now;" and then
he held his tongue. She was kind to him, writing him long letters, and
always remembering his birthday; but it was kindness at a distance, and
he knew it. He had become "poor Lord Melbourne." A profound disquietude
devoured him. He tried to fix his mind on the condition of Agriculture
and the Oxford Movement. He wrote long memoranda in utterly
undecipherable handwriting. He was convinced that he had lost all his
money, and could not possibly afford to be a Knight of the Garter. He
had run through everything, and yet--if Peel went out, he might be sent
for--why not? He was never sent for. The Whigs ignored him in their
consultations, and the leadership of the party passed to Lord
John Russell. When Lord John became Prime Minister, there was much
politeness, but Lord Melbourne was not asked to join the Cabinet. He
bore the blow with perfect amenity; but he understood, at last, that
that was the end.

For two years more he lingered, sinking slowly into unconsciousness and
imbecility. Sometimes, propped up in his chair, he would be heard to
murmur, with unexpected appositeness, the words of Samson:--

"So much I feel my general spirit droop,
My hopes all flat, nature within me seems,
In all her functions weary of herself,
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest."

A few days before his death, Victoria, learning that there was no hope
of his recovery, turned her mind for a little towards that which had
once been Lord M. "You will grieve to hear," she told King Leopold,
"that our good, dear, old friend Melbourne is dying... One cannot
forget how good and kind and amiable he was, and it brings back so many
recollections to my mind, though, God knows! I never wish that time back
again."

She was in little danger. The tide of circumstance was flowing now
with irresistible fullness towards a very different consummation.
The seriousness of Albert, the claims of her children, her own inmost
inclinations, and the movement of the whole surrounding world, combined
to urge her forward along the narrow way of public and domestic duty.
Her family steadily increased. Within eighteen months of the birth of
the Prince of Wales the Princess Alice appeared, and a year later the
Prince Alfred, and then the Princess Helena, and, two years afterwards,
the Princess Louise; and still there were signs that the pretty row of
royal infants was not complete. The