The year 1848 was one of bloodshed and misery, that {383}will ever be remembered in Europe, and few were sorry to see it come to an end. The death of Lord Melbourne, which took place in November, was an event that caused the queen sincere sorrow; for she often said that during the first two years and a half of her reign he was almost the only friend she had, and we know how faithfully he served her and the country. [[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 {384}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.