wife had ever had such a husband. His mind was apparentlycapable of
everything, and she was hardly surprised to learn that he had made an

important discovery for the conversion of sewage into agricultural manure.
Filtration from below upwards, he explained, through some appropriate medium,

which retained the solids and set free the fluid sewage for irrigation, was
the principle of the scheme. "All previous plans," he said, "would have cost

millions; mine costs next to nothing." Unfortunately, owing to a slight
miscalculation, the invention proved to be impracticable; but Albert's

intelligence was unrebuffed, and he passed on, to plunge with all his
accustomed ardour into a prolonged study of the rudiments of lithography.

But naturally it was upon his children that his private interests and those of
Victoria were concentrated most vigorously" target="_blank" title="ad.精力旺盛地；健壮地">vigorously. The royal nurseries showed no sign

of emptying. The birth of the Prince Arthur in 1850 was followed, three years
later, by that of the Prince Leopold; and in 1857 the Princess Beatrice was

born. A family of nine must be, in any circumstances, a grave responsibility;
and the Prince realised to the full how much the high destinies of his

offspring intensified the need of parental care. It was inevitable that he
should believe profoundly in the importance of education; he himself had been

the product of education; Stockmar had made him what he was; it was for him,
in his turn, to be a Stockmar--to be even more than a Stockmar--to the young

creatures he had brought into the world. Victoria would assist him; a
Stockmar, no doubt, she could hardly be; but she could be perpetually

vigilant, she could mingle strictness with her affection, and she could always
set a good example. These considerations, of course, applied pre-eminently to

the education of the Prince of Wales. How tremendous was the significance of
every particle of influence which went to the making of the future King of

England! Albert set to work with a will. But, watching with Victoria the
minutest details of the physical, intellectual, and moral training of his

children, he soon perceived, to his distress, that there was something
unsatisfactory in the development of his eldest son. The Princess Royal was an

extremely intelligent child; but Bertie, though he was good-humoured and
gentle, seemed to display a deep-seated repugnance to every form of mental

exertion. This was most regrettable, but the remedy was obvious: the parental
efforts must be redoubled; instruction must be multiplied; not for a single

instant must the educationalpressure be allowed to relax. Accordingly, more
tutors were selected, the curriculum was revised, the time-table of studies

was rearranged, elaborate memoranda dealing with every possible contingency
were drawn up. It was above all essential that there should be no slackness:

"Work," said the Prince, " must be work." And work indeed it was. The boy grew
up amid a ceaseless round of paradigms, syntactical exercises, dates,

genealogical tables, and lists of capes. Constant notes flew backwards and
forwards between the Prince, the Queen, and tile tutors, with inquiries, with

reports of progress, with detailed recommendations; and these notes were all
carefully preserved for future reference. It was, besides, vital that the heir

to the throne should be protected from the slightest possibility of
contamination from the outside world. The Prince of Wales was not as other

boys; he might, occasionally, be allowed to invite some sons of the nobility,
boys of good character, to play with him in the garden of Buckingham Palace;

but his father presided, with alarming precision, over their sports. In short,
every possible precaution was taken, every conceivable effort was made. Yet,

strange to say, the object of all this vigilance and solicitude continued to
be unsatisfactory--appeared, in fact, to be positively growing worse. It was

certainly very odd: the more lessons that Bertie had to do, the less he did
them; and the more carefully he was guarded against excitements and

frivolities, the more desirous of mere amusement he seemed to become. Albert
was deeply grieved and Victoria was sometimes very angry; but grief and anger

produced no more effect than supervision and time-tables. The Prince of Wales,
in spite of everything, grew up into manhood without the faintest sign of

"adherence to and perseverance in the plan both of studies and life-" as one
of the Royal memoranda put it--which had been laid down with such

extraordinary forethought by his father.
II

Against the insidious worries of politics, the boredom of society functions,
and the pompous publicity of state ceremonies, Osborne had afforded a welcome

refuge; but it soon appeared that even Osborne was too little removed from the
world. After all, the Solent was a feeblebarrier. Oh, for some distant, some

almost inaccessiblesanctuary, where, in true domesticprivacy, one could make
happy holiday, just as if--or at least very, very, nearly--one were anybody

else! Victoria, ever since, together with Albert, she had visited Scotland in
the early years of her marriage, had felt that her heart was in the Highlands.

She had returned to them a few years later, and her passion had grown. How
romantic they were! And how Albert enjoyed them too! His spirits rose quite

wonderfully as soon as he found himself among the hills and the conifers. "It
is a happiness to see him," she wrote. "Oh! What can equal the beauties of

nature!" she exclaimed in her journal, during one of these visits. "What
enjoyment there is in them! Albert enjoys it so much; he is in ecstasies

here." "Albert said," she noted next day, "that the chief beauty of mountain
scenery consists in its frequent changes. We came home at six o'clock." Then

she went on a longer expedition--up to the very top of a high hill. "It was
quite romantic. Here we were with only this Highlander behind us holding the

ponies (for we got off twice and walked about). . . . We came home at
half-past eleven,--the most delightful, most romantic ride and walk I ever

had. I had never been up such a mountain, and then the day was so fine." The
Highlanders, too, were such astonishing people. They "never make

difficulties," she noted, "but are cheerful, and happy, and merry, and ready
to walk, and run, and do anything." As for Albert he "highly appreciated the

good-breeding, simplicity, and intelligence, which make it so pleasant and
even instructive to talk to them." "We were always in the habit," wrote Her

Majesty, "of conversing with the Highlanders--with whom one comes so much in
contact in the Highlands." She loved everything about them--their customs,

their dress, their dances, even their musical instruments. "There were nine
pipers at the castle," she wrote after staying with Lord Breadalbane;

"sometimes one and sometimes three played. They always played about
breakfast-time, again during the morning, at luncheon, and also whenever we

went in and out; again before dinner, and during most of dinner-time. We both
have become quite fond of the bag-pipes.

It was quite impossible not to wish to return to such pleasures again and
again; and in 1848 the Queen took a lease of Balmoral House, a small residence

near Braemar in the wilds of Aberdeenshire. Four years later she bought the
place outright. Now she could be really happy every summer; now she could be

simple and at her ease; now she could be romantic every evening, and dote upon
Albert, without a single distraction, all day long. The diminutive scale of

the house was in itself a charm. Nothing was more amusing than to find oneself
living in two or three little sitting--rooms, with the children crammed away

upstairs, and the minister in attendance with only a tiny bedroom to do all
his work in. And then to be able to run in and out of doors as one liked, and

to sketch, and to walk, and to watch the red deer coming so surprisingly
close, and to pay visits to the cottagers! And occasionally one could be more

adventurous still--one could go and stay for a night or two at the Bothie at
Alt-na-giuthasach--a mere couple of huts with "a wooden addition"--and only

eleven people in the whole party! And there were mountains to be climbed and
cairns to be built in solemn pomp. "At last, when the cairn, which is, I

think, seven or eight feet high, was nearly completed, Albert climbed up to
the top of it, and placed the last stone; after which three cheers were given.

It was a gay, pretty, and touching sight; and I felt almost inclined to cry.
The view was so beautiful over the dear hills; the day so fine; the whole so

gemuthlich." And in the evening there were sword-dances and reels.
But Albert had determined to pull down the little old house, and to build in

its place a castle of his own designing. With great ceremony, in accordance
with a memorandum drawn up by the Prince for the occasion, the

foundation-stone of the new edifice was laid, and by 1855 it was habitable.
Spacious, built of granite in the Scotch baronial style, with a tower 100 feet

high, and minor turrets and castellated gables, the castle was skilfully
arranged to command the finest views of the surrounding mountains and of the

neighbouring river Dee. Upon the interior decorations Albert and Victoria
lavished all their care. The wall and the floors were of pitch-pine, and

covered with specially manufactured tartars. The Balmoral tartan, in red and
grey, designed by the Prince, and the Victoria tartan, with a white stripe,

designed by the Queen, were to be seen in every room: there were tartan
curtains, and tartan chair-covers, and even tartan linoleums. Occasionally the

Royal Stuart tartan appeared, for Her Majesty always maintained that she was
an ardent Jacobite. Water-colour sketches by Victoria hung upon the walls,

together with innumerable stags' antlers, and the head of a boar, which had
been shot by Albert in Germany. In an alcove in the hall, stood a life-sized

statue of Albert in Highland dress.
Victoria declared that it was perfection. "Every year," she wrote, "my heart

becomes more fixed in this dear paradise, and so much more so now, that ALL
has become my dear Albert's own creation, own work, own building, own

lay-out... and his great taste, and the impress of his dear hand, have been
stamped everywhere."

And here, in very truth, her happiest days were passed. In after years, when
she looked back upon them, a kind of glory, a radiance as of an unearthly

holiness, seemed to glow about these golden hours. Each hallowed moment stood
out clear, beautiful, eternallysignificant. For, at the time, every

experience there, sentimental, or grave, or trivial, had come upon her with a
peculiar vividness, like a flashing of marvellous lights. Albert's

stalkings--an evening walk when she lost her way--Vicky sitting down on a
wasps' nest--a torchlight dance--with what intensity such things, and ten