The series of events of 1857 and 1858 were a very curious episode in our political history. The general election of 1857 had been in the nature of a personal triumph for Palmerston. The cry had been “Palmerston, and nothing but Palmerston;” and he had carried everything before him. Within the ranks of the Liberal party all his leading opponents, Bright and Cobden representing the Manchester School, lost their seats. But in less than a year the seemingly all-powerful Minister was defeated because he had not maintained with sufficient dignity the honor and independence of England. “Old Civis Romanus,” as he had been nicknamed, was said to have retreated ignominiously; the British Lion was depicted with his tail between his legs. There was a strong outburst of dissatisfaction; for once Palmerston had not been sufficiently pugnacious: his Government was swept away, and was replaced by that of Lord Derby.

The Queen and Prince from the first took an immense interest in the Volunteers; they had always anxiously watched the relatively small military strength of England, and had urged on successive Governments the overwhelming importance of not allowing it to sink to a level incompatible with national security. The spontaneous growth of a great service for internal defence gave them, therefore, peculiar satisfaction, as affording evidence that at heart the spirit of the country was as sound as it had been in the days of the Armada. The Queen reviewed the English Volunteers in Hyde Park in June, 1860. The cheering was so tremendous that Her Majesty was quite overcome. She inaugurated the National Rifle Association in the following month; and she reviewed the Scottish Volunteers on Arthur’s Seat in August of the same year.

It was a splendid sight; 22,000 magnificent men, the flower of a hardy and spirited race; the surrounding amphitheatre of the hillside crowded with a cheering multitude: no wonder that the Queen was thrilled with pride and thankfulness. The Duchess of Kent was with her daughter; the Queen writes that she was so delighted, “dear mamma could be present at this memorable and never-to-be-forgotten occasion.” It was the last time they were together at any public ceremonial.

Lord Tennyson interpreted the national feeling by his song, “Riflemen, form!” and the lines—

“True, we have got such a faithful ally
That only the Devil can tell what he means”—

exactly describe the sentiments of most Englishmen towards Louis Napoleon. It was said that a foreigner expressed surprise at the military spirit displayed at one of these Volunteer reviews, and said he had understood that the English were a nation of shopkeepers. A jolly countryman replied, “So they are, Moosoo; and these are the boys that keep the shop!”

The Volunteer movement has proved no mere flash in the pan, caused by a sudden explosion of passing irritation. It has grown and strengthened, and now, after twenty-six years of existence, it adds more than 200,000 men to the internal defences of the country. The annual meeting of the National Rifle Association has furnished proof to the world that the Volunteer force contains a body of skilled marksmen, who, under able generalship, might turn the scale in many a battle.

CHAPTER XV.
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

The year 1861 closed the book of the happy wedded life of the Queen. The hand of death lay heavy upon her, and took from her first her mother, and then her husband. The death of her mother was her first very great sorrow. Her half-brother, Prince Charles of Leiningen, had died in 1856; but his life and hers, during his latter years, had lain very much apart, and though she mourned him deeply and truly, he had not made part of her life, and his death could not be to her what the death of her mother was, who had watched over her from childhood, and with whom she passed part of almost every day; still less could it bring the loneliness and desolation in which the Queen was left by the death of her husband, “her dearest life in life,” as she had called him.