ed Bunsen of the last chance of
fully realizing the literary plans of his youth, and it deprived the world
of services that no one could have rendered so well in the cause of
freedom of thought, of practical religion, and in teaching the weighty
lessons of antiquity to the youth of the future. It made him waste his
precious hours in work that any Prussian baron could have done as well, if
not better, and did not set him free until his bodily strength was
undermined, and the joyful temper of his mind saddened by sad experiences.

Nothing could have been more brilliant than the beginning of Bunsen's
diplomatic career in England. First came the visit of the King of Prussia,
whom the Queen had invited to be godfather to the Prince of Wales. Soon
after the Prince of Prussia came to England under the guidance of Bunsen.
Then followed the return visit of the Queen at Stolzenfels, on the Rhine.
All this, no doubt, took up much of Bunsen's time, but it gave him also
the pleasantest introduction to the highest society of England; for as
Baroness Bunsen shrewdly remarks, "there is nothing like standing within
the Bude-light of royalty to make one conspicuous, and sharpen perceptions
and recollections." (II. p. 8.) Bunsen complained, no doubt, now and then,
about excessive official work, yet he seemed on the whole reconciled to
his position, and up to the year 1847 we hear of no attempts to escape
from diplomatic bondage. In a letter to Mrs. Fry he says:--

"I can assure you I never passed a more quiet and truly
satisfactory evening in London than the last, in the Queen's
house, in the midst of the excitement of the season. I think this
is a circumstance for which one ought to be thankful; and it has
much reminded me of hours that I have spent at Berlin and Sans
Souci with the King and the Queen and the Prince William, and, I
am thankful to add, with the Princess of Prussia, mother of the
future King. It is a striking and consoling and instructive proof
that what is called the world, the great world, is not necessarily
worldly in itself, but only by that inward worldliness which, as
rebellion against the spirit, creeps into the cottage as well as
into the palace, and against which no outward form is any
protection. Forms and rules may prevent the outbreak of wrong, but
cannot regenerate right, and may quench the spirit and poison
inward truth. The Queen gives hours daily