words, especially sweet and gracious, bestowed on the fair Saxon Knight.
On that second day the Queen wrote to her uncle Leopold: "Albert's beauty
is most striking, and he is most amiable and unaffected; in short, very
fascinating." She then added, with an exquisite touch of maiden coyness:
"The young men are _both_ amiable, delightful companions, and I am
glad to have them here."

When a few more days had passed in familiar intercourse, in singing and
walking, in dancing and driving, and best of all, in riding together
(for there is no cradle to rock young Love in like the saddle), the poor
little Queen forsworn, found she had no longer the courage to propose to
that proud young Prince to wait indefinitely on her will--to tarry at
Coburg for more wisdom and beard. At the thought of it she seemed to see
something of noble scorn about his lips, and such grave remonstrance in
his gentle, pensive, forget-me-not eyes, that--the words of parting were
never spoken, or not till after many happy years.

Alas for this fairy-Prince in an unfairylike kingdom! He could only
declare his love, and sound the heart of his beloved, with his eyes.
Etiquette put a leaden seal on his lips till from hers should come the
sweet avowal and the momentous proffer to rule the ruler--to assume
love's sovereignty over the Sovereign. After five days of troubled yet
joyous waiting, it came--the happy "climax," as the Prince called it in a
letter to Baron Stockmar--and then that perfectest flower of human life,
whether in palace or cottage, a pure and noble love, burst into full and
glorious bloom in each young heart. One cannot, even now, read without a
genuine heart-thrill, and a mistiness about the eyes, the simple touching
story of that royal romance of royal old Windsor. More than two-score
years have passed, and yet how fresh it seems! It has the dew and the
bloom of Paradise upon it.