THE QUARTERLY REVIEW. No. 424.-JULY, 1910. Art. 1.-THE CHARACTER OF KING EDWARD VII.* 1. Private Papers in the Royal Archives of Windsor Castle. By permission of His Majesty the King. 2. Letters from Sarah Lady Lyttelton, 1797-1870. Privately printed. London, 1873. 'NEVER was British Prince baptised under happier circumstances than Edward, Prince of Wales, the son of Queen Victoria. At a period of all but universal peace throughout the world, such as can scarcely be paralleled since the great epoch from which our religion takes its date, a peace cemented not merely by mutual interests and the bonds of a common civilisation, but by the growing recognition of deeper principles of duty, at this period our new Edward takes upon him the vows of a soldier in what is pre-eminently the kingdom of peace. Our hopes of the era which will be known to posterity by his name may rise, in this respect, to a far higher flight than the half-inspired prophecy of the Roman poet, who wrote that, in the golden age of his Pollio, "Erunt etiam altera bella, Atque iterum ad Trojam magnus mittetur Achilles." 'Our First Edward ravaged Scotland and Wales; our Third Edward, and his son, the gallant Black Prince, carried desolation into France. But Scotland and Wales belong to this Edward, and he to Scotland and Wales; and France is the nearest and most honoured ally of his Mother's Crown. May it be his office to consolidate goodwill and unity throughout the world, and may war never be heard of in his time.' This passage appeared in the leading article of the 'Times' on January 24, 1842, the morning after the day when King Edward was received into the Church of Christ * Copyright July 1910 in America by the Leonard Scott Publication Company, New York. Vol. 213. No. 424. B within the walls of the Garter Chapel of St George, where on May 20 sixty-eight years later he was solemnly laid to rest amid the lamentations of his people. The newspaper paragraph was cut from the 'Times' and pasted into her journal by Queen Victoria. Above it is written: 'Bells were ringing and guns firing. I offered up again an anxious prayer that the Almighty would grant a blessing to the ceremony, and we prayed that our little boy might become a true and virtuous Christian in every respect, and I pray that he may become the image of his beloved father.' The prophetic insight of the anonymous writer and the prayers of the young mother have had a curious and wonderful fulfilment. In those days to have thought of the boy Prince as King by other than his father's name was a forecast sufficiently remarkable, without a further anticipation, almost in words, of the noble panegyric of the parliamentary leaders which closed the reign of King Edward. When Queen Victoria prayed for her little boy to grow up in the likeness of Prince Albert, she little dreamed that the son would live to appeal to the hearts of the British people at home and scattered over an Empire then unimagined in a fashion and degree quite beyond the range of his illustrious father. It has been noticed that Whig writers sixty years ago used to say that when the memories of the nineteenth century began to see the light, people in this country would realise what a debt of gratitude they owed to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. These writers had in mind the indefatigable zeal shown by the Queen in transacting the business of State, her impartiality in dealing with contending factions, the sleepless watch which she kept over the actions of her Ministers, and her single-minded regard for the interests of her people abroad and at home. There was, however, another and unforeseen debt of gratitude which we owe to the Queen and the Prince. It is the character and kingly equipment of King Edward. Who can determine the precise influence, upon any man, of inheritance and environment? Less than three months before Queen Victoria's eldest son was born, Lord Melbourne-then about to bid farewell as Prime Minister to her whom he had served so faithfully-said, speaking of the Prince, 'You told me when you were going to be married that he was perfection, which I thought a little exaggerated then, but really I think now that it is in some degree realised.' King Edward was the child of a love marriage, but the passionate ties which bound his parents together were tempered by serious views of life and its higher duties, rare in people so young and so high-placed. On the day of his birth the Queen enters in her journal that at twelve minutes to eleven a fine large boy was born. 'Oh how happy, how grateful did I feel to that Almighty Providence who has really blessed me SO peculiarly.' On his christening morn, in that room, which was King Edward's own in after years, his young parents went down on their knees and prayed for the child who some day was to be King in the words already quoted, and thence they passed, arrayed in their robes of the Garter, into St George's Chapel. The child's official governess, Sarah Lady Lyttelton, describes the scene. 'Just out of the very agitating, magnificent, impressive business of the day. Such floods of sunshine, through the painted windows, on the fierce, stout features of the royal baby; and such a burst of the Hallelujah chorus, as soon as the service closed! All was overpowering.' 'Ah, que Dieu bénisse l'enfant,' the King of Prussia said with glistening eyes and much feeling. 'When the Duchess of Buccleugh set off to do her arduous part, taking the Prince of Wales and giving him up to, and then taking him from, the Archbishop, she made a little room and I forced my way into it, so as to see the child perfectly, and also how well she did it, and also how neatly she picked H.R.H., mantle, lace, and all, out of the voluminous folds of the Primate's lawn sleeves, and the dangers of his wig, which it was feared the Prince might have laid hold of, and brought awry at least, on quitting his arms. I did not even see, what I heard admired, the Queen's very devout and affecting manner of kneeling quite down, in spite of her cumbrous robes of the Garter, on first entering the Chapel.' It was on this very spot, where Queen Victoria knelt then, and amid a like pageantry, that a few weeks ago another Queen was kneeling, while another Primate of All England pronounced the final blessing over the open grave of the King whose reign had more than fulfilled the hopes and answered the prayers of those who knelt there on his christening day. Here are glimpses of the little Prince before he was a year old. 'The Prince of Wales, to judge by his noble countenance and calm manner, will be a fine creature. He is very intelligent, and looks through his large, clear blue eyes full at one with a frequent very sweet smile.' And some months later: The Prince of Wales is turning out passionate and determined enough for an autocrat. But he has still his lovely mildness of expression and calm temper in the intervals.' These words were written in October 1842, and how vividly they recall the King who was ours, and among us only a few weeks ago! When he was three and a half years old, Lady Lyttelton speaks of him thus: 'The Prince of Wales talks much more English than he did, though he is not articulate like his sister, but rather babyish in accent. He understands a little French and says a few words, but is altogether backward in language, very intelligent, and generous, and good-tempered, with a few passions and stampings occasionally. Most exemplary in politeness and manner, bows and offers his hand beautifully, besides saluting à la militaire, all unbidden.' As for the Prince's 'backwardness,' he may well have appeared so to his governess, used as she was to a little Princess, who, when she was only six years old, and when in the glowing pages of 'Little Arthur's History' an ancient poet, Wace by name, was mentioned, a poet whose name was utterly unremembered by her embarrassed teacher, retorted: 'Oh yes, I dare say you did know all about him, only you have forgotten it. Réfléchissez. Go back to your youngness, and you will soon remember.' No wonder her governess adds: 'I certainly never remember in all my youngness, such a young lady as she is, at her age.' And here is a final touch of the King's childhood. It was October 11, 1847, and he was six years old. 'WINDSOR CASTLE, 'I suppose you will see something in the newspapers of the great escape for which we all, beginning at the top of the tree, have to thank God. The day before yesterday it was, that the elder children being just setting out on their pony-ride, the odious little Japanese pony, Dwarf, frightened the others; and all set off, being most unluckily, but by no fault of anyone, at the actual moment not held by bridles. The Princess Royal was gently thrown, after a few yards of canter, by her very quiet pony, and not at all hurt: the Prince of Wales was run away with, at the fleetest gallop his pony could go at, all round the lawns. He was strapped into his Spanish seat saddle. But, had the pony gone against a tree, under a bough, or down the slopes, had the groom not, just before, girthed the saddle on, which was found loose, or had the dear child not been so brave as to keep hold of as tight a rein as he could pull, and neither to cry out nor move, we should be now thinking of him in happiness such as -I trust in mercy he may live to inherit some more distant day! The danger was so great, and the sight of his progress so awful, that poor Miss Hildyard, so calm and unnervous, shrieked and ran about distracted; the groom says he never shall forget her cry: "Oh, for God's sake save the child!" I am thankful that I did not see the horrid sight. The Prince of Wales did not cry, and showed no signs of fear, after one loud call for help at first. Princess Royal was like herself; not frightened, and said nothing on falling off herself; but looking round and seeing her brother she screamed out: "Oh! can't they stop him? Dear Bertie!" and burst into tears. 'Oh! it was an awful thing. 'Princey's pony is called Arthur, and is often thought slow. 'Yesterday on the Prince taking his writing lesson, Miss Hildyard said: "Hold your thumb in the right place, Prince of Wales-so-you can do it right if you try, I'm sure." "Oh yes!" he answered with a sly smile at her, "I can. Arthur can gallop, we know now!" It was the only allusion he made to it-rather a clever one.' 6 Was not the child father of the man? A noble countenance, a calm manner,' 'the large blue eyes looking full |