A.D. 1849. Another attempt on the queen's life was made in May, as she was driving down Constitution Hill in an open carriage with her children. The prince was riding in advance, and knew nothing of what had occurred until he heard it from the lips of her majesty. She did not lose her self-possession for a moment; but motioned her coachman to proceed, and engaged the children's attention to keep them from being alarmed. The man who fired proved to be an Irishman, named William Hamilton, who seemed to have no motive whatever for the deed. Had it not been for the intervention of the police he would have been torn to pieces. On examination the pistol was found to be charged only with powder. Hamilton was sentenced to seven years' transportation.
The time had arrived when it was thought proper to place the Prince of Wales under the care of a tutor, and Mr. Birch, a young man who had taken the highest honors at Cambridge, was selected for the office. The queen and prince had early settled on a plan of education; for they never forgot Baron Stockmar's saying, that "a man's education begins the first day of his life."
"To neglect beginnings," says Locke, "is the fundamental error into which most parents fall."
The royal couple had, therefore, given this important matter much thought; and as early as 1842 Lady Lyttelton had been installed as governess to the children. She filled her post with a devotion that won the respect and love of her charges, and the entire approval of their parents. When she resigned it was because she thought herself old enough to rest, and this is what she wrote about it: "The queen has told me I may be free about the middle of January, and she said it with all the feeling and kindness of which I have received such incessant and unvarying proofs through the whole long twelve years during which I have served her. Never by a word or look has it been interrupted." On her last day in the palace, she writes: "In the evening I was sent for to my last audience in the queen's own room; and I quite broke down, and could hardly see or hear. I remember the prince's face, pale as ashes, and a few words of thanks from them both; but it is all misty, and I had to stop on the private staircase and have my cry out before I could go up again." This departure of Lady Lyttelton's did not take place until the princess royal was ten years old, and all the children were able to appreciate their loss.
In August the queen and prince, with their four older children, embarked for their first visit to Ireland. Nothing could have been more gratifying than the enthusiastic welcome that greeted them on their arrival at Cork and at every stopping-place along their route. The spot where her majesty first set foot on Irish soil has ever since borne the name of Queenstown. As the royal party proceeded up the river Lee to the town of Cork crowds assembled along the shores, and the air was filled with wild shouts and cheers, ringing of bells, and firing of cannon. Even in the towns that had been foremost in rebellion the enthusiasm was great. The queen wrote thus of one feature of the Irish: "The beauty of the women is very remarkable, and struck us much; such beautiful dark eyes and hair, and such fine teeth; almost every third woman was pretty, and some remarkably so."
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When the royal squadron steamed into the harbor of Kingstown, the wharves were crowded and the scene was magnificent. A salute was fired from all the men-of-war in the harbor. "It was a sight never to be forgotten,—a sound to be recollected forever. Ladies threw aside the old formula of waving a white handkerchief, and enthusiastically cheered; while the men, pressing in so closely as to throng the very edges of the pavilion, waved whatever came first to hand,—hat, stick, or coat (for the day was very hot),—and rent the air with shouts of joy, which never decreased in energy till their sovereign was out of sight. The royal children were objects of universal attention and admiration. 'Oh! queen, dear!' screamed a stout old lady, 'make one of them Prince Patrick, and all Ireland will die for you!'"
The same scenes of wild delight were repeated on the road to Dublin, and the four days spent in that city were a perfect jubilee. The most important public institutions were visited; a levee, attended by four thousand people, was held; there was a review of six thousand troops; addresses presented, and an exhibition of cattle and agricultural implements, in which the prince was particularly interested. All the other cities vied with Dublin in welcoming the royal party, and the effect of their visit on the country was most beneficial. The Irish were charmed with their sovereign's gracious manners, and felt their own importance greatly increased by the consideration she had shown them.