The cousins had already met, in 1836, when their mutual attraction
had been sufficiently strong; and in 1839, when Prince Albert, with
his elder brother Ernest, was again visiting England, the impression
already produced became ineffaceably deep. The Queen, whom her great
rank compelled to take the initiative, was not very long in making up
her mind when and how to act. Her favoured suitor himself, writing to
a dear relative, relates how she performed the trying task, inviting
him to render her intensely happy by making "the _sacrifice_ of
sharing her life with her, for she said she looked on it as a
sacrifice. The joyous openness with which she told me this enchanted
me, and I was quite carried away by it." This was on October 15th;
nearly six weeks after, on November 23rd, she made to her assembled
Privy Council the formal declaration of her intended marriage. There
is something particularly touching in even the driest description of
this scene; the betrothed bride wearing a simple morning dress,
having on her arm a bracelet containing Prince Albert's portrait,
which helped to give her courage; her voice, as she read the
declaration clear, sweet, and penetrating as ever, but her hands
trembling so excessively that it was surprising she could read the
paper she held. It was a trying task, but not so difficult as that
which had devolved on her a short time before, when, in virtue of her
sovereign rank, she had first to speak the words of fate that bound
her to her suitor.

[Illustration: Prince Albert.]

Endowed with every charm of person, mind, and manner that can win and
keep affection, Prince Albert was able, in marrying the Queen, who
loved him and whom he loved, to secure for her a happiness rare in
any rank, rarest of all on the cold heights of royalty. This was not
all; he was the worthy partner of her greatness. Himself highly
cultivated in every sense, he watched with keenest interest over the
advance of all cultivation in the land of his adoption, and
identified himself with every movement to improve its condition. His
was the soul of a statesman--wide, lofty, far-seeing, patient;
surveying all great things, disdaining no small things, but with
tireless industry pursuing after all necessary knowledge. Add to
these intellectual excellences the moral graces of ideal purity of
life, chivalrous faithfulness of heart, magnanimous self-suppression,
and fervent piety, and we have a slight outline of a character which,
in the order of Providence, acted very strongly and with a still
living force on the destinies of nineteenth-century England. The
Queen had good reasons for the feeling of "confidence and comfort"
that shone in the glance she turned on her bridegroom as they walked
away, man and wife at last, from the altar of the Chapel Royal, on
February 10th, 1840. The union she then entered into immeasurably
enhanced her popularity, and strengthened her position as surely as
it expanded her nature. Not many years elapsed before Sir Robert Peel
could tell her that, in spite of the inroads of democracy, the
monarchy had never been safer, nor had any sovereign been so beloved,
because "the Queen's domestic life was so happy, and its example so
good." Only the Searcher of hearts knoweth how great has been the
holy power of a pure, fair, and noble example constantly shining in
the high places of the land.

[Illustration: The Queen in her Wedding-Dress. _After the Picture by_
Drummond.]

It was hinted by the would-be wise, in the early days of Her
Majesty's married life, that it would be idle to look for the royally
maternal feeling of an Elizabeth towards her people in a wedded
constitutional sovereign. The judgment was a mistake. The formal
limitations of our Queen's prerogative, sedulously as she has
respected them, have never destroyed her sense of responsibility;
wifehood and motherhood have not contracted her sympathies, but have
deepened and widened them. The very sorrows of her domestic life have
knit her in fellowship with other mourners. No great calamity can
befall her humblest subjects, and she hear of it, but there comes the
answering flash of tender pity. She is more truly the mother of her
people, having walked on a level with them, and with "Love, who is of
the valley," than if she had chosen to dwell alone and aloof.

[Illustration: Sir Robert Peel.]

For some years after her marriage the Queen's private life shows like
a little isle of brightness in the midst of a stormy sea. Within and
without our borders there was small prospect of settled peace at the
very time of that marriage. We have said that Lord Melbourne was
still Premier; but he and his Ministry had resigned office in the
previous May, and had only come back to it in consequence of a
curious misunderstanding known as "the Bedchamber difficulty." Sir
Robert Peel, who was summoned to form a Ministry on Melbourne's
defeat and resignation, had asked from Her Majesty the dismissal of
two ladies of her household, the wives of prominent members of the
departing Whig Government; but his request conveyed to her mind the
sense that he designed to deprive her of all her actual attendants,
and against this imagined proposal she set herself energetically.
"She could not consent to a course which she conceived to be contrary
to usage, and which was repugnant to her feelings." Peel on his part
remained firm in his opinion as to the real necessity for the change
which he had advocated. From the deadlock produced by mere
misunderstanding there seemed at the time only one way of escaping;
the defeated Whig Government returned to office. But Ministers who
resumed power only because, "as gentlemen," they felt bound to do so,
had little chance of retaining it. In September 1841, Lord Melbourne
was superseded in the premiership by Sir Robert Peel, and then gave a
final proof how single-minded was his loyal devotion by advising the
new Prime Minister as to the tone and style likely to commend him to
their royal mistress--a tone of clear straightforwardness. "The
Queen," said Melbourne--who knew of what he was speaking, if any