“Dear Lady,—­We, the surviving widows and mothers of some of the men and boys who lost their lives by the explosion which occurred in the Oaks Colliery, near Barnsley, in December 1866, desire to tell your Majesty how stunned we all feel by the cruel and unexpected blow which has taken ‘Prince Eddie’ from his dear Grandmother, his loving parents, his beloved intended, and an admiring nation.  The sad news affected us deeply, we all believing that his youthful strength would carry him through the danger.  Dear Lady, we feel more than we can express.  To tell you that we sincerely condole with your Majesty and the Prince and Princess of Wales in your and their sad bereavement and great distress is not to tell you all we feel; but the widow of Albert the Good and the parents of Prince Eddie will understand what we feel when we say that we feel all that widows and mothers feel who have lost those who were dear as life to them.  Dear Lady, we remember with gratitude all that you did for us Oaks widows in the time of our great trouble, and we cannot forget you in yours.  We have not forgotten that it was you, dear Queen, who set the example, so promptly followed by all feeling people, of forming a fund for the relief of our distress—­a fund which kept us out of the workhouse at the time and has kept us out ever since....  We wish it were in our power, dear Lady, to dry up your tears and comfort you, but that we cannot do.  But what we can do, and will do, is to pray God, in His mercy and goodness, to comfort and strengthen you in this your time of great trouble.—­Wishing your Majesty, the Prince and Princess of Wales, and the Princess May all the strength, consolation, and comfort which God alone can give, and which He never fails to give to all who seek Him in truth and sincerity, we remain, beloved Queen, your loving and grateful though sorrowing subjects,

“THE OAKS WIDOWS.”

The historic associations, half gay, half sad, of the week on which we are just entering tempt me to linger on this fascinating theme, and I cannot illustrate it better than by quoting the concluding paragraphs from a sermon, which now has something of the dignity of fulfilled prophecy, and which was preached by Sydney Smith in St. Paul’s Cathedral on the Sunday after the Queen’s accession.

The sermon is throughout a noble composition, grandly conceived and admirably expressed.  It begins with some grave reflections on the “folly and nothingness of all things human” as exemplified by the death of a king.  It goes on to enforce on the young Queen the paramount duties of educating her people, avoiding war, and cultivating personal religion.  It concludes with the following passage, which in its letter, or at least in its spirit, might well find a place in some of to-morrow’s sermons:—­“The Patriot Queen, whom I am painting, reverences the National Church, frequents its worship, and regulates her faith by its precepts; but she withstands the encroachments and keeps down the ambition natural