The Princess of Wales

1895

How She Was Entertained by a Quaint Old Scotchwoman.

One autumn day an old woman, while busily engaged in picking up firewood in the woods adjoining Mar Lodge, became aware of a lady quite young, as she thought, beckoning her to approach. With true Scottish indifference she, however, hesitated to do so, for "I jist tocht it wad be the Duchess o' Fife," the old lady explained, "and I was thinking she micht as well come to me as I to her." This indeed the young lady — who, as it happened, was not the duchess, but the Princess of Wales herself — soon did. Her royal highness was the first to commence the conversation by the somewhat characteristic inquiry:

"Do you think I look like a grandmother?" " 'Deed no. I thocht ye was her," was the old woman's reply, pointing to the Duchess of Fife, who at that moment joined her mother. The princess, smiling at this artless tribute to her still wonderfully youthful appearance, after a little further conversation took out her purse and offered a piece of silver to the old woman. This was gladly accepted, for Mrs. McB., although widely known in Braemar as a decent old body, is not abundantly blessed with this world's goods. But, alas, when she essayed to put away the coin the pocket, which proved refractory, as pockets will, had twisted round somehow, and, in fact, could not be found.

With charming courtesy the princess assisted her humble acquaintance to find it, and then lifted the bundle of sticks which had been placed for the moment on the ground on to the old woman's shoulders, and with a cheery "Goodby," accompanied by a bright nod and a smile, left her. Perhaps the best part of this well authenticated story was the remark of the old lady, who, by the way, was not in the least overcome by the condescension of royalty, "The princess was real helpful and bonnylike." — Liverpool Mercury.

Meeting of the Czar and Czarevna

1878

The Czarevna of Russia had not seen the Czarewitch, her husband, for eight months when she surprised him lately by meeting him unexpectedly at Dunaburg.

She arrives first — a bright young lady, resembling her sister, the Princess of Wales, but looking rather stronger. An onlooker gives an animated description of the scene: Though courteous to all, the Czarevna is evidently nervously impatient for the arrival of her husband.

She has not much longer to wait; all at once the shouting outside begins, her face becomes radiant, and, wrapping herself in the magnificent rotonde of blue fox fur, she hurries to the platform, amid renewed hurrahs and clamorous cries of joy. Her eyes are eagerly fixed on the two red globes of the approaching engine — there is a shrill whistle, much puffing of steam and the train rolls slowly into the station.

The Czarewitch, little guessing the surprise in store for him, descends saluting as he passes the long file of soldiers drawn up on the platform. Suddenly he sees her; then all else is forgotten — the station, the soldiers, the crowd of people — and the wife is in her husband's arms, held in a long embrace. Then, like a roar of thunder, louder than the last, burst forth deafening shouts, mixing up with the national hymn.