One morning the secretary received an intimation that Prince Albert was coming on the following day. Preparations on a suitable scale were at once commenced for his reception, and the principal exhibitors were invited to be in attendance. At the time appointed, the Prince, who had made a special journey from London for the purpose, was met by the officials at the entrance, and conducted systematically through the place. He made a most minute and careful examination of the whole of the contents, took copious memoranda, and chatted familiarly with everybody. One remark I heard him make struck me as significant of the practical, observant character of his mind. Cocoa-fibre matting was then comparatively unknown; the stone steps of the old hall had been carpeted with this new material; observing this, as he walked up the steps, the Prince turned to Mr. Aitken and said, "Capital invention this; the only material I know of that wears better in a damp place than when dry." As he left the place on his return to London, he expressed, in cordial terms, his thanks for the attention shown him, and said he had "been very much pleased; quite delighted, in fact," and so ended a visit which eventually led to the Great Exhibition of 1851, the Royal Commission for the establishment of which was gazetted January 3, 1850. The Prince came again, to lay the foundation stone of the Midland Institute buildings. On that occasion he accepted an invitation to a public luncheon in the Town Hall, and it was here that he delivered the celebrated speech which placed him at once in the foremost rank of philosophic thinkers. He was much pleased at his cordial reception on this occasion, and it is known that it had much to do in overcoming the avowed reluctance of the Queen to visit Birmingham, and was mainly instrumental in inducing her to consent to open Aston Hall and Park. The 15th of June, 1858, was eagerly looked forward to, for on that day the Queen was coming. Taking a lesson from continental practice, it was wisely resolved that individual attempts at decoration should be discouraged, and that the inhabitants of each street should combine for effective artistic arrangements. For the first time, I believe, in England, Venetian masts were a principal feature, where possible. Poles by hundreds, and flags by thousands, were sought in all directions. The Town Hall was placed in the hands of skilful decorators. The interior was, as yet, a mystery; but the pediment fronting Paradise street was fitted with an enormous canvas-covered frame, upon which was emblazoned, in gorgeous, but proper heraldic style, the Royal Arms of England. All along the line of route through the town, and on the road to Aston, rose hundreds of galleries for spectators. Every one was busy in preparation, and nothing was omitted to make the scene as gay as possible.