are wonderful, and the mass of shipping incredible.”  In art and science he had been deeply interested since boyhood; his reform of the household had put his talent for organisation beyond a doubt; and thus from every point of view the Prince was well qualified for his task.  Having matured his plans, he summoned a small committee and laid an outline of his scheme before it.  The committee approved, and the great undertaking was set on foot without delay.

Two years, however, passed before it was completed.  For two years the Prince laboured with extraordinary and incessant energy.  At first all went smoothly.  The leading manufacturers warmly took up the idea; the colonies and the East India Company were sympathetic; the great foreign nations were eager to send in their contributions; the powerful support of Sir Robert Peel was obtained, and the use of a site in Hyde Park, selected by the Prince, was sanctioned by the Government.  Out of 234 plans for the exhibition building, the Prince chose that of Joseph Paxton, famous as a designer of gigantic conservatories; and the work was on the point of being put in hand when a series of unexpected difficulties arose.  Opposition to the whole scheme, which had long been smouldering in various quarters, suddenly burst forth.  There was an outcry, headed by The Times, against the use of the park for the exhibition; for a moment it seemed as if the building would be relegated to a suburb; but, after a fierce debate in the House, the supporters of the site in the Park won the day.  Then it appeared that the project lacked a sufficient financial backing; but this obstacle, too, was surmounted, and eventually L200,000 was subscribed as a guarantee fund.  The enormous glass edifice rose higher and higher, covering acres and enclosing towering elm trees beneath its roof:  and then the fury of its enemies reached a climax.  The fashionable, the cautious, the Protectionists, the pious, all joined in the hue and cry.  It was pointed out that the Exhibition would serve as a rallying point for all the ruffians in England, for all the malcontents in Europe; and that on the day of its opening there would certainly be a riot and probably a revolution.  It was asserted that the glass roof was porous, and that the droppings of fifty million sparrows would utterly destroy every object beneath it.  Agitated nonconformists declared that the Exhibition was an arrogant and wicked enterprise which would infallibly bring down God’s punishment upon the nation.  Colonel Sibthorpe, in the debate on the Address, prayed that hail and lightning might descend from heaven on the accursed thing.  The Prince, with unyielding perseverance and infinite patience, pressed on to his goal.  His health was seriously affected; he suffered from constant sleeplessness; his strength was almost worn out.  But he remembered the injunctions of Stockmar and never relaxed.  The volume of his labours grew more prodigious every day; he toiled at committees, presided over public meetings, made speeches, and carried on communications with every corner of the civilised world—­and his efforts were rewarded.  On May 1, 1851, the Great Exhibition was opened by the Queen before an enormous concourse of persons, amid scenes of dazzling brilliancy and triumphant enthusiasm.