s the hour of post he has not had clearness
of mind, and vigour of pen, adequate to convey his thoughts and facts to
the most loved and illustrious being, who deigns to consider them." She
sent him some primroses, and he replied that he could "truly say they
are 'more precious than rubies,' coming, as they do, and at such a
moment, from a Sovereign whom he adores." She sent him snowdrops, and
his sentiment overflowed into poetry. "Yesterday eve," he wrote, "there
appeared, in Whitehall Gardens, a delicate-looking case, with a royal
superscription, which, when he opened, he thought, at first, that your
Majesty had graciously bestowed upon him the stars of your Majesty's
principal orders." And, indeed, he was so impressed with this graceful
illusion, that, having a banquet, where there were many stars and
ribbons, he could not resist the temptation, by placing some snowdrops
on his heart, of showing that, he, too, was decorated by a gracious
Sovereign.

Then, in the middle of the night, it occurred to him, that it might all
be an enchantment, and that, perhaps, it was a Faery gift and came from
another monarch: Queen Titania, gathering flowers, with her Court, in
a soft and sea-girt isle, and sending magic blossoms, which, they say,
turn the heads of those who receive them.

A Faery gift! Did he smile as he wrote the words? Perhaps; and yet
it would be rash to conclude that his perfervid declarations were
altogether without sincerity. Actor and spectator both, the two
characters were so intimately blended together in that odd composition
that they formed an inseparable unity, and it was impossible to say that
one of them was less genuine than the other. With one element, he
could coldly appraise the Faery's intellectual capacity, note with some
surprise that she could be on occasion "most interesting and amusing,"
and then continue his use of the trowel with an ironical solemnity;
while, with the other, he could be overwhelmed by the immemorial panoply
of royalty, and, thrilling with the sense of his own strange elevation,
dream himself into a gorgeous phantasy of crowns and powers and
chivalric love. When he told Victoria that "during a somewhat romantic
and imaginative life, nothing has ever occurred to him so interesting as
this confidential correspondence with one so exalted and so inspiring,"
was he not in earnest after all? When he wrote to a lady about the
Court, "I love the Queen--perhaps the only person in this