chapter I must mention the Matron, a most respectable excellent person,

called Mrs. Bowerhill; she is assisted by her two daughters, and by an old woman for work; but besides this old woman, the children do all the work themselves. We came home at ½ p. 6. I was very much pleased indeed with all I saw. Miss Murray gave me a book into which she had copied several of the letters of the children from abroad, and very nice well-written letters they are. Miss Murray’s exertions are immense and most praiseworthy for the Children’s Friend Society. There is a Committee of Ladies who meet every other Tuesday I believe; but Lady George and Miss Murray go down 3 times a week and oftener. At a ¼ p. 7 we dined. After dinner came Princess Sophia. Stayed up till 10 minutes to 10....

_Monday, 8th August._—I awoke at 7 and got up at 8. At a ¼ past 9 we breakfasted. At a ¼ to 10 Lehzen and I walked out till ½ past 10. Arranged things for packing. At 11 came my good Lablache and stayed till 20 minutes past 12. I sang 1st “Come per me sereno,” from _La Sonnambula_. Then he sang with me “Claudio, Claudio, ritorna fra le braccia paterne,” twice over; then he sang with me “Se un istante all’ offerta d’un soglio,” also from _Elisa e Claudio_. The former of these two was the one that I sang so very ill on Saturday, but which Lablache did not mind at all. _He_ thought it went better today; but he is too indulgent. _He_ was in delightful voice, and sang _beautifully_. After this he sang “Non temer il mio bel cadetto” from _Il Posto abbandonato_, by Mercadante, with me. His volubility of tongue is wonderful; he can sing such quantities of words and at such a rate. There are plenty in this Duo, and still more in “Quand amore,” and in “Voglio dire,” both from _L’Elisire d’Amore_. Then he sang my favourite “O amato zio” from my dear _Puritani_, with me. After this he sang “O nume benefico” with us; then “Ridiamo, cantiamo,” and then, _alas! per finire_, “Dopo due lustri ahi! misero,” from _Donna Caritea_, by Mercadante. Lablache told me that he likes _Guillaume Tell_ the best of _all_ Rossini’s operas, _Otello_ the best of his Operas Seria, and _Il Barbiere_ the best of his buffa operas. _Ha ragione._ His son (Lablache’s) is gone, he told me; he went yesterday, as did also Rubini. I asked him if any other of his 8 children sang, or were musical. He replied, “Non, ils sont trop jeunes; l’aîné n’a que douze ans.” And the youngest of all, he says, is only _2_ years old. There is an opera tomorrow, but the boxes &c., &c. are let, shocking to say, at the play-house prices, and “C’est un pasticcio,” he said. It is not in the regular number of nights. He said that I have improved greatly in my singing since he has sung with me. After the last trio, I took leave of _il mio buon e caro Maestro_ with _great_ regret. I must repeat again that he is not only a most delightful, patient, and agreeable master, but a most good-humoured, pleasing, agreeable and honest man; his manners are very gentlemanly and quiet, and he has something very frank, open and honest in his countenance; everybody who knows him agrees in his being such a good man. I have had _26_ lessons of Lablache and shall think back with great delight on them; and shall look forward with equal delight to next April, when I hope Lablache will be here, so that I can resume them again. It was such a pleasure to hear his fine voice and to sing with him. Everything that is pleasant, alas! passes so quickly in this “wide world of troubles.” How often I have experienced that, in greater pleasures, when my dear relations have left me! But then there are the pleasant _recollections_ of all that is past, and one must be happy one has had them. I was exceedingly delighted with this my _last_ lesson; the time seemed to fly even faster than usual, for it always appeared to me that these pleasant lessons were over in an instant. Lablache accompanied really very fairly, and when he came to any difficult parts, he put in “des accords,” which did just as well. I have already mentioned how very obliging he is; he was always ready to sing anything I like and to stay as long as I liked. He is extremely active for his size, which really is very considerable. It amused me always to see him come in and go out of my room; he walked so erect and made such a fine dignified bow. So now all, all is over for this season, not only the Opera but my favourite singing-lessons too....

_Wednesday, 10th August._— ... A propos, I shall never forget when, in my first singing-lesson, I was so frightened to sing before Lablache, he said in his good-natured way, “Personne n’a jamais eu peur de moi,” which I am sure nobody can ever be who knows him....

CLAREMONT, _Friday, 16th September_.—At ½ past 9 we breakfasted, that is to say, dearest Uncle, we two, Lehzen &c., Lady Catherine not being well enough, and Uncle’s two gentlemen being gone to town. Went up to my room and copied out music. At about a ¼ to 12 dearest Uncle came and sat with me till ½ p. 12. He talked over many important things. He is _so_ clever, _so_ mild, and _so_ prudent; _he_ alone can give me good advice on _every_ thing. His advice is perfect. He is indeed “il mio secondo padre” or rather “_solo_ padre”! for he is indeed like my real father, as I have none, and he is so kind and so good to me, he has ever been so to me. He has been and always is of such use to me and does _so_ much good....

_Sunday, 18th September._—Baron Moncorvo brought yesterday the distressing news that the same unfortunate revolution which took place in Spain, has likewise taken place in Portugal, and that the Queen was forced to proclaim the constitution of 1820 similar to the one of 1812.[239] It happened between Friday the 9th and Saturday the 10th, in the night. I do so feel for poor dear Ferdinand in this trying moment, as also for the poor good Queen. The difference between this and the one in Spain was: that in _Portugal_ they behaved respectfully towards dear Ferdinand and Donna Maria, and in Spain they almost insulted the Queen Regent. In Portugal, thank God! no blood has been shed. As soon as the Empress heard what had happened, or rather what would happen, she hastened to the Palace de Necessidades, where Ferdinand and the Queen were, arrived there at 3 o’clock in the night, and remained there till all was over. The Princess Isabella, the Queen’s Aunt (and the former Regent), also came and remained with them. Uncle Leopold was much shocked and distressed when he heard it, as were we also, I am sure.... Dear Uncle came up for a minute and brought us 3 letters which Van de Weyer had written to him, giving a detailed account of these horrid transactions at Lisbon. Van de Weyer’s conduct throughout this dreadful business, when everybody else seems to have lost their heads and senses, was most courageous, prudent and judicious; and if his and Ferdinand’s advice had been followed, the Queen would _not_ have been obliged to sign the Promulgation of the _Constitution_ of 1820. Van de Weyer says that _all_ was given up “avec la plus affreuse lâcheté!” without a struggle or attempt, when _all might yet have been saved_....

_Wednesday, 21st September._— ... Dear Uncle came up and fetched us down to breakfast, as he has done already once before, and twice for dinner. He always accompanied us upstairs when we went to bed. It was our last breakfast with him; I sat, as usual, near him and General Goblet.[240] To hear dear Uncle speak on any subject is like reading a highly instructive book; his conversation is so enlightened, so clear. He is universally admitted to be one of the first politicians now extant. He speaks so mildly, yet firmly and impartially, about Politics. Uncle tells me that Belgium is quite a pattern for its organisation, industry and prosperity; the finances are in the greatest perfection. Uncle is so beloved and revered by his Belgian subjects, that it must be a great compensation for all his extreme trouble. He is so mild, gentle and kind, and so clever and firm....

[Illustration: _Mᵐᵉ Malibran from recollection P.V. del. Bentest[?] Sept. 1836.

MADAME MALIBRAN. From a sketch by Princess Victoria.]

_Monday, 26th September._— ... Read in the Morning Post of today the melancholy and almost incredible news of the _death_ of—_Malibran_![241] which took place at Manchester on Friday night at 12 o’clock, at the early age of 28. She had gone there for the festival which took place the week before last, and only sang on Tuesday the 13th instant, and tried to do so on the Wednesday but was unable, after which she was taken so alarmingly ill that all singing was over. On Saturday the account in the papers was that she was out of danger, but the improvement was only transient and on Friday night this wonderful singer and extraordinary person was no more. She will be, and is, a very _great_ loss indeed; for, though I liked and admired Grisi by far more than Malibran, I admired many parts of the latter’s singing very much, in particular those touching and splendid low notes which gave one quite a thrill. In point of cleverness and genius there is not a doubt that Malibran far surpassed Grisi; for she was not proficient alone in singing and acting, she knew Spanish (her own language), Italian, French, English, and German perfectly, as also various Italian _patois_. She composed very prettily, drew well, rode well on horseback, danced beautifully, and enfin _climbed_ well, as General Alava told us, who knew her very well; he said you could speak with her on any subject and she was equally _à son aise_. She was born in 1808 at Paris, and is the daughter of a famous Spanish singer called _Garcia_; she married first an old French merchant called _Malibran_, from whom she was divorced; and secondly this spring the incomparable violinist De Bériot. Mamma saw her make her debut as _Maria Garcia_, only 16 years old, in _Il Crociato_, at the Italian Opera in London, as “un giovinetto Cavalier.” There is something peculiarly awful and striking in the death of this great Cantatrice, undoubtedly the _second in the world_, (Grisi being the _first_ in _my opinion_). To be thus cut off in the bloom of her youth and the height of her career, suddenly, is dreadful!...

_Wednesday, 28th September._— ... The news from Lisbon are far from good, I am _sorry to say_. Mamma received a letter from Van de Weyer this morning, dated 11th Sept., in which he said that there had been another _émeute_ the afternoon before, which however had been dissipated, and that both _dearest_ Ferdinand and Donna Maria showed great calmness and dignity. It is a great trial for poor dear Ferdinand and for the good Queen. Van de Weyer says they are all in a very uncomfortable situation....

_Friday, 30th September._— ... Read in _The Times_ last night a distressing account of the details of poor Malibran’s illness and death. Poor young creature! she seems to have been neglected at a time when her life might perhaps still have been saved; for she complained of head-ache and shivering the same afternoon she arrived (Sunday 11th Sept.). On the Wednesday night after singing that fine but _now_ painful Duo “Vanne se alberghi in petto,” she was taken so very very ill. Notwithstanding all this she got up on Thursday morning and was dressed with the assistance of Mrs. Richardson, landlady of the Mosely Arms Hotel at Manchester, for she had no female attendant, a man-servant of De Bériot’s being (as is said in the newspapers, for all what I have hitherto related about her illness and death is taken from the newspapers) their only servant. In spite of every effort to prevent her, the poor dying Malibran insisted upon going to the Oratorio that morning, and was accordingly carried to her carriage; but being seized with hysterics she was instantly taken back. She never left her room, and scarcely her bed, from that time till her death. Dr. Belluomini, her own Physician, only arrived on Sunday the 18th, though other physicians had attended her (from Manchester) before. She was perfectly insensible when she died; as also two or 3 days before her death. De Bériot was distracted and overpowered on learning of her death, in another room whither they had compelled him to retire when it was drawing to a close. He never saw her afterwards, and left the place 2 hours after all was over. It is the most melancholy end that could be imagined! To come to an inn in a foreign land with nobody to nurse her, and _die_ there! What a sad and tragical end to her bright career! I can still hardly believe it possible that she, whom I can see before me as she was at our own concert, dressed in white satin, so merry and lively, and whose pathetic voice when speaking I can hear, is now in the silent tomb; for the funeral was to take place at 10 o’clock this morning with great splendour. And so today, all, all is over with poor Malibran!...

_Sunday, 9th October._— ... We went to the church at Ramsgate with Lady Catherine and Lehzen. Mr. Harvey preached. The text was from the 5th chapter of the 2nd Epistle to Cor., 10th verse: “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every man may receive the things done in his body according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” Came home at 20 minutes to 1. Wrote my journal. Copied out music. At a ¼ to 3 we went to the chapel with Lady Catherine and dear Lehzen, &c. The service was read by Mr. Lewis, and Dr. Longley (late Master of Harrow School) preached, and _most beautifully_; so mildly and emphatically; his voice is very good, his pronunciation very pure, his delivery calm and impressive, his language beautiful yet simple, and his appearance very pleasing. He must be between 30 and 40, I should say. The text was from the 3rd chapter of Daniel, 16th, 17th, and 18th verses: “Shadrach, Meshech, and Abed-nego answered and said to the King, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O King. But if not, be it known unto thee, O King, that we will not serve thy gods nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.” It was a most beautiful sermon in every way, and I was _very much_ pleased and impressed with it. Dr. Longley is to be Bishop of Ripon....[242]

_Thursday, 27th October._— ... Read in _The Conquest of Granada_ while my hair was doing. At 9 we breakfasted. Wrote a letter to my brother. At 10 came the Dean till ½ p. 11. Read with him in the N.T., in _The Life of Colonel Hutchinson_, and in Paley. _The Life of Colonel Hutchinson_ is written by his wife, who wrote it for her children after their father’s death. Colonel Hutchinson lived in the time of Charles I., the Commonwealth, and even of Charles II. He was on the Puritanical side, and though a very good man, signed the King’s death-warrant, being very _strong_ on his side, which is to be seen by Mrs. Hutchinson’s writings; his and her feelings being totally opposite to Clarendon’s, render it interesting, though it is more a private account of his life than any public History of the Times, but of course a good deal of history will be mixed up in it as Col. Hutchinson had a good deal to do in the wars. Mrs. Hutchinson’s style is remarkably quaint and ancient, indeed in some parts so much so as to render it almost ridiculous, but there are again some very pretty feeling parts in it (indeed feeling and pious throughout it), one of which, in which she speaks of her husband and herself I shall quote; before I do so, however, I must say that the editor, a descendant of the family, has left the orthography just as she wrote it, which is very antiquated and imperfect: “The greatest excellence she (Mrs. Hutchinson) had was the power of apprehending and the vertue of loving his (Col. H.’s) soe as his shadow, she waited on him every where, till he was taken into that region of light, which admits of none, and then she vanisht into nothing.” There is likewise another passage speaking of a son she lost: “... call’d by his owne name John, who liv’d scarce six yeares, and was a very hopefull child, full of his father’s vigor and spiritt, but death soone nipt that blossome.” Lehzen of course still continues reading to me while I dress, the delightful letters of Mme. de Sévigné; we are now in the middle of the 10th vol., and I like them more and more, they are so beautiful, so easy, they show the character of the person who wrote them so perfectly, you become acquainted with her and hers, and there are such tender and beautiful feelings expressed in them, towards that daughter who was her all & all; and the style is so elegant and so beautiful. I shall quote a passage relating to a vexation she had about not procuring the “députation” for her son M. de Sévigné: “Ne faut-il point être juste et se mettre à la place des gens? c’est ce qu’on ne fait jamais.” How true this is. Then how pretty this is, in writing to Mme. de Grignan: “Vous me louez trop de la douce retraite que je fais ici; rien n’y est pénible que votre absence.” There is certainly nothing so beautiful of the kind, in any language as these letters. I shall just quote two passages from the extracts in _The Edinburgh Review_ of Sir James Mackintosh’s life, about Mme. de Sévigné: “In the midst of all the rage felt at Paris against King William, the admirable good-sense and natural moderation of Mme. de Sévigné catches a glimpse of his real character, through the mists of Rome and Versailles: ‘Le prince n’a pas songé à faire périr son beau-père. Il est à Londres, à la place du Roi, sans en prendre le nom, ne voulant que rétablir une religion qu’il croit bonne, et maintenir les loix du pays sans qu’il en coûte une goutte de sang.... Pour le Roi d’Angleterre il y (St. Germains) parait content,—et c’est pour cela qu’il est là.’ Observe the perfect good-sense of the last remark, and the ease and liveliness with which it is made. Tacitus and Machiavel could have said nothing better; but a superficial reader will think no more of it than the writer herself seems to do.”—Again, further on: “The style of Mme. de Sévigné is evidently copied not only by her worshipper Walpole, but even by Gray; who notwithstanding the extraordinary merits of his matter, has the double stiffness of an imitator and of a college recluse....”

_Friday, 28th October._—I awoke at 7 and got up at 20 minutes to 8. Read in the _Exposition_ while my hair was doing. Received a most kind dear and pretty letter from dearest Aunt Louise, from which I will copy a passage: “I have today not much to say. It is my brother Nemours’ birthday; and in the same time, the anniversary of the death of my dear governess” (Mme. de Mallet, who died when Aunt Louise was at Paris last year) “of the best and truest friend I had for twenty years, to make me melancholy. In her was broken the first link of the chain of my strong and youthful affections. How many more shall I live perhaps to see destroyed?” How pretty and feeling this is; it comes straight from her dear good heart. I can well say of my _precious_ Lehzen what she says of Mme. de Mallet, that she is my “best and truest friend” I have had for nearly 17 years and I trust I shall have for 30 or 40 and _many_ more!...

_Tuesday, 1st November._— ... Read in _The Conquest of Granada_, and wrote my journal. There are two lines in _Rokeby_ (which is so full of beauty that I could copy the whole and not find one part which is not full of loveliness, sweetness, grace, elegance, and feeling, for the immortal bard who wrote these beautiful poems never _could_ write an _ugly_ line in _my_ opinion) which struck me, as well as the Dean, who is, s’il est permis de le dire, poetry-mad, as most splendid.... Oh! Walter Scott is my _beau idéal_ of a Poet; I do so admire him both in Poetry and Prose!...

_Thursday, 3rd November._— ... After 7 we dined. The Duke of Wellington, the Countess of Ashburnham,[243] and Lady Elinor Ashburnham,[244] Lord and Lady Radstock,[245] Lord and Lady Barham,[246] Colonel Stopford,[247] Colonel Barnard, Mr. Sicklemore, and Mr. Mayhew dined here. I sat between the Duke of Wellington and Lord Radstock. The Duke looked remarkably well and was in very good spirits. Lady Barham looked very handsome; she had a reddish brown velvet turban and a dark velvet dress. She is a likeness of the Duchess of Sutherland in dark, but the Duchess is handsomer, in figure and all together handsomer, having a finer nose and mouth than Lady Barham. Lady Barham has a beautiful brow and fine dark expressive eyes with a fine pale complexion, but the lower part of her face, particularly the mouth and chin, are not at all good. She looks 28 and is only 22....

_Sunday, 6th November._— ... We walked home at 1. Read in _Astoria_. Added a few lines to my letter to Feodore. Wrote one to Aunt Sophia and my journal. At ½ p. 2 we went out with _dearest_ Lehzen and came home at a little before 4. Received a most kind letter from dearest Uncle Leopold accompanied by a “supplément extraordinaire” to the _Moniteur Universel_, giving an account of the “échauffourée” which took place at Strasburg on the 30th October, headed by Louis Napoleon Buonaparte,[248] a young man of 28 years old, son of the Duchesse de St. Leu (Hortense), and who tried to make the Troops rise in his favour, but the latter proved faithful to their King (Louis Philippe) and country, as they ought; and the Prince and Rebels have been put in prison. The Queen of the French sent Uncle the paper....

_Sunday, 20th November._— ... Read a letter of Lord Palmerston’s to Mamma relative to the late unfortunate affairs at Lisbon, which is very consolatory. Marshal Saldanha was charged to bring about the reaction, which was to spread first in the provinces and then to the capital and the Queen was _not_ to give the first impulse.[249] Unfortunately poor Donna Maria was hurried into this step by the jealousy of those about her. The friends of the Duke of Terceira, unwilling that Marshal Saldanha should have the credit of the reaction, snatched it out of his hands and brought on all this confusion. However, Lord Palmerston concludes with this: “The result of the whole is, that the Queen’s position is _better_ than it _was_, not so _bad_ as it _might_ have been after such a failure, but _much less good_ than if she had waited patiently till the proper time for action had arrived. The Prince behaved throughout with spirit, courage and firmness and has acquired by his conduct the respect of both parties.” That our beloved and precious Ferdinand has behaved in such a way is most _delightful_ for me, who _love him_ like the _dearest of Brothers_. It could not be otherwise, I was sure....

_Tuesday, 29th November._— ... At 8 we left poor West Cliff House.... We reached Canterbury in safety in spite of the rain and some wind, but not very long after we left it, it began to blow so dreadfully, accompanied by floods of rain at intervals, that our carriage swung and the post-boys could scarcely keep on their horses. As we approached Sittingbourne, the _hurricane_, for I cannot call it by any other name, became quite frightful and even alarming; corn stacks were flying about, trees torn up by their roots, and chimneys blown to atoms. We got out, or rather were _blown_ out, at Sittingbourne. After staying there for a short while we got into the carriage where Lady Theresa and Lehzen were, with them, which being larger and heavier than our post-chaise, would not shake so much. For the first 4 or 5 miles all went on more smoothly and I began to hope our difficulties were at an end. Alas! far from it. The wind blew worse than before and in going down the hill just before Chatham, the hurricane was so tremendous that the horses stopped for a minute, and I thought that we were undone, but by dint of whipping and very good management of the post-boys we reached Rochester in safety. Here we got out, and here it was determined that we must pass the night. Here we are therefore, and here we must remain, greatly to my annoyance, for I am totally unprepared, Lehzen’s and my wardrobe maid are gone on to Claremont, and I hate sleeping at an Inn. I had been so glad at the thought of not doing so this time, mais “l’homme propose et Dieu dispose,” and it would have been temerity to proceed, for a coach had been upset on the bridge just before we arrived, and the battlements of the bridge itself were totally blown in....

_Sunday, 18th December._— ... I sat between Mr. Croker[250] and Col. Wemyss.[251] Der erste ist ein kluger, aber nach meiner Meinung, nicht angenehmer Mann; er spricht zu viel. He has a very excellent memory and tells anecdotes cleverly but with a peculiar pronunciation of the _r_. He said that the Duke of Wellington had told him that the character of the 3 nations, the English, Scotch, and Irish, was very apparent in the army. He said (the Duke), “It may seem like a joke what I am going to say, but it is quite true; the _Scotch_ were pleased when the _money_ arrived, the _Irish_ when they got into a _wine country_, and the _English_ when the _roast beef_ came up.” He told many anecdotes and made many remarks upon the various nations, ein wenig sehr stark. Il aime trop à étaler, il n’a pas de tacte; il prend trop le ton supérieur....

CLAREMONT, _Saturday, 24th December (Xmas Eve)_.—I awoke after 7 and got up at 8. After 9 we breakfasted. At a little after 10 we left Kensington with dearest Lehzen, Lady Conroy and—_Dashy_! and reached Claremont at a ¼ to 12. Played and sang. At 2 dearest Lehzen, Victoire and I [? went out] and came home at 20 minutes p. 3. No one was stirring about the Gipsy encampment except George, which I was sorry for, as I was anxious to know how our poor friends were after this bitterly cold night. Played and sang. Received from dearest best Lehzen as a Christmas box: 2 lovely little Dresden china figures, 2 pair of lovely little chased gold buttons, a small lovely button with an angel’s head which she used to wear herself, and a pretty music book; from good Louis a beautiful piece of Persian stuff for an album; and from Victoire and Emily Gardiner a small box worked by themselves. Wrote my journal. Went down to arrange Mamma’s table for her. At 6 we dined. Mr. Edmund Byng[252] and Mr. Conroy dined here. Mr. Byng is going to stay here a night or two. Very soon after dinner Mamma sent for us into the Gallery, where all the things were arranged on different tables. From my dear Mamma I received a beautiful massive gold buckle in the shape of two serpents; a lovely little delicate gold chain with a turquoise clasp; a lovely coloured sketch of dearest Aunt Louise by Partridge, copied from the picture he brought, and so like her; 3 beautiful drawings by Munn, one lovely sea view by Purser, and one beautiful cattle piece by Cooper (all coloured), 3 prints, a book called _Finden’s Tableaux_, _Heath’s Picturesque Annual for 1837, Ireland_; both these are very pretty; _Friendship’s Offering_, and _The English Annual for 1837_, _The Holy Land_ illustrated beautifully, two handkerchiefs, a very pretty black satin apron trimmed with red velvet, and two almanacks. I am very thankful to my dear Mamma for all these very pretty things. From dear Uncle Leopold, a beautiful turquoise ring; from the Queen a fine piece of Indian gold tissue; and from Sir J. Conroy a print. I gave my dear Lehzen a green morocco jewel case, and the _Picturesque Annual_; Mamma gave her a shawl, a dress, a pair of turquoise earrings, an annual, and handkerchiefs. I then took Mamma to the Library where my humble table was arranged. I gave her a bracelet made of my hair, the clasp of which contains Charles’, Feodore’s and my hair; and the _Keepsake_ and _Oriental Annual_. Lehzen gave her two pair of little buttons just like mine. I danced a little with Victoire. Stayed up till 11.

_Sunday, 25th December (Xmas day)._—At 9 we all breakfasted. Mamma, Lehzen and I read prayers. Arranged my new drawings. At a little before 2 dearest Lehzen, Victoire and I went out and came home at 3. As we were approaching _the camp_,[253] we met Rea coming from it, who had been sent there by Mamma to enquire into the story of these poor wanderers. He told us (what I was quite sure of before) that all was quite true, that the poor young woman and baby were doing very well, though very weak and miserable and that what they wanted chiefly was fuel and nourishment. Mamma has ordered broth and fuel to be sent tonight, as also 2 blankets; and several of our people have sent old flannel things for them. Mamma has ordered that the broth and fuel is to be sent each day till the woman is recovered. Lehzen sent them by our footmen a little worsted knit jacket for the poor baby, and when we drove by, Aunt Sarah,[254] the old woman and the Husband all looked out and bowed most gratefully. Rea gave them directly a sovereign. I cannot say how happy I am that these poor creatures are assisted, for they are such a nice set of Gipsies, so quiet, so affectionate to one another, so discreet, not at all forward or importunate, and _so_ grateful; so unlike the gossiping, fortune-telling race-gipsies; and this is such a peculiar and touching case. Their being assisted makes me quite merry and happy today, for yesterday night when I was safe and happy at home in that cold night and today when it snowed so and everything looked white, I felt quite unhappy and grieved to think that our poor gipsy friends should perish and shiver for want; and now today I shall go to bed happy, knowing they are better off and more comfortable....

_Thursday, 29th December._— ... At 12 we went out with dear Lehzen and came home at 2. Everything still looked very white and the ground rather slippery but not so much as yesterday. It snowed part of the time we were walking. I saw Aunt Sarah and the least pretty of the two sisters-in-law, who has returned, in a shop at Esher. How I _do_ wish I could do something for their _spiritual_ and _mental_ benefit and for the education of their children and in particular for the poor little baby who I have known since its birth, in the admirable manner Mr. Crabbe in his _Gipsies’ Advocate_ so strongly urges; he beseeches and urges those who have kind hearts and Christian feelings to think of these poor wanderers, who have many good qualities and who have many good people amongst them. He says, and alas! I _too well_ know its truth, from experience, that whenever any poor Gipsies are encamped anywhere and crimes and robberies &c. occur, it is invariably laid to their account, which is shocking; and if they are always looked upon as vagabonds, how _can_ they become good people? I trust in Heaven that the day may come when _I_ may do something for these poor people, and for this particular family! I am sure that the little kindness which they have experienced from us will have a good and lasting effect on them!...

[Illustration: GYPSY WOMEN.

From a sketch by Princess Victoria.]

INTRODUCTORY NOTE TO CHAPTER VI

This was her _annus mirabilis_, her wonder-year. The earlier months passed much as usual. On 24th May she was eighteen years old. The entry in her Journal shows some presentiment of what was to come. In less than a month she had stepped from out of the precincts of that quiet, ill-furnished palace in Kensington Gardens into the full glare of the Throne. The 20th June was her most wonderful day, but although keenly alive to its significance and glory, she never lost her self-control. The hidden forces which even her Journals failed to reveal, appear so to have moulded her character that she was enabled to appreciate and yet resist the glamours of this supreme moment. There is not a trace of doubt or misgiving. She was conscious of a mysterious duty imposed upon her by Divine Providence, and although she obviously felt her inexperience, she never for a moment doubted her fitness for her task. King William died at Windsor soon after two in the morning, and three hours later the Archbishop and Lord Conyngham were at Kensington Palace. The Princess received them in a dressing-gown hastily thrown over her nightdress, her feet in slippers, and her fair hair loose about her head. Four hours later she received for the first time Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister, who was destined until the day of her marriage to exercise a potent influence over her thoughts and actions. Her caution in the selection of confidantes, her wariness in granting her approval, and her care to safeguard the regal tradition, are clearly apparent from the day of her accession. Although she accepted advice, she never appeared to yield. There is nothing in these Journals that displays the inner thoughts of the Queen, in a light differing from that in which her conduct appeared both to her Ministers and to her courtiers. Then, as in after-years, she fulfilled the hope publicly expressed by Lord John Russell, that she would prove to be an Elizabeth without her tyranny and an Anne without her weakness.

It must be remembered that from the day of her accession the Crowns of Great Britain and Hanover were divided. Her uncle, Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, succeeded to the Throne of Hanover. The fear that he might succeed to the Throne of Great Britain had always haunted the minds of the people, and added to the feeling of gladness with which they welcomed the young Queen. On the second day of her reign the name Alexandrina was dropped for ever, and she was thenceforth known, as she desired to be, by the name of Victoria.