admired in the young girl at Queen Adelaide's Drawing-room. Here were the
same entire simplicity, with its innate dignity only further developed; the
power of being herself and no other, which left her thoughtful of what she
ought to do--not of how she should look and strike others--and rendered her
free to consider her neighbours; the docility to fit guidance, and yet the
ability to judge for herself; the quick sense all the time of her high
calling.

That first Council at Kensington has become an episode in history--a very
significant one. It has been painted, engraved, written about many a time,
without losing its fascination. Sir David Wilkie made a famous picture of
it, which hangs in a corridor at Windsor In this picture the artist used
certain artistic liberties, such as representing the Queen in a white
muslin robe instead of a black gown, and the Privy Councillors in the
various costumes of their different callings--uniforms with stars and
ribands, lawyers' gowns and full-bottomed wigs, bishops' lawn, instead of
the ordinary morning dress of the gentlemen of their generation. It must
have tickled Wilkie as he worked to come to an old acquaintance of his
boyhood and youth in John, Lord Campbell, and to recognise how
bewilderingly far removed from the bleak little parish of Cults and the
quiet little town of Cupar was the coincidence which summoned him, the
distinguished painter, in the execution of a royal commission, to draw the
familiar features of his early playmate in those of the Attorney-General,
who appeared as a privileged member of the illustrious throng.

We still turn back wistfully to that bright dawn of a beneficent reign. We
see the slight girlish figure in her simple mourning filling her place
sedately at the head of the Council table. At the foot, facing her Majesty,
sits the Duke of Sussex, almost venerable in his stiffness and lameness,
wearing the black velvet skull-cap by which he was distinguished in those