Far indeed it seemed, with the fratricidal contest raging in America, and shutting out all contributions to this World’s Fair from the United States.

[Illustration:  The Mausoleum.]

The Queen had betaken herself that May to her Highland home, whose joy seemed dead, and where her melancholy pleased itself in the erection of a memorial cairn to the Prince on Craig Lorigan, after she had returned from Princess Alice’s wedding.  But in May she had sent for Dr. Norman Macleod, who was not only distinguished as one of her own chaplains, but was also a friend already endeared to the Prince and herself; and she found comfort in the counsels of that faithful minister and loyal man, who has left some slight record of her words.  “She said she never shut her eyes to trials, but liked to look them in the face; she would never shrink from duty, but all was at present done mechanically; her highest ideas of purity and love were obtained from the Prince, and God could not be displeased with her love....  There was nothing morbid in her grief....  She said that the Prince always believed he was to die soon, and that he often told her that he had never any fear of death.”  It seemed that in this persuasion the Prince had made haste to live up to the duties of his difficult station to the very utmost, and “being made perfect in a short time fulfilled a long time [Footnote].”

[Footnote:  Inscription on the cairn on Craig Lorigan.]

“The more I learn about the Prince Consort,” continues Dr. Macleod, “the more I agree with what the Queen said to me about him:  ’that he really did not seem to comprehend a selfish character, or what selfishness was.’  And on whatever day his public life is revealed to the world, I feel certain this will be recognised.”

[Illustration:  Dr. Norman Macleod.]

The Queen, by revealing to the world, with a kind of holy boldness, what the Prince’s public and private life was, has justified this confidence of her faithful friend.

Early in 1863, Dr. Macleod was led by the Queen into the mausoleum she had caused to be raised for her husband’s last resting-place.  Calm and quiet she stood and looked on the beautiful sculptured image of him she had lost:  having “that within which passeth show,” her grief was tranquil.  “She is so true, so genuine, I wonder not at her sorrow; it but expresses the greatest loss that a sovereign and wife could sustain,” said the deeply moved spectator.

An event was close at hand which was to mingle a little joy in the bitter cup so long pressed to our Sovereign’s lips.  The Prince of Wales had formed an attachment to the Princess Alexandra of Denmark, a singularly winning and lovely lady, whose popularity, ever since her sweet face first shone on the surging crowds that shouted her welcome into London, has seemed always at flood-tide.  Faithful to her experience and convictions, the Queen smiled gladly on the marriage of affection between this gentle princess and the heir