THE QUEEN IN HER HIGHLAND HOME.

Early in January of the year 1868, Queen Victoria added her name to the distinguished roll of Royal authors. In the year preceding, there had been published a work entitled, “The Early Years of the Prince Consort,” in which the life of her revered and lamented husband is traced from its beginning, down to the first period of their common wedded life. On the title-page of this work appears the name, as author, of General the Honourable Charles Grey, a gentleman who accompanied the Prince in a tour to Italy before his marriage, and who has ever since remained attached, in high capacities, to the Royal Household. This book, to which we have been indebted for important materials reproduced by us at certain of the earlier stages of our narrative, was published with the sanction of Her Majesty, and its compiler received from his Royal Mistress most, if not all, of the materials which he very tastefully combined. But the Queen did not appear in it as author in propri personÂ, save in the instance of certain occasional notes and addenda to which her imprint is attached. The work published in 1868, on the other hand, “Leaves from the Journal of Our Life in the Highlands,” is entirely, save a brief editorial introduction, from the Queen’s pen. It is precisely, as its name imports, a series of extracts from a journal kept from day to day, and extended from Her Majesty’s earliest married days far into those of her widowhood. Special passages are, in addition, given from similar diaries, which recorded yacht trips to the beautiful estuary of the Tamar, to the Duchy of Cornwall, and to the Channel Islands. There is also furnished a very sparkling and vivacious record of the Queen’s first visit to Ireland, in 1849, which will be found duly recorded by us in a previous chapter.

Nothing charms more in these pages than the love displayed for all young people—for the writer’s own sons and daughters, who are described by their home pet names; “Vicky,” and “Bertie,” standing, for example, for Victoria and Albert—for the infant child of a ducal entertainer, depicted as “a dear, white, fat, fair little fellow,” and “such a merry, independent little child”—or for the children of humble cottagers at Balmoral, for “Mary Symons and Lizzie Stuart dancing so nicely; the latter with her hair all hanging down.” When the Queen and Prince and the children land at Dundee, what charms the fond young mother most is, that “Vicky” behaves like a grown-up person, and is “not put out, nor frightened, nor nervous.” And when a little grandchild of Lord Camperdown presented the youthful Princess Royal with a nosegay, the reflection that rose to the mother’s mind was, that she could hardly believe that she was travelling as a wife and a mother; for it seemed but as yesterday that she, as a child, in the tours taken with her mother through England, used to receive similar childish tokens. She was at once put in mind of the time when she had been “the little Princess.”

Accounts of rides on shaggy Highland ponies to the tops of mountains, and more lengthened incognito excursions in whatever vehicles could be procured at third-rate country inns, are thickly scattered over the pages of the “Journal.”

The Western Islands, as well as the Highlands, were at least on one occasion visited. Anchoring close by wondrous Staffa, the Queen disembarked, and was rowed in a barge into Fingal’s Cave. This was the first time that the British standard, with a Queen of Great Britain and her husband and children, had ever entered the portals of this wondrous freak of nature, and the Gaelic oarsmen gave three cheers, the echoes of which from the inmost recesses of the cave were most impressive.

On another mountain ramble, the Queen seated herself calmly, the youthful Prince of Wales lying among the heather by her side, while Prince Albert went to stalk a deer. He brought down a “royal,” that is, a stag which has over a certain number of “tines” to his horns; on which the somewhat superstitious Highland keeper at once said that “it was Her Majesty’s coming out that had brought the good luck.” The Highlanders all believed that the Queen had “a lucky foot.”

Amongst other Highland sports which curiosity and great love of adventure led her to witness, was salmon spearing, or “leistering.” While the keepers were beating the waters, the Highland gentlemen wading in the stream, and Prince Albert watching, spear in hand, on a boulder, the Queen watched from the brink this, the most exciting of all river sports, save, perhaps, otter hunting. Suddenly she was alarmed, and with most abundant cause. Two of the men imprudently went into a very deep pool. One of them could not swim, and he sank to the bottom. There was a cry for help, and a general rush by the Prince and others to the spot. The Queen was much frightened, and grasped the arm of the minister in attendance, Lord Carlisle, in great agony. But Dr. Robertson, the Queen’s “factor,” or agent over the Balmoral estate, swam in and got the too venturesome Gael out safely. The Queen, after this “horrid moment,” had the satisfaction of seeing eight salmon speared or netted; and was further amused by a curious piece of Highland courtesy—her own “men” carrying all the “men” of Colonel Forbes, a neighbour, dry shod on their backs through the water. They had come to see the sport, and the Queen’s gillies at once insisted on their conveying them to the most favourable side of the stream.

A great day was that on which a cairn was erected on one of the heights overlooking Balmoral to celebrate the building of the new castle, which the Queen raised in lieu of the mansion which had stood on the estate when she was its tenant, and ere by its purchase she entered into proprietary possession. The morning was a fine one, and at eleven o’clock the Royal party started for the ascent of Craig Cowan, where already nearly all the dependants were assembled. The Royal children, and all the ladies and gentlemen, accompanied the Queen and Prince. All the children of the Queen’s neighbouring tenants, and of her servants, were already on the top. The Queen laid the first stone, and the Prince the second, and then their children according to their ages. Then all the ladies and gentlemen of the Court placed a stone each. The pipers played the while, and whisky was served out to every one. It took an hour to build the cairn, and dancing and merry revels went on without intermission until its completion; the very oldest of the women danced, and the youngsters were wild with glee. An old favourite dog sat reflectively contemplating a scene to which his veteran gravity prevented his indulging in any responsive and sympathetic gambols. At last when the cairn, having attained to the respectable height of some eight feet, was pronounced all but complete, the Prince climbed to its summit and placed the last stone, and three hearty cheers announced to the dwellers below the completion of the enterprise and edifice. The Queen concludes her chronicle of its erection in these words:—“It was a gay, pretty, and touching sight, and I felt almost inclined to cry. The view was so beautiful over the dear hills, the day so fine, the whole so gemÜthlich. May God bless this place, and allow us yet to see it and enjoy it many a long year!”

The Queen and her family have always made it a practice to enter into the freest and most unrestrained conversation with the dignified, independent, courteous, and truly well-bred Highlanders. As she rode along a hill-side one day, “Alice and Bertie” accompanying her on foot, Prince Albert was conversing very gaily with one of the gillies, upon which the one who led the Queen’s pony observed, “It’s very pleasant to walk with a person who is always content.” And when the Queen, following up her attendant’s remark, said that he was never cross after bad sport, the gillie rejoined, “Every one on the estate says there never was so kind a master; our only wish is to give satisfaction.” The Queen replied that that wish they certainly succeeded in fulfilling. And at a future date the Queen thus annotated that passage in her journal from which we have been borrowing:—“We were always in the habit of conversing with the Highlanders, with whom we came so much in contact in the Highlands. The Prince highly appreciated the good breeding, simplicity, and intelligence which makes it so pleasant, and even instructive, to talk to them.”

The Queen takes especial pleasure in visiting the old women’s cottages, by some of whom, we have been told, she is not unfrequently addressed—or at least was so, when she was yet new to the north and the northerners new to her—as “Mrs. Albert.” One old dame of eighty-six, erect and dignified as she sat at her spinning-wheel, received personally from Her Majesty the gift of a warm flannel petticoat. This was her pious and eloquent form of thanks: “May the Lord ever attend you and yours, here and hereafter, and may the Lord be a guide to ye, and keep ye from all harm!” Another aged pensioner, who was quite friendly, and shook hands with all her party of visitors, chose this form of benediction: “May the Lord attend you with mirth and with joy; may He ever be with you in this world, and when ye leave it!”

The Queen’s mode of travelling as an incognita has never gone beyond a journey of three or four days’ duration to some Highland district, in which the very amplitude of her retinue, even when abridged of its usual proportions, prevented her passing otherwise than as a person of distinction, but in which it was possible to keep her queenly rank undiscovered. Sometimes the mask was successfully worn to the end of the trip, to the great enjoyment of the Queen, her “gentle” attendants, and her servants. On one or two occasions, recognitions, unfortunate for the success of the very innocent plot, were made by persons to whom the Queen’s face was familiar. On one of these trips, two shabby vehicles contained the whole party, which consisted of the Royal pair, Sir George Grey, Lady Churchill, and a small complement of servants. It had been arranged that the tourists should pass as Lord and Lady Churchill (the Queen and Prince assuming these rÔles), Lady Churchill becoming Miss Spencer, and Sir George Grey becoming “Dr.” Grey. Once or twice the servants, who were of necessity in the plot, forgot their instructions, and blurted out “your Majesty,” and “your Royal Highness;” but, luckily, no one heard the faux pas. After a very long and fatiguing drive through a district remarkably denuded of habitations, they arrived, at nightfall, at an inn of very small pretensions. They alighted, Sir George Grey and Lady Churchill, faithful to the necessities of the situation, giving no indication, by any deference of manner, of the quality of their fellow-travellers. Being ushered into small but tidy sleeping and dressing apartments, they had their travel-stains removed, and sat down to such a dinner as the resources of the establishment afforded. The two gillies in attendance were to have waited at table, but their bashfulness prevented their undertaking duties so entirely out of their line; so a damsel in ringlets, attached to the inn, performed the necessary duties. The repast consisted of a very delicate and delicious Scottish soup, known as “hodge-podge”—which, to be tasted to perfection, however, must be partaken of in early summer, when vegetables (of many kinds of which it is composed) are young and tender—mutton broth, fowls, “good” roast lamb, and “very good” potatoes. A bottle of wine the travellers had taken care to bring with them. They were less fortunate on the occasion of another similar trip, when all that could be procured was a couple of remarkably small and lean fowls, the remnants of which were sent down to the servants, with appetites rendered voracious by the keen mountain air. On this latter trip, a commercial traveller was much annoyed at his exclusion from the “commercial room,” which was reserved for the servants. In answer to his remonstrance, the landlady pacified him by stating that the guests, who occupied her whole house, were “a wedding-party frae Aberdeen.”

When the cavalcade of the two “shabby vehicles” drove away, on the next morning, it was evident that “the murder was out,” and that the inmates of the inn had discovered the quality of their guests, and communicated it to the scanty population of the village; for “all the people were in the street, and the landlady waved a pocket-handkerchief, and the ringletted maid a flag, from the window.”