The Queen did not feel herself equal to taking any part in the marriage ceremony, but looked down upon the scene of grandeur and gayety from the Royal Gallery of St George's Chapel. The Duchess of Sutherland attended her then for the last time. She had been with her at her coronation and marriage; to-day they were both widows, and must have been at the moment living intensely and sorrowfully in the past. With the exception of the Crown Princess of Germany and the Duke of Edinburgh, all the Queen's children, down to little Beatrice, were present. The bride, it is stated, "looked lovely; she did not raise her eyes once in going into, and but little in going out of, the Chapel on her husband's arm." This first daughter-in-law soon made a place for herself in the Queen's heart, by her grace and amiability. I have heard a pretty little story of an attempt of hers to lighten somewhat Her Majesty's heavy cloud of mourning. Millinery being one of her accomplishments, she prevailed upon the Queen to let her remodel her bonnet, which she did, principally by removing a small basketful of sombre weeds. The Queen saw through her little _ruse_ and shook her head mournfully,--but wore the bonnet. The next year London went still more mad over Garibaldi. His enthusiastic admirers almost mobbed Stafford House, at which he was entertained by the young Duke of Sutherland Lord Ronald Gower describes that memorable visit and the popular excitement very vividly. The Italian hero entered that beautiful palace, where a grand company of the nobility were waiting to receive him, attired in a rough gray overcoat and trousers, a large pork-pie hat, a loose black neck-tie, and a red flannel shirt. This he never changed--I mean his style of dress, not the shirt--but Garibaldi would have been quite un-Garibaldi-ed in an English evening suit. Lord Ronald Gower writes that his noble, liberty- loving mother was very devoted to their guest, but does not add that by so doing she shocked the sensibilities of footmen and housemaids. One of the latter once told to another guest, a moving story of the strange habits of "Italian brigand": "Why, marm," she said, "he was such a common-looking person, and he would get up so awful early and go hobbling about in the garden. One morning at six o'clock, I looked out of my window, and there he was walking up and down, and the Duchess with him-- _my_ Duchess, walking and talking with the likes of him!"