Another such curiosity of literature may this be considered:  namely, that the same versifier who in his youth fifty years ago saw the coronation from a gallery seat in Westminster Abbey, overlooking the central space, and wrote a well-known ode on the occasion, to be found in his Miscellaneous Poems, is still in full force and loyalty, and ready to supply one for his Queen’s jubilee,—­whereof words for music will be found anon.  Human life has not many such completed cycles to celebrate, albeit I have lately had a golden wedding; alas! in a short month after, closed by the good wife’s sudden death:  “So soon trod sorrow on the heels of joy!” But I will not speak of that affliction here and now:  my present errand is more cheerful.

With reference, then, to the many verses of mine which I have reason to hope are honoured by preservation in royal albums, I wish only to say that if some few have appeared among my other poetries in print, they shall not be repeated here:  though I may record that whatever I have sent from time to time have been graciously acknowledged, and that I have heretofore met with palatial welcomes.

Perhaps I may say a word or two about my having for the best part of half a century occasionally made my duteous bow at Court; which I thought it right to do whenever some poetic offering of mine had been received; in particular at the Princess Royal’s marriage, when Prince Albert specially invited me to Buckingham Palace, presenting me kindly to the heir of Prussia, and bidding, “Wales come and shake hands with Mr. Tupper” (my genial Prince will recollect it); and above all adding the honour of personal conversation with Her Majesty.

Of these thus briefly:  also I might record (but I forbear) similar condescensions at Frogmore; as also with reference to my little Masques of the Seasons, and the Nations—­wherein Corbould was pictorially so efficient, and Miss Hildyard so helpful in the costumes—­both at Osborne and at Windsor.  In gracious recognition of these Her Majesty gave me Winterhalter’s engravings of all the royal children, now at Albury, as well as some gifts to my daughters.  The Masques will be found among my published poems.

At Court I frequently met Lord Houghton, known to me in ancient days as Monckton Milnes; and I remember that we especially came together from sympathy as to critical castigation, Blackwood or some other Scotch reviewer having fallen foul of both of us, then young poets (and therefore to be hounded down by Professor Wilson), in an article pasted in an early volume of Archives, spitefully disparaging “Farquhar Tupper and Monckton Milnes.”