appreciated and acted upon with the best results; so also his suggestions for the improvement of the system of education at the Queen's Colleges were elaborated with great care, and were gratefully acknowledged.
In this year (1849) the prince projected the idea of the great International Exhibition, which was ultimately carried out in 1851, and which up to that time engaged much of his attention, and called into play all the resources of his intelligence and tact. The strain upon his strength caused by his ceaseless activity and the incessant demands upon his time in every movement of public interest were now beginning to tell upon a constitution never very strong, and we find the queen writing to Stockmar (25 Jan. 1850) that ‘the prince's sleep is again as bad as ever, and he looks very ill of an evening.’ Change of air, and of life and scene, was urged by his doctor, but of this the prince would not hear. The tasks which he had set himself must be carried through, especially that of organising the Great Exhibition. Of this Lord Granville writes (8 March): ‘The whole thing would fall to pieces if he left it to itself.’ The scheme encountered great opposition, and chiefly from those who feared, not without cause, that the sight which it would present of what had given to England's manufactures pre-eminence throughout the world would stimulate a competition among other nations, which might in the end tell formidably upon the prosperity of the kingdom. But the prince had so much faith in the energy and resources of the British race, that he did not fear their being able to hold their own in the future as in the past, and, in any case, he deemed it to be ‘England's mission, duty, and interest, to put herself at the head of the diffusion of civilisation and the attainment of liberty.’ His views were developed in a speech at the Mansion House (21 March 1850) which raised him higher than before in the public estimation. ‘People,’ the queen writes to King Leopold (26 March), ‘are much struck by his great power and energy, by the great self-denial and constant wish to work for others, which are so striking in his character. But this is the happiest life.’
The death of Sir Robert Peel (2 July 1850) was deeply felt by the prince, who had long admired his sagacity and courage, and whom, in the first impulse of his grief, he writes of to the Duchess of Kent as ‘the best of men, our truest friend, the strongest bulwark of the throne, the greatest statesman of his time.’ Sorrow at his loss brought on a fresh attack of sleeplessness, which, in the state of tension to which his mind was wrought by his anxiety about the Great Exhibition and other matters, caused the queen considerable uneasiness. Not the least of these was the necessity which had arisen for putting a check upon Lord Palmerston's habit of sending away official despatches on foreign affairs without their having previously been submitted for the queen's consideration, by which she had on several occasions found herself committed to a policy on which she had had no opportunity of expressing an opinion. The now historical memorandum by the queen (12 Aug. 1850), defining what her majesty would in future expect on this point, led Lord Palmerston to request an interview with the prince. In this he had his first experience of the prince's clearness of view, firmness, and tact, which he learned in after years to look up to with such genuine admiration, that he regarded the prince's early death as the greatest calamity which could have befallen the nation.
The demands of the Exhibition year upon the prince were such as to try the severest constitution. His influence had become by this time so great in all questions of social interest, that his presence at great public meetings to advocate the advancement of art, science, and philanthropy, was eagerly sought. Of the impression he produced, the best and truest record is found in the words of the queen, writing to Stockmar (17 Aug.): ‘He has such large views of everything, and such extreme lucidity in working all these views out. His greatness is wonderfully combined with abnegation of self, with humility, with great courage, with such kindness, too, and goodness, and such a love for his fellow-creatures. And then there is such a desire to do everything without shining himself. But he does shine, and every word which falls from his lips is listened to with attention.’ The success which everywhere attended the prince's efforts helped to carry him through them. His reward for all his toils was the inward conviction that he had done, and was doing, work which would bear good fruits for the country of his adoption and for mankind.
When the Duke of Wellington pressed the prince personally in 1850 to accept the office of commander-in-chief, he probably did so because he recognised in him the foresight, the mastery of details, the power of organisation, and the force of character which are essential for such a post. Added to these was a clear perception of the necessity that England should always be in a position to keep what she had won, and to hold her own against insult or aggression. How this was to be done was a subject which occupied much of the prince's thoughts; and the seizure
