ded to go
to Court, he is not quite so certain; and I find it so difficult to
disassociate the idea of dress from any such proceeding, that I trust
my inexperience in this respect also will procure me whatever pardon
it may require.

I have the honour to be, my Lord, your Lordship's ever grateful and
faithful Servant,

LEIGH HUNT.

[Footnote 51: Hunt had founded _The Examiner_ in 1808, and
Albany Fonblanque (1793-1872) had succeeded him on it as
leader writer.]

[Footnote 52: Leigh Hunt's play, _A Legend of Florence_, had
had a great success at Covent Garden in 1840; in 1852 it was
performed at Windsor by the Queen's command.]

[Pageheading: THE AFFLICTED FAMILY]

_The Queen of the Belgians to Queen Victoria._

NEUILLY, _21st July 1842._

MY BELOVED VICTORIA,--I was unable to thank you the other day for your
kind and feeling letter of the 14th, although I was greatly touched
by it, and I trust you will have excused me. I thank you to-day very
sincerely for both your letters, and for the share and sympathy you
and dear Albert take in our _great misfortune_. I know it is very
heart-felt, and we are all very grateful for it. Victoire and my poor
mother have already given you news from the unfortunate Helene.
She has sustained and outlived the first shock and shows wonderful
courage. She is even well in health, and much better and stronger
in all ways than I had expected. She takes very much upon herself
on account of the poor children, to prevent that any melancholy or
painful feeling should be connected for them with the remembrance of
their beloved and unfortunate father. My parents show great fortitude
and resignation, but their hearts are for ever broke. They are only
sustained by their feeling of duty. My poor mother bears up for my
father, and my father bears up to fulfil his duties of father and of
king. Their health is, thank God! good, and my father retains all his
strength of mind and quickness of judgment; but they are both grown
old in looks, and their hairs are turned quite white.

The first days, my poor father could do nothing but sob, and it was
really heartbreaking to see him. He begins now to have more command
upon his grief, and the presence of your uncle, whom he dearly loves,
seems to do him good. The poor children are well and _merry_ and seem
unconscious of their dreadful loss. From time to time only they jump
round us as if looking for protection. The con