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Rh queen, after giving birth to a child, died before her son or daughter came of age.

The Regency Bill had been hurried on in consequence of the attempt of a crazy pot-boy, Edward Oxford, to take the queen's

life. On 10th June 1840, the queen and Prince Albert were driving up Constitution Hill in an open carriage, when Oxford fired two pistols, the bullets from which it is said, close by the prince's head. He was arrested on the spot, and when his lodgings were searched a quantity of powder and shot was found, with the rules of a secret society, called “Young England,” whose members were pledged to meet, “carrying swords and pistols and wearing crape masks.” These discoveries raised the surmise that Oxford was the tool of a widespread Chartist conspiracy—or, as the Irish pretended, of a conspiracy of Orangemen to set the duke of Cumberland on the throne; and while these delusions were fresh, they threw well-disposed persons into a paroxysm of loyalty. Even the London street dogs, as Sydney Smith said, joined with O'Connell in barking “God save the Queen.” Oxford seems to have been craving for notoriety; but it may be doubted whether the jury who tried him did right to pronounce his acquittal on the ground of insanity. He feigned madness at his trial, but during the forty years of his subsequent confinement at Bedlam he talked and acted like a rational being, and when he was at length released and sent to Australia he earned his living there as a house painter, and used to declare that he had never been mad at all. His acquittal was to be deprecated as establishing a dangerous precedent in regard to outrages on the sovereign. It was always Prince Albert's opinion that if Oxford had been flogged the attempt of Francis on the queen in 1842 and of Bean in the same year would never have been perpetrated. After the attempt of Bean—who was a hunchback, really insane—parliament passed a bill empowering judges to order whipping as a punishment for those who molested the queen; but somehow this salutary act was never enforced. In 1850 a half-pay officer, named Pate, assaulted the queen by striking her with a stick, and crushing her bonnet. He was sentenced to seven years' transportation; but the judge. Baron Alderson, excused him the flogging. In 1869 an Irish lad, O'Connor, was sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment and a whipping for presenting a pistol at the queen, with a petition, in St James's Park; but this time it was the queen herself who privately remitted the corporal punishment, and she even pushed clemency to the length of sending her aggressor to Australia at her own expense. The series of attempts on the queen was closed in 1882 by Maclean, who fired a pistol at her majesty as she was leaving the Great Western Railway station at Windsor. He, like Bean, was a genuine madman, and was relegated to Broadmoor.

The birth of the princess royal, on the 21st of November 1840, removing the unpopular King Ernest of Hanover from

position of heir-presumptive to the British crown, was a subject of loud congratulations to the people. A curious scare was occasioned at Buckingham Palace, when the little princess was a fortnight old, by the discovery of a boy named Jones concealed under a bed in the royal nursery. Jones had a mania for palace-breaking. Three times he effected a clandestine entry into the queen's residence, and twice he managed to spend several days there. By day he concealed himself in cupboards or under furniture, and by night he groped his way into the royal kitchen to eat whatever he could find. After his third capture, in March 1841, he coolly boasted that he had lain under a sofa, and listened to a private conversation between the queen and Prince Albert. This third time he was not punished, but sent to sea, and turned out very well. The incident strengthened Prince Albert's hands in trying to carry out sundry domestic reforms which were being stoutly resisted by vested interests. The royal residences and grounds used to be under the control of four different officials—the lord chamberlain, the lord steward, the master of the horse and the commissioners of woods and forests. Baron Stockmar, describing the confusion fostered by this state of things, said—

“The lord steward finds the fuel and lays the fire; the lord chamberlain lights it. The lord chamberlain provides the lamps; the lord steward must clean, trim and light them. The inside cleaning of windows belongs to the lord chamberlain's department, but the outer parts must be attended to by the office of woods and forests, so that windows remain dirty unless the two departments can come to an understanding.”

It took Prince Albert four years of firmness and diplomacy before in 1845 he was able to bring the queen's home under the efficient control of a master of the household.

At the general election of 1841 the Whigs returned in a minority of seventy-six, and Lord Melbourne was defeated on

the Address and resigned. The queen was affected to tears at parting with him; but the crisis had been fully expected and prepared for by confidential communications between Mr Anson and Sir Robert Peel, who now became prime minister (see Letters of Queen Victoria, i. 341 et seq.). The old difficulty as to the appointments to the royal household was tactfully removed, and Tory appointments were made, which were agreeable both to the queen and to Peel. The only temporary embarrassment was the queen's continued private correspondence with Lord Melbourne, which led Stockmar to remonstrate with him; but Melbourne used his influence sensibly; moreover, he gradually dropped out of politics, and the queen got used to his not being indispensable. On Prince Albert's position the change had a marked effect, for in the absence of Melbourne the queen relied more particularly on his advice, and Peel himself at once discovered and recognized the prince's unusual charm and capacity. One of the Tory premier's first acts was to propose that a royal commission should be appointed to consider the best means for promoting art and science in the kingdom, and he nominated Prince Albert as president. The International Exhibition of 1851, the creation of the Museum and Science and Art Department at South Kensington, the founding of art schools and picture galleries all over the country, the spread of musical taste and the fostering of technical education may be attributed, more or less directly, to the commission of distinguished men which began its labours under Prince Albert's auspices.

The queen's second child, the prince of Wales (see ), was born on the 9th of November 1841; and

this event “filled the measure of the queen's domestic happiness,” as she said in her speech from the throne at the opening of the session of 1842. It is unnecessary from this point onwards to go seriatim through the domestic history of the reign, which is given in the article. At this time there was much political unrest at home, and serious difficulties abroad. As regards internal politics, it may be remarked that the queen and Prince Albert were much relieved when Peel, who had come in as the leader of the Protectionist party, adopted Free Trade and repealed the Corn Laws, for it closed a dangerous agitation which gave them much anxiety. When the country was in distress, the queen felt a womanly repugnance for festivities; and yet

it was undesirable that the court should incur the reproach of living meanly to save money. There was a conversation between the queen and Sir Robert Peel on this subject in the early days of the Tory administration, and the queen talked of reducing her establishment in order that she might give away larger sums in charities. “I am afraid the people would only say that your majesty was returning them change for their pounds in halfpence,” answered Peel. “Your majesty is not perhaps aware that the most unpopular person in the parish is the relieving officer, and if the queen were to constitute herself a relieving officer for all the parishes in the kingdom she would find her money go a very little way, and she would provoke more grumbling than thanks.” Peel added that a sovereign must do all things in order, not seeking praise for doing one particular thing well, but striving to be an example in all respects, even in dinner-giving.

Meanwhile the year 1842 was ushered in by splendid fêtes in honour of the king of Prussia, who held the prince of Wales at the font. In the spring there was a fancy-dress ball at Buckingham Palace, which remained memorable owing to the offence