with joyful tears the first bales of cotton that arrived, fell on
their knees around the hopeful things and sang hymns of thanksgiving
to the Author of all good.

Such were the fruits of that new policy of care and consideration for
the toilers and the lowly which had increasingly marked the new
epoch, and which had been sedulously promoted by the Queen, in
association with her large-thoughted and well-judging husband.

It was in the midst of the troubles which we have just attempted to
recall that a new and greater calamity came upon us, affecting the
royal family indeed with the sharpest distress, but hardly less felt,
even at the moment, by the nation.

The year 1861 had already been darkened for Her Majesty by the death
in the month of March, of her mother, the Duchess of Kent, to whose
wise guardianship of the Queen's youth the nation owed so much, and
who had ever commanded the faithful affection of this her youngest
but greatest child, and of all her descendants. This death was the
first stroke of real personal calamity to the Queen; it was destined
to be followed by another bereavement, even severer in its nature,
before the year had closed. The Prince Consort's health, though
generally good, was not robust, and signs had not been wanting that
his incessant toils were beginning to tell upon him. There had been
illnesses, transitory indeed, but too significant of "overwork of
brain and body." In addition to personal griefs, such as the death of
the Duchess of Kent and of a beloved young Coburg prince and kinsman,
the King of Portugal, which had been severely felt, there were the
unhappy complications arising out of "the affair of the _Trent_,"
which the Prince's statesmanlike wisdom had helped to bring to a