country it is surely the present King of Prussia, the German Emperor. I must say no more, for I have made it a rule in these Recollections not to say anything about living persons, least of all royalties. Besides, through all my life I have tried to follow the rule that Ruskin lays down for himself: “In every person who comes near you look for what is good and strong; honour that; rejoice in it, and, as you can, try to imitate it.” Though I did not see much of Prince Albert—I am thinking of the time when he was still called Prince Albert, and not yet the Prince Consort—I heard much about him, partly from Bunsen, who admired him greatly, partly through one of his private secretaries, my old friend Dr. Karl Meyer.[16] By this time the world knows not only the nobility of the Prince’s character, but the strength of his intellect, his unceasing industry, and his loyal devotion to his queen and country. But there was a time when those who knew him felt indignant, nay, furious, at the treatment which he received in England. It would be well if that page could be torn out of the history of England, and as she who suffered most has long forgiven, if not forgotten, who has a right to _renovare dolores_? Apart from all personal considerations, it seemed a most extraordinary hallucination to imagine that he who was the consort of the Queen should exercise no influence on his wife. Human nature after all is superior even to the English constitution. One can imagine a political philosopher indulging in so Utopian a theory as a marriage without influence, but that practical men, men of the world, men of common sense, should have imagined such a possibility—that English statesmen should have imagined that a wife, because she was a Queen, would never be influenced by her husband, will hardly sound credible to future historians. I remember only one analogous case. When Lord John Russell was proposed as Secretary for Foreign Affairs, several members of the Cabinet objected, fearing Lady Russell’s influence, and pointing out the danger of Cabinet secrets oozing out through her indiscretion. Lord Palmerston listened for a long time, and then turned to his colleagues and said: “Well, I see one remedy only—one of us must always sleep with them.” When he saw blank consternation on the faces of his colleagues, “Well, well,” he said, “we shall take it by turns.” At a time when it was fully believed that Prince Albert had been taken to the Tower for high treason, no wonder that even a young German student who spent his days in the Bodleian Library should have been attacked as a spy. It was a passing madness, and the wonder is that it passed without more serious consequences.