as it is compatible with the interests of your own dominions, you do not wish that your Government should take the lead in such measures as might in a short time bring on the destruction of this country, as well as that of your uncle and his family.”  The result of this appeal was unexpected; there was dead silence for more than a week.  When Victoria at last wrote, she was prodigal of her affection.  “It would, indeed, my dearest Uncle, be very wrong of you, if you thought my feelings of warm and devoted attachment to you, and of great affection for you, could be changed—­nothing can ever change them”—­but her references to foreign politics, though they were lengthy and elaborate, were non-committal in the extreme; they were almost cast in an official and diplomatic form.  Her Ministers, she said, entirely shared her views upon the subject; she understood and sympathised with the difficulties of her beloved uncle’s position; and he might rest assured “that both Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston are most anxious at all times for the prosperity and welfare of Belgium.”  That was all.  The King in his reply declared himself delighted, and re-echoed the affectionate protestations of his niece.  “My dearest and most beloved Victoria,” he said, “you have written me a very dear and long letter, which has given me great pleasure and satisfaction.”  He would not admit that he had had a rebuff.

A few months later the crisis came.  King Leopold determined to make a bold push, and to carry Victoria with him, this time, by a display of royal vigour and avuncular authority.  In an abrupt, an almost peremptory letter, he laid his case, once more, before his niece.  “You know from experience,” he wrote, “that I never ask anything of you...  But, as I said before, if we are not careful we may see serious consequences which may affect more or less everybody, and this ought to be the object of our most anxious attention.  I remain, my dear Victoria, your affectionate uncle, Leopold R.”  The Queen immediately despatched this letter to Lord Melbourne, who replied with a carefully thought-out form of words, signifying nothing whatever, which, he suggested, she should send to her uncle.  She did so, copying out the elaborate formula, with a liberal scattering of “dear Uncles” interspersed; and she concluded her letter with a message of “affectionate love to Aunt Louise and the children.”  Then at last King Leopold was obliged to recognise the facts.  His next letter contained no reference at all to politics.  “I am glad,” he wrote, “to find that you like Brighton better than last year.  I think Brighton very agreeable at this time of the year, till the east winds set in.  The pavilion, besides, is comfortable; that cannot be denied.  Before my marriage, it was there that I met the Regent.  Charlotte afterwards came with old Queen Charlotte.  How distant all this already, but still how present to one’s memory.”  Like poor Madame de Lieven, His Majesty felt that he had made a mistake.