It was the autumn of 1874, nearly seven years after I had undertaken to
write the _Life_ of the Prince Consort, before I found myself able to
prepare the first volume for the press. Although I had from the first
foreseen that the work would involve a greater amount of labour than was
contemplated by the Queen, it soon became obvious that I had myself
under-estimated it. As I advanced in my preparations the materials that
came into my hands grew greater and greater, and I saw that, to give a
true picture of the Prince, my book must be in effect a history of the
Queen's reign from the time of his marriage till his death, while it
would at the same time be a biography not of him only, but in a great
measure of Her Majesty also. I had made considerable progress in the
collection of my materials when I became aware of a body of information,
valuable beyond all others, which had been accumulated by the Prince
himself, and which had been shut away and seen by no one since his
death. As if to assure himself that an authentic record of this period
of the reign should not be wanting, every document, letter, despatch,
private as well as public, which had passed under the eyes and hands of
the Queen and himself in reference to affairs of State, to
communications with foreign Courts, or to public events in which they
had taken a part, had been classified and preserved in an immense mass
of folio volumes, to which the Queen afforded me free access.
These in a measure enabled me to live through the crowded years of the
Prince's life. But the study of them, the bulk of the most important
documents being in manuscript, and not a few of them in the cramped
German _current Schrift_, was a severe strain upon both patience and
eyesight. Months were spent in the perusal and selection of what might
be used, especially as the contents of these volumes were often so
confidential that they had to be read, transcribed, and translated
solely by myself.
I had stipulated that I should not be expected to write of the Prince
until I had followed his life to its close, and every step I made in my
researches confirmed me in this resolution. It was a disappointment to
the Queen that I could not show the fruits of my labour so early as she
wished, naturally eager as she was that full justice should be done, and
done quickly, to the Prince's memory. But when I was able to explain, in
the numerous conferences which passed upon the subject, how elaborate
were the preparations I was making, how important and voluminous the
records to which I was trusting as the basis of what I had to write, Her
Majesty became content to wait, and took a deep interest in the
development of the narrative, which not infrequently recalled
interesting incidents and discussions which had for a time, but for a
time only, escaped her marvellous memory.
Every chapter, as I wrote it, was submitted to the Queen, and most
carefully read and noted by her. No slip in a date or name escaped her
notice, and her fine tact never failed to call attention to any
expression that could be modified with advantage. But from first to last
I was left to the free development of narrative and the expression of my
own opinions. The independence for which I had stipulated at the outset
was most loyally respected; and I reflect with satisfaction on the fact,
that at no point throughout the five volumes to which the _Life_
extended did any conflict of opinion arise between Her Majesty and
myself. An incident will serve to show how anxious the Queen herself was
that my entire independence should be maintained. When I came in 1876 to
write the story of the Crimean war I felt myself in a difficulty. The
second son of Her Majesty had married the daughter of the reigning Czar
in 1874. It was impossible to say what I had to say of Russia without
giving expression to views that could not be otherwise than
unacceptable at the Russian Court. How was I to act, as my work of
necessity must have the sanction of the Queen? I therefore sought an
interview with Her Majesty and explained my difficulty. What was her
instant answer? "Do not let the fact of my son's marriage into the
Russian family weigh with you for a moment! Whatever conclusions you
come to upon the facts and documents before you, express them as if no
such marriage existed!" Here, as always, truth I found was the paramount
consideration with the Queen.
It may be conceived how my responsibility was lightened and my labour
cheered by the perfect freedom allowed to me as well as by the warm
encouragement I received from the Queen, and her growing interest in the
work as it advanced. Her heart was set upon the completion of an
adequate and true memorial of the Prince, and, with all the information
of every kind placed at my disposal, he became to me as if I had lived
through the years with him.
Until they had seen the first volume of my book some of the Queen's
children were rather adverse to the idea of any _Life_ of the Prince
being published so soon. They had a natural fear that it would not do
justice to the father whose memory was so tenderly dear to them, and the
incidents of whose life were in a measure sacred in their eyes. One of
these was the Princess Alice, and in order to remove her impression the
Queen wrote to her (24th June 1874) as follows, and sent me a copy of
the letter:--
"I do not think, that as so many memoirs of statesmen and people of the
same time have been published, that it is too soon to publish a discreet
Life of beloved Papa; indeed, much that has appeared without permission,
or, I must think, reflection, in the dear old Baron's _Life_, rendered
it necessary not to delay in putting things before the world, with all
the sides to them, that did not appear in that _Life_. It will be of
much use to posterity and to Princes to see what an unselfish,
self-sacrificing, and in many ways hard and unenviable life beloved
Papa's was."
After the first volume was published the doubts of the Princess Alice
disappeared, and the Queen, with her habitual consideration, sent me a
letter to read, which she received from the Princess, expressing her
warm commendation of what I had done. The Princess wrote to me herself
in the same strain, and from every member of the family I received the
most warm congratulations on my work. This seemed to give great
satisfaction to the Queen, for it was her desire that the biographical
memorial should be as welcome to them as to herself.
As each subsequent volume appeared, I received assurances from Her
Majesty of her gratitude for the spirit in which I had carried out her
wishes, and from all her children came the warmest acknowledgments of
the success of my endeavour to do justice to their father's memory.
When, in January 1880, I wrote to the Queen with the concluding chapter
of the last volume of the _Life_, and mentioned, in doing so, with what
emotion it was written, this was the answer I received:--
"OSBORNE, _January 27, 1880_.
"The Queen thanks Mr Martin most warmly for his touching letter
accompanying the _last_ chapter of her beloved Husband's _Life_. She
thanks him from her heart for the pains and trouble he has taken in
the execution of this difficult and arduous undertaking, in which he
has so admirably succeeded, and at the same time congratulates him
on having completed it. She can well understand the tears that must
have been shed in doing so, though Mr Martin did not know the dear
Prince personally.
"In the meantime, before she can in a more public manner express her
high sense of his services, the Queen asks Mr Martin to accept the
accompanying bronze statuette reduced from Marochetti's monument in
the Mausoleum.[21] The Queen would wish also to thank Mr Martin for
the kind and feeling manner in which he has performed his difficult
task."
The Queen's kindness did not stop here. I was ill, overtasked with very
heavy professional work, at the same time that I was writing the last
chapters of my book. For months I had been engaged along with the late
Mr Edmund Smith in negotiating, and successfully negotiating, for Lord
Beaconsfield's Government, the purchase of the undertakings of all the
London Water Companies, and preparing the Bill for vesting them in a
public trust. The measure was defeated on Mr Gladstone's return to
office in April 1880, and for this defeat it may safely be said the
community of London has ever since had to suffer severely. Rest and
change were essential for my recovery, and I at once determined to seek
them in Venice and the north of Italy. Two days before I started I was
commanded to dine with Her Majesty at Windsor, and on my arrival I was
knighted and invested by her own hands with the Collar and Star of a
Knight Commander of the Bath, the act being accompanied by words of
commendation far more precious to me than any title of honour. The
Queen had chosen for the ceremony the Prince Consort's working room,
where all my conferences with her on the subject of the _Life_ had taken
place. Her Majesty, I subsequently found, had some difficulty in getting
the Star and Collar of the Bath ready in so short a time: I could not,
therefore, but recognise in the promptitude of her action the kind
thought, that the honour, which would come upon me by surprise, might
help to cheer me in the search for health on which I was going abroad.
Some years before this time I had occasion to see how keenly the Queen
suffered on the death of a friend. On the 7th of March 1875 Sir Arthur
Helps, who held a very warm place in her regard, died, after a few days'
illness, from a cold caught at the Prince of Wales' levee. I was
summoned to Buckingham Palace and found the Queen in tears, and moved to
a degree that was distressing to witness. She had lost in him not only a
valuable official, but a friend to whom she had for years trusted for
counsel in times of personal distress or difficulty. Her first thought
was for his family, and what could be done to lighten the embarrassment
of the position in which his sudden death had placed them, and
arrangements with this view were at once resolved upon and carried into
effect. But, seeing what on this occasion I saw Her Majesty suffer, I
could not but think how much sorrows of this kind, coming as they did
with unusual frequency, and leaving impressions which in her case were
far from transitory, must have added to the exhausting effects of the
Queen's busy life.
It must have been about this time that the Queen one day, in speaking of
her portraits, asked me which of them all I thought the best. "Your
Majesty," I answered, "will smile at what I am going to say. None of
them speak to me so strongly as well as pleasingly, or bring your
Majesty so vividly to my mind, as the bust by Behnes, when you were
between eight and nine years old." I then told her that I had studied it
for years, being so fortunate as to possess the original cast in clay
from which the marble bust in the Windsor great corridor was modelled
by the sculptor. "Not only," I added, "is the bust beautiful as a work
of art, but in it, if I might be so bold as say so, I saw not only the
lineaments, but the latent character which years had developed." The
Queen, I could see, while somewhat surprised, was also pleased. My
criticism must have produced a favourable impression, for the next time
I was at Windsor Castle I found that the bust had been removed from a
comparatively dark corner to a most conspicuous position near the main
entrance to the corridor, where it was shown to the best advantage, and
continued thenceforth to remain. Passing along the corridor one evening
I called Lord Beaconsfield's attention to it, and he quite concurred in
my opinion as to its suggestiveness and peculiar charm.[22]
I recall another conversation about this period that led to the grant,
which gave great public satisfaction at the time, of a pension of L50
a-year to Edward, the Banff shoemaker and Naturalist. I had thrown into
my despatch-box a copy of Dr Smiles's _Life of Edward_, just published,
which reached me as I was leaving home to wait upon Her Majesty at
Windsor. The box contained papers as to which I had to consult the
Queen. On opening it in her presence, her quick eye took notice of the
volume, and she asked me what it was. It contained a fine etched
portrait of Edward by Rajon, and this, I knew, would interest the Queen.
She admired it greatly, and asked, "Who is this Edward?" I told her
briefly his story. "Is this not a case," she said, "for a pension from
the Bounty Fund?" Some of the most eminent naturalists, I was able to
answer, were anxious that he should have one, and a Memorial to Her
Majesty praying for it was being extensively signed. "Go on with the
Memorial," Her Majesty said. "That is essential; but leave the book with
me. I will write to-day to Lord Beaconsfield, and I have no doubt the
pension will be at once granted." The next day (20th December 1876), in
a letter from the Queen, she wrote: "Lord Beaconsfield had already heard
of the book, which with this letter the Queen return, and is most ready
to recommend Edward for a pension of L50. He was most amiable about it."
Thus some days before the formal Memorial was presented to the Queen its
prayer had been granted, and the remarkable old man was made comfortable
for life.[23]
The following letter, while it shows on what friendly relations the
Queen stood with Lord Beaconsfield, also shows with how gracious a
welcome Her Majesty received a gift from one of her subjects:--
"_Dec. 25, 1876, Christmas Day._
"The Queen returns Mr Martin her sincerest thanks for his two kind
letters, and for the splendid copy of his translation of
_Faust_.[24] She had seen it, and sent it as a Christmas offering to
Lord Beaconsfield; but she did not possess one, and therefore is
much pleased to receive it at _his hands_. The Queen hopes Mr Martin
will accept the book with photographs of the Albert Chapel, which
will reach him to-morrow.[25] Most sincerely does she wish Mr and
Mrs Martin every possible blessing for the season, which is
unusually gloomy and dark....
"She has just received a most kind and graceful acknowledgment from
Lord Beaconsfield, which she will later send Mr Martin to read."
1877 and 1878 were years of great anxiety in regard to foreign affairs,
and from Her Majesty's letters to myself it is apparent how constantly
she had to struggle against the severe headaches and weaknesses brought
on by overwork. Thus on 14th February 1878 she writes: "The Queen is
quite incapable of writing, having so much to do and think of, and
suffers from headaches and an over-tired head. But she sees no chance of
rest." Again, on the 8th of March: "The Queen has to apologise very much
for not having answered Mr Martin's letter of the 1st. Could he come on
Monday 11, before 6, and stay till the next day?... Her time is terribly
taken up."
The Queen was now never long without some great sorrow, and in the late
autumn of this year it came in the form of serious illness and death in
the home of her beloved daughter the Princess Alice. On the 20th of
November 1878 she writes:--
"Mr Martin will excuse her for not answering upon ----'s long letter
yet. But her state of anxiety and anguish about all her dear ones at
Darmstadt has been such--and they are still great--that what with
letters and telegrams, she has been quite incapable of attending to any
other things. Her poor child's grief and anxiety are only equalled by
her resignation and marvellous courage. But the darling that was taken
was one of the sweetest, cleverest, and most engaging little children
possible--4-1/2--the only one of her 31 grandchildren born to her who
was born on the Queen's birthday."
Five years before (June 29, 1873) the Princess Alice had lost another
favourite child, who fell out of the window of the room from which she
had gone out for a few seconds, and was killed before her eyes. The
misery which this loss had caused the Princess might be read in the
settled sadness of expression which thenceforth marked her beautiful
face, and seemed to foreshadow the early death which Heaven so often
gives its favourites. Now, in nursing all her numerous children through
a virulent attack of diphtheria, she showed the noble, unselfish courage
for which she had always been distinguished. One of them, the Princess
May, died, as mentioned in the Queen's letter, and very soon (14th
December) the Princess herself succumbed to the same dreadful epidemic.
The other children recovered. It is well to recall what the then Prince
of Wales wrote of his beloved sister to Lord Granville, in a letter read
by his lordship to the House of Lords: "So good, so kind, so clever! We
had gone through so much together--my father's illness, then my own; and
she has succumbed to the pernicious malady which laid low her husband
and children, whom she watched and nursed with unceasing care and
attention. The Queen bears up bravely, but her grief is deep beyond
words." Overwhelmed by it though she was, Her Majesty's instant care was
to settle how she might fill a mother's place in looking after the young
children that were left behind. And that she did fill it is well known,
and she was requited by seeing them all before she died settled in life
suitably to their rank, and the youngest called to share the Imperial
throne of the Czar of Russia.
In her natural anxiety to see a spot which had so many tender
associations for her, the Queen visited Darmstadt in the spring of
1884, and in a letter to me (May 12) from Windsor Castle, after her
return, she makes the following interesting allusion to her visit:--
"The Queen has been living in the dear Grand Duchess's rooms at the Neue
Palais at Darmstadt, where everything remains precisely as it used to
be. The Queen's sitting-room was hers, and the Queen only placed a small
writing-table in the room for her own use, leaving everything else
untouched. This opens into the dear Grand Duchess's bedroom, where she
died, and out of one of the windows of which poor little 'Frittie'[26]
fell, where there is now a fine painted glass window, with the following
words, 'Of such are the kingdom of heaven,' 'Not lost, but gone before.'
It is a charming house.... The light air of the Continent is certainly
very different from England, and more like Scotland. The country was
brilliant, and lovely in its spring attire of most vivid green; the
birch woods are quite beautiful.
"It seemed almost an irony of fate to see nature so bright and
beautiful, when the heart was so sad, and could feel no pleasure."
When my _Life_ of the Prince Consort was completed I should not have
been surprised if the Queen, with all her manifold, fatiguing, and
ever-increasing engagements, had no longer continued the intimate
correspondence with which I had hitherto been honoured. But in this
respect no change took place. The number of letters grew less as the
necessity diminished for constant reference to Her Majesty on the
subjects dealt with in the Prince's _Life_; but I was as frequent a
guest as ever at Windsor Castle, and treated with the same frankness and
confidence as before. When I could be of use to Her Majesty my services,
she knew, were always cheerfully at her command, and they were
invariably acknowledged with the exquisite courtesy and thankfulness of
which I have already given some examples. I had thus constant
opportunities of verifying the justice of the estimate of the personal
qualities of Her Majesty which I very early formed, and to which I have
in previous pages tried to give expression.
In 1883 the Queen had found distraction in preparing further extracts
from her Diary of her life in the Highlands. When it was well advanced
towards publication my assistance in revising the final proofs was
asked. She had no longer her friend Sir Arthur Helps to advise with, who
had edited her first _Leaves from a Journal_. A great deal of
correspondence in regard to the book, I find, took place, and I must, I
suppose, have been somewhat severe in my criticisms, for in sending me
her final sketch of the Preface and Epilogue to the volume, the Queen
writes that she stood "somewhat in awe of me"--a compliment to my
independence which, while it amused me, could not be otherwise than
gratifying. The warm reception given to the volume gave the Queen great
pleasure. Thus on the 14th of February 1884 she writes: "The Queen is
really startled at the success of so humble a production," and again on
the 29th, "The Queen must say, she believes few sovereigns, and fewer
people, have been so kindly spoken of as herself." In a paper written in
1883, now before me, the Queen speaks of the importance to herself of
anything which "has a cheering and invigorating effect on one so
depressed, and so often disheartened as I am." It was therefore very
pleasant to see that she had found this temporary solace in the public
feeling, which had been vivified by her little book.
To add to the Queen's depression, a lameness due to a sprain of the knee
robbed her of the freedom of movement in which she had always delighted.
Of this she speaks in a letter (May 29, 1883):--
"Many things unite in rendering the Queen's remaining years terribly
hard and desolate. Her lameness does not improve much. She can walk very
little indeed (and that is great labour) out of doors, and never without
two sticks indoors, and is carried, which the newspaper reporters with
singular ignorance consider a proof of her great 'delicacy of health,'
complaining also of the public _not_ being admitted everywhere, as if
it would be pleasant for any lady to be carried in and out of a carriage
before crowds of people! But the people are very kind and anxious,
though very unreasoning in thinking a sprain can be cured in a few days,
especially when she is no longer young."
In the autumn of 1881 the Queen held a review in the Queen's Park,
Edinburgh, of the Scottish Volunteers, considerably over 40,000 of whom
passed before her. The march past occupied more than three hours, during
which the rain descended in torrents. The Queen was in an open carriage,
and however much they might have been disappointed, none of her
volunteers would have murmured had Her Majesty withdrawn at an early
stage of the review. But, true soldier's daughter as she was, she paid
no heed to the weather, thinking only of her duty to let herself be seen
by those who had come from all parts of the country in the hope of
seeing and being seen by their Queen. She did not leave the Park until
the last man had passed. By this time the carriage was full of water,
and pools of it, I have been told, dropped from the dresses of herself
and ladies when they returned to Holyrood.
In a like determination never, if she could, to cause disappointment to
her people, when she visited Liverpool about four years later, the Queen
drove slowly through more than three miles of streets under a drenching
rain which lasted throughout the whole route. The open-air drives in the
Highlands had, no doubt, accustomed Her Majesty to bear exposure so
trying without injury to her health. The stimulus, too, given by the
heartiness of the greeting, which her courage and gracious courtesy
evoked, may have helped to keep all evil consequences at bay. In writing
to me, May 17, 1886, the drenching rain was not mentioned. "The
Liverpool visit," she only said, "was a perfectly triumphal ovation, so
warm and hearty ... from a million and a half of people. The feeling
against Home Rule is on the increase."
It was well that the Queen, in all her sorrows, could find solace in the
sympathetic and ever-increasing loyalty of her people. Another heavy
blow was soon to fall upon her in the death of Prince Leopold (March 28,
1884). Only two years before, his marriage had been solemnised in St
George's Chapel at Windsor under circumstances of unusual splendour, in
which Her Majesty had taken a prominent part. Who that witnessed it
could ever forget the figure of the Queen as she passed up the aisle to
the altar. In the bridal train and the general assemblage many of the
most beautiful women in England, arrayed in the costliest robes and
adorned with an infinite wealth of jewels, preceded Her Majesty.
Whatever high blood and bearing, whatever wealth and beauty could give
to delight the eye, was there. But all was eclipsed by the unpretending
figure in black, moving onwards with the simple unstudied grace,
unconscious of its own charm, but insensibly by its perfect composure
filling you with the impression that in her the Majesty of England was
represented. _Vera incessu patuit Regina._ No doubt the memory of that
moment came back to many as it did to me, when the body of Prince
Leopold was borne by the Seaforth Highlanders up the same aisle for the
funeral benediction only two short years after, and the Queen was seen
looking down from the Royal pew upon the group of mourners gathered
round the bier. I had known the Prince well for years, and I believe was
a favourite with him. My letter of condolence to Her Majesty after the
funeral brought me the following reply:--
"WINDSOR CASTLE, _Apl. 10, 1884_.
"The Queen thanks Sir Theodore Martin for his kind letter, as well
as for the previous ones, and for all the kind sympathy, but that is
indeed universal. It has always been thus for her, and each loss
intensifies it.... The accounts of the sad and impressive ceremony
of last Friday and Saturday are excellent, and all in such a
reverent tone--and the _Times_ articles (3) so good. The
_Standard_[27] is admirable, and the Queen thanks Sir Theodore for
it.... The Queen is not ill, but greatly shaken, and this new shock
has been overwhelming....
"The Queen feels the loss of that dear clever child of so many cares
and anxieties more and more, and knows that again a great help and
support has been taken from her in her declining years. She never
felt easy when he was away, and his foreign trips never did him any
good. _Now he is safe._
"The Queen has been urged to have some complete rest and change of
air, and is therefore going for a fortnight to Darmstadt on the
15th."[28]
In 1886 the idea became general of a great celebration of the Queen's
Jubilee in the following year. The subject gave rise to a great display
of loyal feeling, and much eloquent writing in praise of Her Majesty in
the journals. I seem to have sent Her Majesty some of these which I
thought would give her pleasure, for on June 28 she writes to me thus:--
"The Queen hastens to thank Sir T. Martin for his kind letters and
enclosures. She was touched and gratified by the articles, as it is
rewarding to find _Anerkennung_, as the Germans say, of a long and hard
life of anxiety, that is not flattery, which the Queen hates....
"For the Queen all the loyalty shown and the celebration to take place
(if she lives, _D. V._) next year are very trying, and much mingled with
deep sadness; for to be alone, bereft of her husband, to whom she and
the country owe so much, of two dear children, and many, and especially
_some_, dear friends, is very painful and trying."
In the Jubilee year it was understood that presents might be offered to
Her Majesty upon her birthday. Very many, no doubt, availed themselves
of the privilege, Lady Martin and myself among the number. We had both
so frequently received memorial gifts from the Queen, that it was an
especial pleasure to us to have an opportunity of offering our slight
tribute of loyal respect, and we selected for the purpose an object of
which it was not likely that a duplicate could be given. A telegram of
warm acknowledgment from Balmoral the day it was received was followed
next day (25th May) by this letter:--
"The Queen thanks Sir Theodore and Lady Martin for their lovely gift,
which she will ever value as coming from them, and on her birthday in
this year. The loyalty and affection so universally exhibited by all
classes and from all parts are very gratifying to her, and are an
encouragement for the few remaining years of her arduous life, as they
show that her efforts for the good of her country and people are
appreciated."
No need to say how this loyalty and affection culminated within a month
in the Jubilee demonstration on the 21st of June. In Westminster Abbey I
had a position from which I could observe the emotions as they passed
over the face of the Queen throughout the whole of the impressive
ceremonial of that memorable day; and it seemed to me, familiar as I was
with the feelings with which Her Majesty had looked forward to this
event, that I could divine some of the thoughts which under that
serenely dignified demeanour were passing through Her Majesty's heart
and mind. Deep and manifold I felt they must be, as she looked back to
the day when she had last sat there in the Coronation Chair, through the
vista of years of happiness and trial, of anxiety and bereavement, of
national struggle and peril and triumph, all culminating in an
unparalleled demonstration of her people's love. At such a time would
not memory recur to the words written to her on her Accession by Prince
Albert fifty years before (26th June 1837)?--"Now you are Queen of the
mightiest land of Europe. In your hand lies the happiness of millions.
May Heaven assist you and strengthen you with its strength in that high
but difficult task! I hope that your reign may be long, happy, and
glorious, and that your efforts may be rewarded by the thankfulness and
love of your subjects!" Full of the feeling I have expressed, on my
return home it shaped itself without effort of mine into the words of
the following sonnet. Some weeks elapsed before I had the courage to
send it to the Queen; but it at once found such favour with Her Majesty
that, in a letter to me next day (11th August), she wrote: "The Queen
thanks Sir T. Martin for his kind letter, and for the very beautiful
lines which he has written.... The Queen hopes he will print and even
publish them." They were accordingly published next month in
_Blackwood's Magazine_:--
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
_21st June 1887._
Again within these walls, again alone!
A long, long tract of fateful years between
The day I knelt, to rise a crowned queen,
Vowed thenceforth to be all my people's own,
And this, when, with an empire wider grown,
Again I kneel, before high Heaven to lay
My thanks for all, which since that earlier day
Has blessed my goings, and upheld my throne.
God! in this hour I think of him, who made
My young life sweet, who lightened every care,
In sorest straits my judgment rightly swayed,
Lived, thought for me, all times and everywhere;
For him I thank Thee chief, who by his aid
Nerved me the burden of a crown to bear!
Every Christmas had for years brought with it a letter from the Queen
with her good wishes for Lady Martin and myself, accompanied by a
beautifully painted card for Lady Martin, and some valuable book for my
library enriched by a gracious inscription. In her letter of this year
were the words, "_The Queen is loth to part with the year in which she
has met with so much affection and kindness_," and they suggested to me
the following sonnet. It was my custom to send to the Queen a Christmas
and New Year greeting, generally in verse, and I made the sonnet my
greeting for the year 1888. The Queen in her reply requested that it
might be published, and this was done:--
OSBORNE.
_Before Midnight, 31st December 1887._
One hour, and 'twill be numbered with the past,
My year of Jubilee, that to my heart
Has tribute brought from cot and hall and mart
Of loyalty and love;--a treasure vast,
There to be nursed and cherished to the last,
And with that one dear memory held apart,
Still sweetening through the years its bitter smart
With love in kingly story unsurpassed!
Go, then, bright year, go with a fond good-bye,
For all thy days with loving-kindness fraught!
And may all blessings from the God on high
Light on my people for their loving thought,
Keeping them worthy of the days gone by,
And the great name by their forefathers wrought!