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.

But, without doubt, most memorable, most delightful of all were the
expeditions--the rare, exciting expeditions up distant mountains, across
broad rivers, through strange country, and lasting several days. With
only two gillies--Grant and Brown--for servants, and with assumed names.
It was more like something in a story than real life. "We had decided
to call ourselves LORD AND LADY CHURCHILL AND AND PARTY--Lady Churchill
passing as MISS SPENCER and General Grey as DR. GREY! Brown once forgot
this and called me 'Your Majesty' as I was getting into the carriage,
and Grant on the box once called Albert 'Your R