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Need to buy a hookah link Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2021-09-22 16:07:17
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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, eternally significant. 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 thousand like them, impressed themselves upon her eager consciousness! And how she flew to her journal to note them down! The news of the Duke’s death! What a moment — when, as she sat sketching after a picnic by a loch in the lonely hills, Lord Derby’s letter had been brought to her, and she had learnt that ENGLAND’S, or rather BRITAIN’S pride, her glory, her hero, the greatest man she had ever produced, was no morel.” For such were here reflections upon the old rebel” of former days. But that past had been utterly obliterated — no faintest memory of it remained. For years she had looked up to the Duke as a figure almost superhuman. Had he not been a supporter of good Sir Robert? Had he not asked Albert to succeed him as commander-in-chief? And what a proud moment it had been when he stood as sponsor to her son Arthur, who was born on his eighty-first birthday! So now she filled a whole page of her diary with panegyrical regrets. His position was the highest a subject ever had — above party — looked up to by all — revered by the whole nation — the friend of the Sovereign . . . The Crown never possessed — and I fear never WILL— so DEVOTED, loyal, and faithful a subject, so staunch a supporter! To US his loss is IRREPARABLE . . . To Albert he showed the greatest kindness and the utmost confidence . . . Not an eye will be dry in the whole country.” These were serious thoughts; but they were soon succeeded by others hardly less moving — by events as impossible to forget — by Mr. MacLeod’s sermon on Nicodemus — by the gift of a red flannel petticoat to Mrs. P. Farquharson, and another to old Kitty Kear.

Meanwhile in Victoria’s private life many changes and developments had taken place. With the marriages of her elder children her family circle widened; grandchildren appeared; and a multitude of new domestic interests sprang up. The death of King Leopold in 1865 had removed the predominant figure of the older generation, and the functions he had performed as the centre and adviser of a large group of relatives in Germany and in England devolved upon Victoria. These functions she discharged with unremitting industry, carrying on an enormous correspondence, and following with absorbed interest every detail in the lives of the ever-ramifying cousinhood. And she tasted to the full both the joys and the pains of family affection. She took a particular delight in her grandchildren, to whom she showed an indulgence which their parents had not always enjoyed, though, even to her grandchildren, she could be, when the occasion demanded it, severe. The eldest of them, the little Prince Wilhelm of Prussia, was a remarkably headstrong child; he dared to be impertinent even to his grandmother; and once, when she told him to bow to a visitor at Osborne, he disobeyed her outright. This would not do: the order was sternly repeated, and the naughty boy, noticing that his grandmama had suddenly turned into a most terrifying lady, submitted his will to hers, and bowed very low indeed.

Ernest. Memoirs of Ernest II, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. 4 vols. 1888. (English translation.)

In January, 1854, it was whispered that the Prince had been seized, that he had been found guilty of high treason, that he was to be committed to the Tower. The Queen herself, some declared, had been arrested, and large crowds actually collected round the Tower to watch the incarceration of the royal miscreants.5


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