her daughter seem to have experienced a great deal of rudeness; for the people flocked together to stare at them, and wherever they went there came crowds as if determined to deny them the peace of privacy. One pleasant incident is connected with the Ramsgate visit. A kind and very wealthy Hebrew gentleman, Sir Moses Montefiore, who owned a magnificent estate, sent the Princess a golden key that admitted her to his private grounds. Thither she could retire, from the rude, eagerly pressing crowds when she wished to take unobserved a walk for her health.

This kind and loyal gentleman lived to be over a hundred years old, and to the last he had the most loyal affection for his Queen.

Sometimes the Duchess and her child received invitations to the famous and beautiful country-seats of the English nobility; and these were often gladly accepted, to the delight of the Princess.

Some of the early years of Victoria for by this name she preferred to be known, desiring that her mother's name should be second to none were passed pleasantly at Norris Castle; and it was here that she first acquired her love of ships and the sea. The yacht in which she, with the Duchess, cruised about was the "Emerald"; and in that little vessel they visited various parts of the coast of the Isle of Wight, venturing at times to places as far remote as Plymouth and Torquay. On board this small craft the Princess had a narrow escape from what might have proved a serious accident.

She was standing on deck when a long spar, with sail attached, fell; and had not the pilot shown sufficient presence of mind to hurry the Princess aside, she must have been severely wounded, if not permanently disabled or killed. On the thirteenth birthday of the Princess Victoria she was taken to a party given in her honor by the King and Queen. At the party she behaved so sweetly and unaffectedly, and thought so much more of others than of herself, that every one was charmed with her. Yet even a state party was no excuse for late hours, and the young lady retired to rest at her usual time. Three years later, at the Marquis of Exeter's, the Princess was sent to bed after the first dance. Thus, even as late as sixteen years

of age we find her cheerfully obedient to her mother's strict discipline.

"I am anxious to bring you up as a good woman, and then you will be a good Queen," was one of her sayings to her daughter. How well she succeeded the whole civilized world is witness.

There was another lady who assisted largely in the education of the Princess and the formation of her character. This was the Duchess of Northumberland, a noble-hearted and cultivated Englishwoman of the county of Kent. The accomplishments of the Duchess of Northumberland were many, and her influence over her pupil was strong and of the highest kind. She was assisted by the Baroness Lehzen, already mentioned.

Another of Victoria's instructors was her singing-master, Lablache. The Princess had a sweet, clear voice, and under Lablache's tuition she learned to sing charmingly, and with expression.

We are sure you would like to read Mrs. Oliphant's account of the personal appearance of the little Princess. Many have written more enthusiastically about her, but perhaps none more truthfully and calmly. She writes:

I do not suppose the Queen was ever beautiful, though that is a word which is used to describe many persons whose features would not bear any severe test of beauty; but yet her face was one which you would have remarked anywhere had she been only Miss Victoria. She had not much color in her youth, and it was a time of simplicity, when girls wore their pretty hair in a natubuilding it up like towers on their heads, and when their ral way, without swelling it out by artificial means, or dresses were very simple, almost childish, in their plain

ness.

All this increased the appearance of youth and naturalness and innocence in the young Queen, and I remember very distinctly when I saw her first, being myself very young, how the calm, full look of her eyes impressed and affected me. Those eyes were very blue, serene, still, looking at you with a tranquil breadth of expression which somehow conveyed to your mind a feeling of unquestioned power and greatness, quite practical in its serious simplicity. I do not suppose she was at all aware of this, for the Queen does not take credit for be

ing so calmly royal; but this is how she looked to a fanciful girl seeing her Majesty for the first time.

It was not until the Princess Victoria was over twelve that she was made aware of her

place in the succession, and informed how near she stood to becoming heiress of the British crown. But the Baroness Lehzen shall tell the story of the informing of her pupil upon this important point. Writing to the Queen, in the evening of her days, from her own country, whither she had returned after her years of faithful service, the ex-governess says:

I ask your Majesty's leave to cite some remarkable words of your Majesty when only twelve years old, while the Regency Bill was still in progress. I then said to the Duchess of Kent that now for the first time your Majesty ought to know your place in the succession. Her Royal Highness agreed with me, and I put the genealogical table into the historical book. When Dr. Davys [the instructor of the Princess, and afterward Bishop of Peterborough] was gone, the Princess again opened the book, as usual, and noticing the additional paper, said: "I never saw that before."

"It was not thought necessary you should, Princess," I answered.

"I see I am nearer the throne than I thought." "So it is, Madam," I said.

After some moments the Princess resumed: "Now many a child would boast, but they don't know the difficulty. There is much splendor, but much responsibility." The Princess having lifted up the forefinger of her little hand, saying, "I will be good, dear Lehzen, I will be good," I then said, " But your Aunt Adelaide is still young, and may have children; and of course they will ascend the throne after their father William IV., and not you, Princess."

The Princess answered: "And if that were so, I should never feel disappointed; for I know, by the love Aunt Adelaide bears me, how fond she is of children."

When Queen Adelaide lost her last daughter, she wrote to the Duchess of Kent: " "My children are dead, but your child lives, and she

is mine also."

Glancing at the page of Sir Walter Scott's diary for May 19, 1828, the Princess being nine years of age at that time, we read the following entry :

Dined with the Duchess of Kent. I was very kindly received by Prince Leopold, and presented to the little Victoria- the heir apparent to the crown, as things now

ferent shops, and not only making purchases herself, but observing with interest the movements of others." One day she entered a London jeweler's. "There came into the jeweler's a young and intelligent lady, who was engaged in looking over different gold chains for the neck. She at length fixed upon one, but finding the price more than she expected, she rebe offered cheaper?' she inquired. 'Imposgarded the chain very wistfully. Could it not sible,' was the reply. Reluctantly the disap

pointed young lady gave up all idea of the chain, and purchased a cheaper article.

observed everything, inquired of the jeweler who she was; and on receiving satisfactory information, she ordered the much-admired chain to be packed up and sent to the young lady. A card was forwarded with it, with the intimation that the Princess Victoria had observed

"After she had left, the Princess, who had

watched so closely that no busy maid has a moment to whisper, "You are the heir of England."

A tender consideration for others always distinguished the Princess, as it has ever characterized the Queen. There are many stories

contrary, and that she desired her acceptance of the beautiful thing, and hoped that she would always persevere in purchasing only what she could afford."

Was the good Princess thinking of her own

early exercises in keeping within her income? Did she remember the pretty box at Ramsgate bazaar, and the judicious decision of her governess in the matter?

The little Victoria was no dull-witted child. When she was about twelve years old she had been reading, as a classical lesson, the wellknown story of Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi: how upon an occasion she presented to the proud and ostentatious Roman dame who was wearing a wonderful array of diamonds and precious stones, her sons, with the words, "These are my jewels."

"She should have said my Cornelians," was Victoria's mischievous comment.

It was in May, 1836, that visitors from the continent arrived at Kensington Palace. They were the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, an uncle of the Princess, and his two sons, Ernest and Albert, cousins of Victoria. A pleasant month they spent in England - a month of "splendor and excitement," very different from the usual months passed in their own quiet home.

The following May was even more magnificent; for it was upon the twenty-fourth of that month, in the year 1837, that the Princess became legally of age, attaining her seventeenth birthday; and the whole nation rejoiced over the glad event.

The King himself was very ill; but kind messages were sent from Windsor, accompanied by the present of a beautiful piano, to the acknowledged "heir apparent." There was a state-ball that night at St. James's Palace. The King, of course, could not attend; and Queen Adelaide would not leave her husband's side.

The Princess Victoria succeeded to the throne upon the death of her uncle William IV., and

green plain; and there, every day, just before sunset, the line is formed. There are often in the camp from 1000 to 1200 men, a force four times as large as that usually stationed at an army post or at West Point, so that very few people in this country ever see a parade of so many soldiers at any other military post. As the troops march out of their company streets by columns of fours, in full-dress uniform with white trousers, every button and beltplate and gun-barrel glittering, and form battalions, and then regimental or brigade line, the visitors who come from far and near to see the ceremony always seem to be delighted with the beauty of the picture before them.

Well they may be, for even in our own beautiful land there are not many landscapes more beautiful than that which forms the background. Behind the troops the Highlands tower up, darkly blue, and between them can be seen glimpses of the shining river. Just over the crest of the highest hill is the red orb of the setting sun, and the sunset hues paint with red, white, and blue the white tents closer at hand. Silence, unbroken except by the twitter of birds going to rest, and the mellow tones of the "Angelus" sounding out across the bay from a neighboring church, is over all. The plain seems like a great stage set with beautiful scenery for an impressive ceremony which man and nature await in silence.

And now the actors begin their parts. The sun's disk dips a little behind the mountain.

"Sir, bring your battalion to parade rest," commands the adjutant to the senior major, and then tells the drum-major to "sound off.” The great band, with the field-music behind it, marches up and down the line, playing before the Colors, as of old minstrels played before the king. As soon as the band has returned to its place the drums and fifes strike up a sad, sweet air which long, long ago was sung in Scotland when war had taken away their bravest and best; and when this mournful air is finished the bugles play that beautiful "Retreat" which, like Great Britain's gun-fire, goes around the world every night; for it is played wherever our army or war-ships may be.

Meanwhile, three men from the guard have approached each flag-pole, and have loosened VOL. XXIV.-96–97.

the halyards ready to lower the garrison Colors and State ensign floating gently in the evening air over the heads of the troops. The sun disappears behind the mountain, the strains of "Retreat" die away, and "Fire!" cries an artillery sergeant. The big brass gun on the bluff spits out fire, a report like a peal of thunder echoes and reëchoes among the hills, and an answering roar from West Point, ten miles away, awakens the echoes up the river.

And now begins that part of the ceremony to which all the preceding has been a prelude. The troops are there, the band is there, the generals have all come from their tents, to honor the Colors.

The band begins "The Star-Spangled Banner." "Battalions, attention!" orders the adjutant. Instantly every man in the camp, except those in the line and on guard, rises and uncovers his head. All around the camp, as far as one can see, every sentry faces outward and presents arms. Slowly, inch by inch, the Colors glide down the staffs, out of the evening glow into the shadow of the mountains, and as the notes accompanying the words "the home of the brave" are reached by the band, touch the hands of the waiting guard. The military day is over. There are few men and women or boys and girls there who will not always feel, after they have seen that farewell to the Flag, that they understand as they never did before why men will die to uphold a sentiment to protect a "piece of bunting."

It is not only at parade that our citizen-soldiers show respect to their Colors: they do so on all proper occasions. Sometimes at State camps, and always at temporary camps, a colorline is located in front of the camp. A line of stacks of rifles is made, and across the two center stacks are laid the Regimental Colors. A guard of picked sentries is placed near the color-line, and they require every one, be he soldier or civilian, who crosses the line to remove his hat. Any one who does not is likely to have his hat knocked off, or to be arrested. Sentries always pay honors to "the Colors passing," in camp or armory; and officers and men not under arms always uncover when the Flag is carried past by other troops. An officer reviewing a regiment uncovers when passing the Col