The charms of natural scenery, greatly as they were appreciated, required now and then to be relieved by a little excitement, and the Queen and Prince hit upon an ingenious plan of procuring this. They would issue forth from Balmoral in hired carriages, with horses to match, and would drive to some Highland town, and dine and dress at its inn, under assumed names. It was no doubt great fun to Her Majesty to put up with the accommodation of a third-rate provincial inn, where 'a ringleted woman did everything' in the way of waiting at table, and where in place of soup there was mutton-broth with vegetables, 'which I did not much relish.'
On one of these expeditions, Her Majesty was so unfortunate as to hit upon the inn at Dalwhinnie as a place of sojourn. 'We went up-stairs: the inn was much larger than at Fettercairn, but not nearly so nice and cheerful; there was a drawing-room and a dining-room; and we had a very good-sized bedroom. Albert had a dressing-room of equal size. Mary Andrews (who was very useful and efficient) and Lady Churchill's maid had a room together, every one being in the house; but unfortunately there was hardly anything to eat, and there was only tea, and two miserable starved Highland chickens, without any potatoes! No pudding, and no fun; no little maid (the two there not wishing to come in), nor our two people—who were wet and drying our and their things—to wait on us! It was not a nice supper; and the evening was wet. As it was late, we soon retired to rest. Mary and Maxted (Lady Churchill's maid) had been dining below with Grant, Brown, and Stewart (who came the same as last time, with the maids) in the "commercial room" at the foot of the stairs. They had only the remnants of our two starved chickens!'
The ascent of the hill of Tulloch on a pony, the Queen wrote, was 'the most delightful, the most romantic ride and walk I ever had.' The quiet, the liberty, the Highlanders, and the hills were all thoroughly enjoyed by the Queen, and when she returned to the Lowlands it made her sad to see the country becoming 'flatter and flatter,' while the English coast appeared 'terribly flat.' Again the Queen and Prince-Consort were in the West Highlands in 1847, but had dreadful weather at Ardverikie, on Loch Laggan.
Not even Osborne, Windsor, or Buckingham Palace proved happier residences than their holiday home at Balmoral. The fine air of the north of Scotland had been so beneficial to the royal family, that they were advised to purchase a house in Aberdeenshire.
The Queen and prince took up their autumn residence at Balmoral in September 1848. A few years later, the house was much improved and enlarged from designs by the Prince-Consort. It was soothing to retire thither after a year of the bustle of London. 'It was so calm and so solitary, it did one good as one gazed around; and the pure mountain air was most refreshing. All seemed to breathe freedom and peace, and to make one forget the world and its sad turmoils.' Mr Greville, as clerk of the Council, saw the circle there in 1849, and thought the Queen and prince appeared to great advantage, living in simplicity and ease. 'The Queen is running in and out of the house all day long, and often goes about alone, walks into the cottages, and sits down and chats with the old women…. I was greatly struck with the prince. I saw at once that he is very intelligent and highly cultivated; and, moreover, that he has a thoughtful mind, and thinks of subjects worth thinking about. He seems very much at his ease, very gay, pleasant, and without the least stiffness or air of dignity.' The Queen was in Ireland in 1849, and had a splendid reception.
The Queen took possession of the new castle at Balmoral in the autumn of 1855, and a year later she wrote that 'every year my heart becomes more fixed in this dear paradise, and so much more so now, that all has become my dear Albert's own creation, own work, own building, own laying out, as at Osborne; and his great taste, and the impress of his dear hand, have been stamped everywhere.'
After building the cairn on the top of Craig Gowan, to commemorate their taking possession of Balmoral, the Queen wrote: 'May God bless this place, and allow us yet to see it and enjoy it many a long year.'
In the north country, too, she met with little adventures, which doubtless helped to rally her courage and spirits—a carriage accident, when there was 'a moment during which I had time to reflect whether I should be killed or not, and to think there were, still things I had not settled and wanted to do;' subsequently sitting in the cold on the road-side, recalling 'what my beloved one had always said to me, namely, to make the best of what could not be altered.' What a thoroughly loving, clinging woman's heart the 'Queen-Empress' shows when' she feels tired, sad, and bewildered' because 'for the first time in her life she was alone in a strange house, without either mother or husband.'
Some interesting glimpses of the Queen are given in the biography of the late Dr Norman Macleod. This popular divine was asked to preach before the Queen in Crathie Church in 1854—the church that stood till 1893, when the Queen laid the foundation stone of a new one. He preached an old sermon without a note, never looking once at the royal seat, but solely at the congregation. The Sunday at Balmoral was perfect in its peace and beauty. In his sermon he tried to show what true life is, a finding rest through the yoke of God's service instead of the service of self, and by the cross of self-denial instead of self-gratification. 'In the evening,' writes Dr Macleod in his Journal, 'after daundering in a green field with a path through it which led to the high-road, and while sitting on a block of granite, full of quiet thoughts, mentally reposing in the midst of the beautiful scenery, I was aroused from my reverie by some one asking me if I was the clergyman who had preached that day. I was soon in the presence of the Queen and prince; when Her Majesty came forward and said, with a sweet, kind, and smiling face: "We wish to thank you for your sermon." She then asked me how my father was—what was the name of my parish, &c.; and so, after bowing and smiling, they both continued their quiet evening walk alone. And thus God blessed me, and I thanked His name.' The Queen in her Journal remarked that she had never heard a finer sermon, and that the allusions in the prayer to herself and the children gave her a 'lump in the throat.'
Dr Macleod was again at Balmoral in 1862 and 1866. Of this visit in May 1862, made after the Queen's bereavement, he reported to his wife that 'all has passed well—that is to say, God enabled me to speak in private and in public to the Queen, in such a way as seemed to me to be truth, the truth in God's sight—that which I believed she needed, though I felt it would be very trying to her spirit to receive it. And what fills me with deepest thanksgiving is, that she has received it, and written to me such a kind, tender letter of thanks for it, which shall be treasured in my heart while I live.