, and the King said
to me, 'I wish to kiss this hand,' which he did afterwards, and I embraced
him."

"Taking the King's arm, her Majesty conducted him in state to his own
apartments," the _Annual Register_ ends its account of an interesting
episode.

"At four o'clock we again went over to the King's room," wrote the Queen,
"and I placed at his feet a large cup representing St. George and the
dragon, with which he was very much pleased." That night there was a
splendid banquet in St. George's Hall to commemorate the installment.

On the 12th the King was to have left, but first the Corporation of London
went down to Windsor in civic state to present Louis Philippe with an
address. This unusual compliment from the City was due partly to the
general satisfaction which the visit, with, its promise of continued
friendly relations between England and France, gave to the whole country,
partly to the circumstance that it was judged inadmissible, in view of the
susceptibility of the French nation, for the King of France to pay a
formal visit to London, since the Queen of England, in her recent trip to
Treport, had not gone to Paris. A somewhat comical _contretemps_
occurred in the preparation of the reply to this address. It was written
by the person who usually acted for the King in such matters, and brought
to him shortly before the arrival of the Corporation, when Louis Philippe
found to his disgust that the speech was so French in spirit, and
expressed in such bad English, he could not hope to make it understood.
"It is deplorable.... It is cruel," cried the mortified King. "And to send
it to me at one o'clock! They will be here immediately!" No time was to be
lost; the King had to sit down and, with the help of his host and hostess,
who had come to his rooms opportunely, to write out a more suitable
answer.

In M. Guizot's "Memoirs" he tells a curious incident of this visit. On
retiring to his room at night he lost his way, and appeared to wander, as
Baroness Bunsen feared she might do on a similar occasion, along miles of
corridors and stairs. At last, believing he recognised his room-door, he
turned the handle, but immediately withdrew, on getting a glimpse of a
lady seated at a toilet-table, with a maid busy about her mistress's hair.
It was not till next day that from some smiling words addressed to him by
the Queen the horrified statesman discovered he had been guilty of an
invasion of the royal apartments.

Louis Philippe started on his homeward journey accompanied by her Majesty
and Prince Albert, who were to go on board the _Gomer_ and there take
leave of their guest. Afterwards they were to embark in the royal yacht
and cross to the Isle of Wight. But the stormy weather overturned all
these plans. The swell in the sea was so great that it was feared the King
could not land at Treport. Eventually he parted from the Queen and the
Prince on shore, returned in the evening to London, went to New
Cross--where he found the station on fire--proceeded by train to Dover,
and sailed next day, amidst wind and rain, in French steamer to Calais. In
order to soften the disappointment to the officers and crew of the
_Gomer_, the Queen and Prince Albert breakfasted on board that vessel
before they proceeded to the Isle of Wight.

The cause of the cruise of the Queen and the Prince at this season was the
wish to see for themselves the house and grounds of Osborne, belonging to
Lady Isabella Blatchford. They were to be sold, and had been, suggested by
Sir Robert Peel to her Majesty and the Prince as exactly constituted to
form the retired yet not too remote country and seaside home--not palace,
for which the royal couple were looking out. It is unnecessary to say that
the personal visit was quite satisfactory, though the purchase was not
made till some months later. The engraving gives a pleasant idea of the
Osborne of to-day, with its double towers--seen out at sea--its terraces,
and its fountains.

On the 21st of October the Queen and the Prince happened to be yachting
off Portsmouth. It was the anniversary of the battle of Trafalgar, and the
_Victory_ lay in the roads, adorned with wreaths and garlands from
stem to stern. The Queen expressed her desire to visit the ship. She went
at once to the quarter-deck to see the spot where Nelson fell. It is
marked by a brass plate with an inscription, on this day surrounded by a
wreath of laurel. The Queen gazed in silence, the tears rising to her
eyes. Then she plucked a couple of leaves from the laurel wreath, and
asked to be shown the cabin in which Nelson died. The cockpit was lit up
while the party were inspecting the poop of the _Victory_, which
bears the words of the great Admiral's last signal, "England expects every
man to do his duty." In the cockpit, long associated with merry,
mischievous sprites of "middies," there had been for many a year the
representation of a funeral urn, with the sentence, "Here Nelson died."
The visitors looked at the spot without speaking. There, on this very day
in the fast-receding past, amidst the hardly subdued din of a great naval
battle, the dying hero with his failing breath made the brief, tender
appeal to his faithful captain, "Kiss me, Hardy." The Queen requested that
there might be no firing when she left the ship, and was sped on her way
only by "the three tremendous British cheers of the sailors manning the
yards."

On the 28th of October the great civic ceremonies of the opening of the
new Royal Exchange by the Queen took place. The morning had been foggy,
but cleared up into brilliant autumn sunshine, a happy instance of the
Queen's weather, when a considerable part of the programme, as a matter of
necessity, was enacted under the open sky.

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