On May 24, 1837, the Princess Victoria came of age. She was awakened
early by a matutinal serenade--a band of musicians piping and harping
merrily under her bedroom windows. She received many presents and
congratulatory visits, and had the pleasure of knowing that the day was
observed as a grand holiday in London and throughout England. Boys were
let out of school, and M.P.'s out of Parliament. At night the metropolis
was "brilliantly illuminated"--at least so thought those poor, benighted,
ante-electrical-light Londoners--and a grand state ball was given in St.
James' Palace. Here, for the first time, the Princess took precedence of
her mother, and we may believe she felt shy and awkward at such a
reversal of the laws of nature and the habits of years. But doubtless the
stately Duchess fell back without a sigh, except it were one of joy and
gratitude that she had brought her darling on so far safely.

This could hardly have been a very gay state ball, for their Majesties
were both absent. The King had that very day been attacked with hayfever,
and the Queen had dutifully stayed at home to nurse him. He rallied from
this attack somewhat, but never was well again, and in the small hours of
June 2d the sailor King died at Royal Windsor, royally enough, I believe,
though he had never been a very royal figure or spirit. Of course after
he was gone from his earthly kingdom, the most glowing eulogies were
pronounced upon him in Parliament, in the newspapers, and in hundreds of
pulpits. Even a year later, the Bishop of London, in his sermon at the
Queen's coronation, lauded the late King for his "unfeigned religion,"
and exhorted his "youthful successor" to "follow in his footsteps." Ah,
if she had done so, I should not now be writing Her Majesty's Life!

It must be that in a King a little religion goes a long way. The good
Bishop and other loyal prelates must have known all about the Fitz-