It was Dr Macleod's feeling that the Queen had a reasoning, searching
mind, anxious to get at the root and the reality of things, and abhorring
all shams, whether in word or deed. In October 1866, he records: 'After
dinner, the Queen invited me to her room, where I found the Princess
Helena and Marchioness of Ely. The Queen sat down to spin at a nice Scotch
wheel, while I read Robert Burns to her: "Tam o' Shanter," and "A man's a
man for a' that," her favourite. The Prince and Princess of Hesse sent for
me to see their children. The eldest, Victoria, whom I saw at Darmstadt,
is a most sweet child; the youngest, Elizabeth, a round, fat ball of
loving good-nature. I gave her a real hobble, such as I give Polly. I
suppose the little thing never got anything like it, for she screamed and
kicked with a perfect _furore_ of delight, would go from me to neither
father nor mother nor nurse, to their great merriment, but buried her
chubby face in my cheek, until I gave her another right good hobble. They
are such dear children. The Prince of Wales sent a message asking me to go
and see him.... All seem to be very happy. We had a great deal of
pleasant talk in the garden. Dear, good General Grey drove me home.'

In a letter written in 1867, he expresses himself thus:

'I had a long interview with the Queen. With my last breath I will uphold
the excellence and nobleness of her character. It was really grand to hear
her talk on moral courage, and on living for duty.' The Queen, on hearing
of Dr Macleod's death, wrote: 'How I loved to talk to him, to ask his
advice, to speak to him of my sorrows, my anxieties! ... How dreadful to
lose that dear, kind, loving, large-hearted friend! I cried very bitterly,
for this is a terrible loss to me.'

Both the Queen and Prince-Consort have had a hearty appreciation of
literary men of eminence and all public benefactors. We have already noted