him, he is in such spirits. . . . We walked
on to a corn-field where a number of women
were cutting and reaping the oats (shearing
they call it in Scotland), with a splendid view
of the hills before us, so rural and romantic,
so unlike our daily Windsor walk." And then
she adds, " delightful as that is," as if afraid
of disparaging poor old Windsor, and as if
remembering what happiness exists for her
there also.

There is no scene or experience described in
this book which does not receive a reflected
light from the sunshine which fills the heart
of the writer. All sorts of small things excite
her wonder and delight—the Leith fish-
women with their white caps and bright-coloured
petticoats, or a Highland lassie in the river,
"with her dress tucked up almost to her knees,
washing potatoes." All is delightful, because
all is seen under such happy circumstances.

Doubtless, too, the new sensation of being
free gives an additional zest to the royal
pleasure. The getting away from London, from
drawing-rooms and levees, and to a great
extent from state cares and state conferences—
though there was always a cabinet minister
on the premises at Balmoral, like a memento
mori at a feast—the getting away from all these
things to be simply a lady living with her
husband and children in a Highland château must
have been a new and delightful feeling. We
can see that it is so. A hundred passages in
this volume which tell of the queen's keen
enjoyment of that wild unfettered life which the
annual journey to the Highlands put within her
reach. " I was delighted," she says, on one
occasion, " to go on à l'improviste, travelling in
these enchanting hills, in their solitude, with
only our good Highlanders with us." And in
another place, when the time of leaving
Scotland is near, she speaks of her liberty as one of
the losses she is about to sustain. " Every little
trifle and every spot I had become attached to,
our life.of quiet and liberty, everything was so
pleasant, and all the Highlanders and people
who went with us I had got to like so much."

That moment of leaving Scotland seems
always to have been a very bitter one. The
queen's attachment to this country, indeed, is
almost beyond that of a native. Over and over
again she breaks out in raptures respecting the
scenery, the hills, the people, the very air she
breathes. She kindles with delight when she
again touches Scotch soil after having been for
some time absent, and her sorrow at turning
her back on the lochs and mountains when the
annual holiday is over, is genuine and
unaffected. " Alas! our last day in Scotland"
is a phrase of frequent recurrence in these
diaries, and once, when there was a heavy fall
of snow on the morning of the day which was
their last at Balmoral for the season, her
majesty exclaims, " I wished we might be
snowed up, and unable to move. How happy I
should have been, could it have been so!" Nor
must one source of enjoyment—the greatest
of all—be forgotten. In the Highlands the queen
saw more of her beloved prince than elsewhere:
walking with him, riding with him, reading with
him, or sketching by his side continually.

There are some curious scenes put before the
reader in this glimpse behind the curtain of
what is literally a Theatre Royal. The narrative
of the arrival at the castle of the tidings of the
taking of Sevastopol, beginning with a
description of the state of expectancy in which
the house was kept all day by rumours which
had reached Balmoral, and ending with an
account of the arrival of telegrams in the evening,
containing the decisive news, " Sevastopol
is in the hands of the allies," is very bright and
stirring. The lighting of the bonfire upon the
cairn at the top of the hill, and the efforts
to get up a display of fireworks by the poor
old Frenchman, François d'Albertançon, " who
lighted a number of squibs, the greater part of
which would not go off," are among the
memorials of an interesting time at Balmoral.

Equally interesting and well described is
that other almost historical scene in which we
are shown how the news of " The Duke's" death
came upon the holiday party. In this case,
also, there seems to have been a preliminary
rumour of the truth, which was disregarded, the
party at the castle going away for the day on
one of their customary excursions. Then comes
that curious incident of the queen missing her
watch—the gift of the duke—from her side, and
sending a messenger back to the house to see
that it was safe, and then the return of the
messenger with tidings of the watch, and with
a bundle of letters, among which are two which
tell the news of the old duke's death.

It is curious to read of these public events
in the journal of one so deeply interested in
them. The sight of such records sets one
speculating whether any of our more remote
sovereigns kept journals of this sort, and if so, what
sort of notices of the public occurrences of the
day were contained in them. A diary of Henry
the Eighth's, for instance, with an entry made
on the day when the news of Wolsey's death
reached him, would certainly be a curiosity of
some value. The tone of any such entry would,
however, it is to be feared, have differed widely
from such expressions of grief as those to be
found in the Journal of Queen Victoria, written
on Thursday, September 16, 1852.

The third and concluding Portion of
GEORGE SILVERMAN'S
EXPLANATION,

By CHARLES DICKENS,

Will be published in No. 462, for Saturday, 29th instant.

The third Portion of
HOLIDAY ROMANCE,

By CHARLES DICKENS,

Will be published in the monthly part for March, and
the Romance will be concluded in the monthly part for
April.