s　to　the　artists；　indicating　at　the　same　time　how　they　might　be　corrected。　The　artists　invariably　discovered　that　Her　Majesty's　suggestions　were　of　the　highest　value。　In　literature　her　interests　were　more　restricted。　She　was　devoted　to　Lord　Tennyson；　and；　as　the　Prince　Consort　had　admired　George　Eliot；　she　perused　〃Middlemarch：〃　she　was　disappointed。　There　is　reason　to　believe；　however；　that　the　romances　of　another　female　writer；　whose　popularity　among　the　humbler　classes　of　Her　Majesty's　subjects　was　at　one　time　enormous；　secured；　no　less；　the　approval　of　Her　Majesty。　Otherwise　she　did　not　read　very　much。
  Once；　however；　the　Queen's　attention　was　drawn　to　a　publication　which　it　was　impossible　for　her　to　ignore。　〃The　Greville　Memoirs；〃　filled　with　a　mass　of　historical　information　of　extraordinary　importance；　but　filled　also　with　descriptions；　which　were　by　no　means　flattering；　of　George　IV；　William　IV；　and　other　royal　persons；　was　brought　out　by　Mr。　Reeve。　Victoria　read　the　book；　and　was　appalled。　It　was；　she　declared；　a　〃dreadful　and　really　scandalous　book；〃　and　she　could　not　say　〃how　HORRIFIED　and　INDIGNANT〃　she　was　at　Greville's　〃indiscretion；　indelicacy；　ingratitude　towards　friends；　betrayal　of　confidence　and　shameful　disloyalty　towards　his　Sovereign。〃　She　wrote　to　Disraeli　to　tell　him　that　in　her　opinion　it　was　〃VERY　IMPORTANT　that　the　book　should　be　severely　censured　and　discredited。〃　〃The　tone　in　which　he　speaks　of　royalty；〃　she　added；　〃is　unlike　anything　one　sees　in　history　even；　and　is　most　reprehensible。〃　Her　anger　was　directed　with　almost　equal　vehemence　against　Mr。　Reeve　for　his　having　published　〃such　an　abominable　book；〃　and　she　charged　Sir　Arthur　Helps　to　convey　to　him　her　deep　displeasure。　Mr。　Reeve；　however；　was　impenitent。　When　Sir　Arthur　told　him　that；　in　the　Queen's　opinion；　〃the　book　degraded　royalty；〃　he　replied：　〃Not　at　all；　it　elevates　it　by　the　contrast　it　offers　between　the　present　and　the　defunct　state　of　affairs。〃　But　this　adroit　defence　failed　to　make　any　impression　upon　Victoria；　and　Mr。　Reeve；　when　he　retired　from　the　public　service；　did　not　receive　the　knighthood　which　custom　entitled　him　to　expect。　Perhaps　if　the　Queen　had　known　how　many　caustic　comments　upon　herself　Mr。　Reeve　had　quietly　suppressed　in　the　published　Memoirs；　she　would　have　been　almost　grateful　to　him；　but；　in　that　case；　what　would　she　have　said　of　Greville？　Imagination　boggles　at　the　thought。　As　for　more　modern　essays　upon　the　same　topic；　Her　Majesty；　it　is　to　be　feared；　would　have　characterised　them　as　〃not　discreet。〃
  But　as　a　rule　the　leisure　hours　of　that　active　life　were　occupied　with　recreations　of　a　less　intangible　quality　than　the　study　of　literature　or　the　appreciation　of　art。　Victoria　was　a　woman　not　only　of　vast　property　but　of　innumerable　possessions。　She　had　inherited　an　immense　quantity　of　furniture；　of　ornaments；　of　china；　of　plate；　of　valuable　objects　of　every　kind；　her　purchases；　throughout　a　long　life；　made　a　formidable　addition　to　these　stores；　and　there　flowed　in　upon　her；　besides；　from　every　quarter　of　the　globe；　a　constant　stream　of　gifts。　Over　this　enormous　mass　she　exercised　an　unceasing　and　minute　supervision；　and　the　arrangement　and　the　contemplation　of　it；　in　all　its　details；　filled　her　with　an　intimate　satisfaction。　The　collecting　instinct　has　its　roots　in　the　very　depths　of　human　nature；　and；　in　the　case　of　Victoria；　it　seemed　to　owe　its　force　to　two　of　her　dominating　impulsesthe　intense　sense；　which　had　always　been　hers；　of　her　own　personality；　and　the　craving　which；　growing　with　the　years；　had　become　in　her　old　age　almost　an　obsession；　for　fixity；　for　solidity；　for　the　setting　up　of　palpable　barriers　against　the　outrages　of　change　and　time。　When　she　considered　the　multitudinous　objects　which　belonged　to　her；　or；　better　still；　when；　choosing　out　some　section　of　them　as　the　fancy　took　her；　she　actually　savoured　the　vivid　richness　of　their　individual　qualities；　she　saw　herself　deliciously　reflected　from　a　million　facets；　felt　herself　magnified　miraculously　over　a　boundless　area；　and　was　well　pleased。　That　was　just　as　it　should　be；　but　then　came　the　dismaying　thoughteverything　slips　away；　crumbles；　vanishes；　Sevres　dinner…services　get　broken；　even　golden　basins　go　unaccountably　astray；　even　one's　self；　with　all　the　recollections　and　experiences　that　make　up　one's　being；　fluctuates；　perishes；　dissolves。。。　But　no！　It　could　not；　should　not　be　so！　There　should　be　no　changes　and　no　losses！　Nothing　should　ever　moveneither　the　past　nor　the　presentand　she　herself　least　of　all！　And　so　the　tenacious　woman；　hoarding　her　valuables；　decreed　their　immortality　with　all　the　resolution　of　her　soul。　She　would　not　lose　one　memory　or　one　pin。
  She　gave　orders　that　nothing　should　be　thrown　awayand　nothing　was。　There；　in　drawer　after　drawer；　in　wardrobe　after　wardrobe；　reposed　the　dresses　of　seventy　years。　But　not　only　the　dresses　the　furs　and　the　mantles　and　subsidiary　frills　and　the　muffs　and　the　parasols　and　the　bonnetsall　were　ranged　in　chronological　order；　dated　and　complete。　A　great　cupboard　was　devoted　to　the　dolls；　in　the　china　room　at　Windsor　a　special　table　held　the　mugs　of　her　childhood；　and　her　children's　mugs　as　well。　Mementoes　of　the　past　surrounded　her　in　serried　accumulations。　In　every　room　the　tables　were　powdered　thick　with　the　photographs　of　relatives；　their　portraits；　revealing　them　at　all　ages；　covered　the　walls；　their　figures；　in　solid　marble；　rose　up　from　pedestals；　or　gleamed　from　brackets　in　the　form　of　gold　and　silver　statuettes。　The　dead；　in　every　shapein　miniatures；　in　porcelain；　in　enormous　life…size　oil…paintingswere　perpetually　about　her。　John　Brown　stood　upon　her　writing…table　in　solid　gold。　Her　favourite　horses　and　dogs；　endowed　with　a　new　durability；　crowded　round　her　footsteps。　Sharp；　in　silver　gilt；　dominated　the　dinner　table；　Boy　and　Boz　lay　together　among　unfading　flowers；　in　bronze。　And　it　was　not　enough　that　each　particle　of　the　past　should　be　given　the　stability　of　metal　or　of　marble：　the　whole　collection；　in　its　arrangement；　no　less　than　its　entity；　should　be　immutably　fixed。　There　might　be　additions；　but　there　might　never　be　alterations。　No　chintz　might　change；　no　carpet；　no　curtain；　be　replaced　by　another；　or；　if　long　use　at　last　made　it　necessary；　the　stuffs　and　the　patterns　must　be　so　identically　reproduced　that　the　keenest　eye　might　not　detect　the　difference。　No　new　picture　could　be　hung　upon　the　walls　at　Windsor；　for　those　already　there　had　been　put　in　their　places　by　Albert；　whose　decisions　were　eternal。　So；　indeed；　were　Victoria's。　To　ensure　that　they　should　be　the　aid　of　the　camera　was　called　in。　Every　single　article　in　the　Queen's　possession　was　photographed　from　several　points　of　view。　These　photographs　were　submitted　to　Her　Majesty；　and　when；　after　careful　inspection；　she　had　approved　of　them；　they　were　placed　in　a　series　of　albums；　richly　bound。　Then；　opposite　each　photograph；　an　entry　was　made；　indicating　the　number　of　the　article；　the　number　of　the　room　in　which　it　was　kept；　its　exact　position　in　the　room　and　all　its　principal　characteristics。　The　fate　of　every　object　which　had　undergone　this　process　was　henceforth　irrevocably　sealed。　The　whole　multitude；　once　and　for　all；　took　up　its　steadfast　station。　And　Victoria；　with　a　gigantic　volume　or　two　of　the　endless　catalogue　always　beside　her；　to　look　through；　to　ponder　upon；　to　expatiate　over；　could　feel；　with　a　double　contentment；　that　the　transitoriness　of　this　world　had　been　arrested　by　the　amplitude　of　her　might。
  Thus　the　collection；　ever　multiplying；　ever　encroaching　upon　new　fields　of　consciousness；　ever　rooting　itself　more　firmly　in　the　depths　of　instinct；　became　one　of　the　dominating　influences　of　that　strange　existence。　It　was　a　collection　not　merely　of　things　and　of　thoughts；　but　of　states　of　mind　and　ways　of　living　as　well。　The　celebration　of　anniversaries　grew　to　be　an　important　branch　of　itof　birthdays　and　marriage　days　and　death　days；　each　of　which　demanded　its　appropriate　feeling；　which；　in　its　turn；　must　be　itself　expressed　in　an　appropriate　outward　form。　And　the　form；　of　coursethe　ceremony　of　rejoicing　or　lamentationwas　stereotyped　with　the　rest：　it　was　part　of　the　collection。　On　a　certain　day；　for　instance；　flowers　must　be　strewn　on　John　Brown's　monument　at　Balmoral；　and　the　date　of　the　yearly　departure　for　Scotland　was　fixed　by　that　fact。　Inevitably　it　was　around　the　central　circumstance　of　deathdeath；　the　final　witness　to　human　mutabilitythat　these　commemorative　cravings　clustered　most　thickly。　Might　not　even　death　itself　be　humbled；　if　one　could　recall　enoughif　one　asserted；　with　a　sufficiently　passionate　and　reiterated　emphasis；　the　eternity　of　love？　Accordingly；　every　bed　in　which　Victoria　slept　had　attached　to　it；　at　the　back；　on　the　right…hand　side；　above　the　pillow；　a　photograph　of　the　head　and　shoulders　of　Albert　as　he　lay　dead；　surmounted　by　a　wreath　of　immortelles。　At　Balmoral；　where　memories　came　crowding　so　closely；　the　solid　signs　of　memory　appeared　in　surprising　profusion。　Obelisks；　pyramids；　tombs；　statues；　cairns；　and　seats　of　inscribed　granite；　proclaimed　Victoria's　dedication　to　the　dead。　There；　twice　a　year；　on　the　days　that　followed　her　arrival；　a　solemn　pilgrimage　of　inspection　and　me