certainty what was the Princess's child-world of books, though from the
circumstance that in the light of the future she was made to learn more
than was usual then for English girls of the highest rank, she had less
time than her companions for reading books which were not study, but the
most charming blending of instruction and amusement. That was still the
age of Mrs. Barbauld and Miss Edgeworth. "Evenings at Home," "Harry and
Lucy," and "Frank and Rosamond," were in every well-conducted school-room.
All little girls read with prickings of tender consciences about the lady
with the bent bonnet and the scar on her hand, and came under the
fascination of the "Purple Jar." A few years later, Harriet Martineau's
bristling independence did not prevent her from feeling gratified by the
persuasion that the young Princess was reading through her tales on
political economy, and that Princess Victoria's favourite character was
Ella of the far north.

In the Princess's Roman history one day she came to the passage where the
noble matron, Cornelia, in answer to a question as to her precious things,
pointed to her sons, and declared, "These are my jewels." "Why," cried the
ready-witted little pupil, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, "they must
have been cornelians."

When the Princess's lessons took the form of later English history, she
was on the very spot for the study. Did her teacher tell her, we wonder,
the pretty story of "Bucky," who interrupted grave, saturnine King William
at his statescraft in one of yonder rooms? How the small dauntless
applicant wiled his father's master, great Louis's rival, into playing at
horses in the corridor? Or that sadder story of another less fortunate
boy, poor heavy-headed William of Gloucester? Tutors crammed and doctors
shook him up, with the best intentions, in vain. In his happier moments he
drilled his regiment of little soldiers on that Palace Green before his