As it happens, I write the concluding pages of this humble tribute to the memory of my beloved Queen in my study at Bryntysilio, on the anniversary of the day when the noble woman passed from earth, who was for more than fifty years the crown and comfort of my life. It is a day intimately associated with my thoughts of Her Majesty, for late in the evening of this day, after the constant inquiries of many weeks, a telegram asking for information came from the Queen only a few hours before my wife fell asleep. Its words were the last she read. She tried to reply to the Queen with her own hand, but had to give up the attempt. To the Queen the first news of my loss was sent, and it was answered by a message right from the heart in a few of those incisive words, for which the Queen had a special gift, that speak directly home to the heart. Nor did her sympathy end here. She so arranged that on the morning of the funeral in London a letter in her own hand from Balmoral should reach me with words of encouragement such as those from which she had herself so often had to seek courage in her own hours of desolation and bereavement.[30] Nor was this all. Next morning, between eight and nine, I received a telegram from Her Majesty, inquiring how I had borne the ordeal of the previous day. Can more be said to show the tender, thoughtful, womanly nature, which won the gratitude and reverence of those who knew her best, and which also operated to create a feeling of affectionate regard in all her subjects, and indeed throughout the world? One more instance of Her Majesty's never-failing kindness to myself! The Christmas morning of 1900 brought me its wonted offering from her in the shape of a beautifully framed copy of Angeli's last portrait. As I looked at it my heart was full of sadness, for I read in the familiar face, as there depicted, the manifest indications of physical weakness, and of the probably early fulfilment of an apprehension, which had for some time possessed me, that the end of this "great woman" was near. What pathos to me in the thought, that in a time of so much weakness and preoccupation the Queen had taken care that I should not be without the accustomed Christmas memorial from her. There are memories that "lie too deep for tears." This is one of them. Yet a few words more! I have lived too long not to have learned forbearance in my judgments of character in man or woman, even when its qualities seem to lie very much upon the surface. I have also learned to revere the memories of all who have earned honourable distinction by act or word. Experience has taught me how little we can know of the true nature even of those with whom life has made us familiar, how infinitely less of those whom we have never known, or who have followed pursuits in which we have never shared, or lived in a sphere remote from our own.