but thanks, more than all, to the mutual love and perfect confidence which bound the Queen and Prince to each other-it was impossible to keep up any separation or difference of interests or duties between them. To those who would urge upon the Queen that, as Sovereign, she must be the head of the house and the family as well as of the State, and that her husband was, after all, but one of her subjects, Her Majesty would reply, that she had solemnly engaged at the altar to obey' as well as to 'love and honour;' and this sacred obligation she could consent neither to limit nor refine away."

6

At first early rising does not appear to have been a royal habit. The Prince writes to his grandmother thus:

"We are very happy, and in good spirits, but I find it very difficult to acclimatize myself completely, though I hope soon to find myself more at home. The late hours are what I find it most difficult to bear."

Late hours at night led naturally to late hours in the morning, and the Queen mentions that "in these days they were very late of a morning (which was the Queen's fault), breakfasting at ten, and getting out very little, which was very unwholesome."

These late hours in the morning were gradually improved "under the influence of the Prince"-an influence which was further evident in the judicious and well-regulated division of the hours and occupations of the day.

The Queen, in the following memorandum, gives this account of their ordinary habits :

At this time the Prince and Queen spent their day much as follows: They breakfasted at nine, and took a walk every morning soon afterwards. Then came the usual amount of business (far less heavy, however, than now); besides which they drew and etched a great deal together, which was a source of great amusement, having the plates 'bit' in the house. Luncheon followed at the usual hour of two o'clock. Lord Melbourne, who was generally staying in the house, came to the Queen in the afternoon, and between five and six the Prince usually drove her out in a pony phaeton. If the Prince did not drive the Queen, he rode, in which case she took a drive with the Duchess

of Kent or the ladies. The Prince also read aloud most days to the Queen. The dinner was at eight o'clock, and always with the com. pany. In the evening the Prince frequently played at double chess, a game of which he was very fond, and which he played extremely well.

"At first 'the Queen tried to get rid of the bad custom, prevailing only in this country, of the gentlemen remaining after the ladies had left, in the dining room. But Lord Melbourne advised against it, and the Prince himself thought it better not to make any change.' The hours, however, were never late of an evening, and it was very seldom that the party had not broken up by eleven o'clock. Comparatively early, too, as the breakfast hour now was, the Prince had often, particularly in later years, as work got heavier, done much business before it; written letters or prepared the draughts of memoranda on the many important subjects in which he took an interest, or which had to be considered by the Queen.

much

"The Prince was also at this time taken up with painting'-an occupation of which he was very fond, but for which, in after years, he had no time-' and began a picture of the death of Posa, from Schiller's Don Carlos, making first a small sketch of it, which he did beautifully."

The Prince, it seems, never took kindly to great dinners, or the common evening amusements of the fashionable world. On such occasions he loved to get hold of some man eminent as a statesman, or man of science, and to pass the hours he was thus compelled to give to the world in political or instructive conversation.

The Prince, we learn, entirely altered the Queen's feelings about town and country. Before her marriage she rejoiced in coming to London, and disliked nothing so much as leaving it. But she soon began to share the Prince's preference for the country, until at length residence in London became absolutely distasteful to her; and she adds in a note, "It was also injurious to her health, as she suffered much from the extreme weight and thickness of the atmosphere, which gave her the headache;" and in connexion with this we must quote a note at another part of the volume:—

"Note by the Queen. This the Prince constantly expressed on arriving at Osborne and Balmoral, and on leaving London: "How sweet it smells! How delicious the air is! One begins to breathe again!" And how he delighted in the song of birds, and especially

of nightingales!-listening for them in the happy peaceful walks he used to take with the Queen in the woods at Osborne, and whistling to them in their own peculiar long note, which they invariably answer. The Queen cannot hear this note now without fancying she hears him, and without the deepest, saddest emotion. At night he would stand on the balcony at Osborne, in May, listening to the nightingales.""

The Prince, however, we are told, always sacrificed his feelings about this, partly for the sake of the easier communication with ministers, and "still more from the conviction of the influence for good which the presence of a Court so looked up to as that of England under the Queen and himself could not fail to exercise far and wide-far, indeed, beyond the world of its immediate neighbourhood."

On Easter Monday, April 20th, 1840, the Prince met with what might have been a fatal accident. His horse suddenly ran away in the Home Park at the top of his speed, and the Prince, after turning him several times, in a vain endeavour to stop him, was at last knocked off by a tree, against which he brushed in passing, and fell, most providentially, considering the rapid pace, without being seriously hurt. The Queen, who witnessed the accident, writes in her journal :

"Oh, how thankful I felt that it was no worse! His anxiety was all for me, not for himself."

In June of the same year, the Prince presided at a meeting to promote the abolition of the slave trade. Referring to this occasion, the Queen says, "He was very nervous before he went, and had repeated his speech to her in the morning by heart." The Prince himself writes, "I learnt my speech by heart, for it is always difficult to have to speak in a foreign language before five or six thousand eager listeners." The speech proved eminently successful, and forms the first of that remarkable series of public utterances since published under the title of the "Principal Speeches and Addresses of H.R.H. the Prince Consort."

A few days later, Edward Oxford made his despicable attempt on the Queen's life; and we have a full and interesting account of this occurrence in a letter from the Prince to the Dowager Duchess of Gotha :

we escaped, under the protection of the watchful hand of Providence. We drove out yesterday afternoon, about six o'clock, to pay Aunt Kent a visit, and to take a turn round Hyde Park. We drove in a small phaeton. I sat on the right, Victoria on the left. We had hardly proceeded a hundred yards from the palace, when I noticed on the footpath on my side a little mean-looking man holding something towards us; and before I could distinguish what it was, a shot was fired, which almost stunned us both, it was so loud, and fired barely six paces from us. Victoria had just turned to look at a horse, and could not, therefore, understand why her ears were ring. ing, as, from it being so very near, she could hardly distinguish that it proceeded from a shot having been fired. The horses started, and the carriage stopped. I seized Victoria's hands, and asked if the fright had not shaken her, but she laughed at the thing.

"I then looked again at the man, who was still standing in the same place, his arms crossed, and a pistol in each hand. His attitude was so affected and theatrical, it quite amused me. Suddenly he again pointed his pistol and fired a second time. This time Victoria also saw the shot, and stooped quickly, drawn down by me. The ball must have passed just above her head, to judge from the place where it was found sticking in an opposite wall. The many people who stood round us and the man, and were at first petrified with fright on seeing what happened, now rushed upon him. I called to the postilion to go on, and we arrived safely at Aunt Kent's. Thence we took a short drive through the Park, partly to give Victoria a little fresh air, partly also to show the public that we had not, on account of what had happened, lost all confidence in them.

"To-day I am very tired and knocked up by the quantity of visitors, the questions, and descriptions I have had to give. You must, therefore, excuse my ending now, only thanking you for your letter, which I have just received, but have not yet been able to read.

"My chief anxiety was lest the fright should have been injurious to Victoria in her present state; but she is quite well, as I am myself. I thank Almighty God for His protection. "Your faithful grandson, "ALBERT.

"The name of the culprit is Edward Oxford. He is seventeen years old, a waiter at a low inn, not mad, but quite quiet and composed."

U U

General Grey's volume carries us only to the close of the first year of Her Majesty's married life, the last most important home event recorded being the birth of the Princess Royal.

With the noble spirit of womanly confidence which pervades the entire volume, Her Majesty shrinks not from allowing her subjects to glance within the holiest shrine of home affections and sympathies, and gives the most touching testimony to the devotion of her Royal husband at this interesting period. "For a moment only," the Queen says, he disappointed at its being a daughter, and not a son." His first care was for the safety of the Queen; and "we cannot be thankful enough to God," he writes to the Duchess of Gotha on the 14th, "that everything has passed so very prosperously."

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was

"During the time the Queen was laid up, his care and devotion," the Queen records, "were quite beyond expression." He was always at hand to do anything in his power for her comfort. He was content to sit by her in a darkened room, to read to her or write for her.

"No one but himself ever lifted her from her bed to her sofa, and he always helped to wheel her on her bed or sofa into the next room. For this purpose he would come instantly, when sent for, from any part of the house. As years went on, and he became overwhelmed with work (for his attentions were the same in all the Queen's subsequent confinements), this was often done at much inconvenience to himself, but he ever came with a sweet smile on his face. In short," the Queen adds, "his care of her was like that of a mother, nor could there be a kinder, wiser, or more judicious nurse."

In connexion with this event, a pleasing anecdote is introduced, which places the Prince before us as a father and a scholar. From the moment of his first establishment in England, he had resolutely applied himself to the task of making himself thoroughly acquainted with the laws and institutions of the land of his adoption. To this end he began regular readings in the English laws and constitution with Mr. Selwyn, a highly distinguished barrister. Two days after the birth of the Princess Royal, Mr. Selwyn came, according to appointment. The Prince said to him, "I fear I cannot read any law to-day, there are so many constantly coming to congratulate; but you will like to see the little Princess." Then finding that * Memorandum by the Queen.

Her Royal Highness was asleep, he took Mr. Selwyn into the nursery, and, taking the little hand of the infant, he said, "The next time we read, it must be on the rights and duties of a Princess Royal."

In bringing to a close our sketch of the Home Life of the Prince Consort, we cannot refrain from a brief reference to the important national benefits which resulted from his more public walk and example.

From the day on which he first trod our English soil, to that on which his death so suddenly desolated the Royal Home, the responsibilities of his exalted relationship were most faithfully discharged. He marked out at once, with sagacious precision, his own sphere, and filled it with the utmost propriety and consistency. In doing so he surmounted no ordinary diffi culties. From the domain of politics his ac tivities and influence were jealously excluded. In the work of Government, political etiquette and tradition prohibited him from taking any part. With vigorous health, ample means, abundant leisure, and opportunity, but lacking any prescribed sphere of public duty, he resisted no ordinary temptations to a career of self-indulgence. He descried a wide realm of usefulness, in which he might become leader without exposing himself to party suspicion, and without trespassing beyond constitutional limits. He became the patron of social reform; he gave himself to philanthropy; he applied the stimulus of his favour and his example to scientific research, and aimed to raise the educational tone of the people.

The schools at Windsor afforded proof how greatly he valued popular culture. His erection of a model cottage at his own expense, and the formation of a society to teach the people how to construct their own houses, indicated the sincerity of the convictions which he expressed in one of his speeches in the year 1848:

"To show how man can help man, notwithstanding the complicated state of civilized society, ought to be the aim of every philan thropic person; but it is more peculiarly the duty of those who, under the blessing of Divine Providence, enjoy station, wealth, and education."

One anecdote, which we have every reason to believe is authentic, deserves to be recorded in connexion with this topic. A young man, then known only, if known at all, in the district, for his extreme political opinions, commenced a mission with week-day lectures and

schools and savings-banks, in an extremely debased corner, some forty or fifty miles from one of the Royal residences. All things went on well except the financial department. The young missionary could not obtain money for his building purposes in sufficient quantities; he sought none for his own work. What could he do? Boldly he applied to the Queen. The regular inquiries followed. No aid could ever be procured from that family without inquiries. Two or five pounds were never sent to an applicant for the purpose of quieting conscience and getting rid of him. The plans were approved. From that time the Prince and the Queen took a warm interest in their working. The scheme was singularly successful. It was never forgotten amid the cares or the pleasures of the Court, because the pleasures were not calculated to drive the mission out of mind, and the cares were formed of kindred objects. That mission not only received pecuniary support, but was a matter of continued personal inquiry and interest. The missionary was once a working man, who struggled onwards and upwards through many difficulties. He became ultimately one of the leading home missionaries of the land. And yet we cannot tell how much of his perseverance in this work was due to the kindly interest and the warm encouragement afforded on this application for aid to his first mission. Kind words and deeds are noble incentives to work.

Especially will the name of the Prince ever be identified in the recollection of the nation with the Great International Exhibition of 1851. Whether the original conception of that magnificent enterprise was due to his genius, or whether he adopted it, matters little; he made it his own by the enthusiasm with which he welcomed it, the zeal and perseverance with which he laboured to realise it, the interest with which he watched over its growth, and helped it on to maturity. If by that competitive display of manufacturing art a new spirit of emulation and enterprise was kindled in the country-if the homes of England have in consequence become more familiar with artistic examples of graceful form and combinations of colour, substituting elegance for uncouthness in their internal arrangements and decorations-if an art spirit has been born amongst us and is being cultivated, the change is mainly due to the exertion and influence of the Prince Consort.

But here we must pause. Our aim has not been to speak of the Prince in his public but

in his private life, where real greatness finds its noblest sphere as well as its most searching test. Full proof has already been given that in lifting the veil which generally screens the humblest home from public observation, the Queen has taken a step most gratefully appreciated by a nation, of which it has been truly said, it "seeks its own happiness at its own fireside;" and we have felt it no ordinary privilege to make our readers familiar with the main features of the attractive picture which the Queen has invited us to contemplate and study. The touching narrative of domestic life in the royal home cannot fail to "fix for ever the loyal sympathy of all who have faith in what is good, and hold true Christian allegiance to their God and to their country;" it cannot fail to give added fervour to the national petition that our Sovereign may "evermore have affiance in Him" who alone can fill the void created in her heart; and at the same time, looking into the dim future of our country's weal, it is no slight cause of thankfulness to feel that in the standard of princely excellence set before them by their royal father," his children will ever find "—in the words of his biographer-"the strongest incentive to do nothing unworthy of their great sire."

"Oh, how should England, dreaming of his sons, Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life!-a heart-a mind as thine, Thou noble father of her kings to be!" We notice that the closing paragraph in the Prince's biography describes the Christmas celebrations at Windsor. We read," It was the favourite festival of the Prince-a day, he thought, for the interchange of presents, as marks of mutual affection and good will." The words seem to give wings to thought. Involuntarily we travel over the lapse of time: and now that Christmas is coming again, we realise afresh that night of mourning which made a nation mingle its tears with Christmas joy. Years have since come and gone; but may it not still be well to recognize the meetness of commingling Christmas anticipations with the remembrances of loved ones gone before? The first Christmas song was "a song in the night." May not that song be regarded as no untrue parable of the mission of our Holy Faith in a sin-andsorrow-stricken world? Is not Christianity the religion which brings "tidings of great joy" both to sinners and to sorrowers? May we not still have our "Christmas songs in the night "?

It is a reminiscence we love to cherish in our recollections of Albert the Good, that in the night of his mortality he found comfort in this song:

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save me from its guilt and power."

There is comfort for the dying in such a song; and there is comfort for the livingthe living mourner. May that comfort be richly ministered to our beloved Sovereign this Christmas-tide; and then Christmas recollections of bereavement may serve to intensify Christmas anticipations of expectant hope -hope, looking forward to a reunion in that home where holiness shall be perfected, and all tears wiped away. THE EDITOR.

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CHAPTER IX. (continued.)

IN the consideration of this question (I.) there are two main varieties which at once suggest themselves-dictation and co-operation. There may be a Divine message dictated for oral delivery, and afterwards recorded, by a simple act of memory, in the very words in which it was previously spoken. Or there may be a message in which the writer is permitted to co-operate more largely, and the Spirit of God uses the powers of his mind, more or less controlled by His own influence, to be the channel through which facts or doctrines are transmitted to mankind.

In this latter case we have further to distinguish between the knowledge itself and the means by which it is conveyed. These means may be twofold: (1) Immediate, supernatural revelation; or (2), The quickening and enlargement of the natural powers of the writer; his memory, judgment, religious affections, and spiritual reason. These may be distinguished as (1) Revelation, and (2) Illumination. The first is peculiar to inspired prophets, and is distinctively supernatural; the second is shared, though it may be in lower degrees, by all true Christians.

Then, again, with respect to the clothing of the message-its arrangement, its phraseology

there may be a twofold operation. There may be an impulsive and guiding process within the mind of the prophet; or there may be an external restraint, so that the sacred penman, retaining liberty of choice within certain limits, is checked at the first moment

when human weakness or ignorance might lead him into error, or divert him from the practical and moral purport of his message. In the former case, the message will bear most conspicuously the impress of Divine agency; in the latter, human freedom; but in both there will be real immunity from error.

*

Thus, then, dictation, revelation, illumination, spiritual impulsion, and external supervision, are five elements, which, singly or conjointly, may enter into the composition of a Divine message. The first alone is sufficient; and as to the rest, whether any or all of them have been employed is a question of evidence alone. It is sometimes said that Christians would do well to refrain from all inquiry as to the mode of inspiration, and concern themselves with the fact alone. And it must be admitted, that to pry curiously into particu lars which are not revealed would be equally rash and sinful. But when objections are urged against the doctrine of inspiration, not only on the ground of its (supposed) unreasonableness, but also of its opposition to clear features of the sacred writings; the light which the Scriptures really supply, as to the manner in which they were communicated, must evidently be a most important help in removing misconceptions, and in establishing a full harmony between the doctrine and the facts which it professes to explain. A false hypo

*"In point of duration, illumination is continuous; wher inspiration [revelation] is intermittent. In point of measure, illumination admits of degrees; whereas inspiration [revela tion] does not admit of them."-Gaussen's "Theopneustia," ch. iii. sect. 1., quest. ii.