object of my anxiety, and lost no time in commencing my return to the waterside.

The tide had just fairly lifted our vessel, when I rejoined my friends. We began to move, and, excessively heated by the exercise I had taken, I soon became very sensible of the sharp wind which at that early hour, though it was the middle of summer, played on the river. One of the rowers saw my piteous plight, and kindly lent me his jacket to keep me warm. There wanted but this to render my personal appearance all that a lover of the picturesque could desire. Think of the wearer of a cocked hat, velvet coat, flowered waistcoat, laced frills, bright sword, and glistening knee buckles, mixed up with a waterman's threadbare old Brummagem, and imagine, if it be possible, anything more outré for a pantomime !

At Waterloo Bridge we found the principal gathering of the press, and embarked them as expeditiously as possible. Such an assembly of bedizened scarecrows I never beheld.

"The shade of old Charon ne'er saw such a group."

All degrees of the peerage were whimsically represented in their attire, which, though in some instances very costly, in many was very indifferently assorted, and was the subject of much mirth among the party. Gaily we passed up the river to the door at which we were to be admitted. This was at Cotton Garden Stairs, a place to which public attention had been particularly drawn a short time anterior to the period of which I am speaking, as there it was that some of the principal witnesses who were brought over to give evidence in support of the bill of pains and penalties had been lodged.

Arrived at Cotton Garden Stairs, we made good our landing, but did not gain admittance in a hurry. We had the pleasure, if pleasure anything so unpleasant could be properly called, of literally cooling our heels on the wooden stage and stair to which we had been carried. by our barge at the entrance of the gardens. The morning breeze blew keenly over the surface of the water, and our silken hose, which we did not wear every day at that hour, allowed us to feel it in all its strength.

At length the door opened, and we pressed forward, calling out, as is the custom where all is eager impatience, "There is no occasion for hurry-there will be plenty of room for all," at the same time pressing on, each striving to be first, as if our lives depended on the struggle of that moment, and as if there had been only a single seat to be scrambled for.

We were then marched about in different directions, into the Hall and out of the Hall, for a considerable time, before we could find our way to the place reserved for the diurnal and hebdomadal historians of that period. At length we reached it. In the higher gallery erected on the east side of Thomas á Becket's vast dining-room, and at the southern extremity of the building, we found our seats.

There were then not many persons in the Hall, but a considerable degree of bustle prevailed. The officers who superintended the arrangements were, as usual, in fine voice, and most magisterial in deportment. But some very important personages soon came on the scene. These were the Barons of the Cinque-Ports, who claimed the honour of carrying the canopy under which it was arranged that his Majesty should walk as he passed to the throne. They attended

thus early to rehearse the grand part they had to perform. To common observers it seemed one of no vast difficulty. But the noble persons who enjoyed this distinction wished that, so far as they were con cerned, the celebration should be perfection itself, and they accordingly passed two or three times up and down the immense apartment; and it must be conceded that their awkwardness, which seemed ludicrous in the extreme, was such as to justify their precaution in subjecting themselves to this preparatory exercise.

Though the whole business of the day was essentially theatrical, this preliminary experiment caused much laughter among the spectators, in which the lordly canopy-bearers seemed half disposed to join and half disposed to resent. Before the expected business of the day commenced in the form prescribed, a more stirring incident occurred. Queen Caroline, though her claim to be received as Queen Consort at the coronation ceremony had, as already stated, been rejected by the privy council, determined in good earnest to go as a visitant. She proceeded to Palace Yard, and advanced to the door of Westminster Hall. In a moment all was confusion within; for when it was found that her Majesty had resolved upon such a step, there were many who believed that, supported up to that moment as she had been by the populace, something very serious indeed might be apprehended as the consequence of "the pressure from without."

"Bar the door!" one voice authoritatively called out, just as the royal claimant was about to enter, and "bar the door," was repeated from all parts of the building. The order was promptly and resolutely obeyed. The queen could gain no admission, and shortly after retired, the object of very general disapprobation. Whether it was that on this occasion preparation had been made by those in power to guard against the enthusiasm usually manifested in her Majesty's favour, by stationing parties who were not friendly to her cause in the vicinity of the hall, or whether the attraction of the day was peculiarly operative on the friends of King George, I cannot say; but the reception she met with in this instance was strongly different from any the Queen had experienced at former periods. It might have been expected that those who thought she was bound to abide by the fiat of that body to whom she had appealed, the privy council, and who felt that it was not for her to give interruption to the inauguration of her husband and sovereign, would have held that the repulse she had received was a sufficient punishment, and have given her at least "the charity of their silence;" but, far from this being the case, she was pursued with the most obstreperous hootings and hisses, intermingled with cries of "Go to Bergami!" "Be off to Como!" with other exclamations still more offensive. The contrast between them and the cordial shouts of applause and sympathy to which she had been long accustomed, struck her most forcibly. She appeared to be shocked and dismayed. The incident probably shortened her life. She sunk beneath the pressure of sickness and sorrow, and in less than a month was consigned to the grave.

While these momentous preliminaries were being adjusted, hour after hour passed away, and I, in the midst of a scene of such singular splendour and historical importance, was vulgar enough to find myself accessible to that common-place every-day visitor, hunger. An intimation had been given on the preceding day, that re

freshments would be provided for all who were admitted into the Hall, and I now looked about very anxiously for the coffee, or tea, or whatever the managers of this grand affair vouchsafed to furnish forth as breakfast. But in vain did I turn right and left, and in vain did I repeat the inquiry, "When are we to have the refreshments?" Neither bit nor sup reached my lips. I have no doubt that ample provision was made, but I did not know where to seek what I wanted. If I left my place for that purpose, I was not quite sure that I could return to it, and I was afraid of losing some part of the spectacle which was on the point of opening, just at the time when my annoyance from long abstinence became most intolerable.

This was a serious matter. Magnificently as my eyes were feasted, I confess I was very imperfectly satisfied. George IV. "in all his glory," crowns, globes, and sceptres; scarlet, minever, and all that ostentation could display to swell the gorgeous pageantry of princes and ambassadors, proud lords and fair ladies, were before me, but still my inward man repined. I, however, could not but admire the dazzling array. The late Marquis of Londonderry, from the elegance of his person, the nobleness of his deportment, and the splendour of his attire, as well as on account of the high station which he then held in the councils of the state, was an object of general interest and remark.

George the Fourth having duly enacted the part set down for him according to ancient usage, the procession to the abbey was arranged, and the king, his nobles, and all who were to take part in the ceremonial, left the hall. I did not care to follow them. Besides the hunger which mercilessly preyed upon me, I had during the last half hour been much agitated by another anxiety, not more ennobling in itself, and which I am afraid must be called avarice, if a still more unpalatable name does not belong to it. From the gallery in which I was seated, I saw a small bright object glistening with indescribable radiance. I had heard that the dresses of Prince Esterhazy and other high personages were so profusely adorned with diamonds on state occasions, that some of the jewels commonly dropped off and were lost. I made up my mind that what I saw was a diamond, and it occurred to me that to possess myself of such a treasure, to keep as a memento of the Coronation, would be well worth my while. I there. fore noted very carefully the objects near it and surrounding it, that I might not be at a loss to discover my prize when I reached the Hall. I soon descended, partly for the purpose of securing it. When I found myself on the stage where the king and the great officers of state had just acted their parts, I looked almost in vain for what I sought. By referring, however, to the other points which I had marked from above, I soon got near it. At first I feared it had been observed and taken care of by somebody else; but this alarm was soon dispelled, and I beheld it where I had looked upon it from the gallery. It would not have been well to pounce upon it too hastily, as that might have invited observation, so I discreetly walked leisurely to it, dropped my handkerchief, and stooping to pick up the latter, grasped the object of my eager search; it was a spangle!

This mortification did not take away my appetite, and just at that moment I encountered three gentlemen, an eminent literary character, and two booksellers belonging to a great firm in Paternoster Row, who were as hungry as myself. We promptly resolved on

adjourning to a tavern, but they thought it was too late to put up with a common-place breakfast, and as I concurred with them, having made our way to Hillier's Coffee-house, which was then attached to Westminster Hall, we called for a bottle of Sherry, and some sandwiches. These being immediately forthcoming, we consoled ourselves for our previous fasting, and returned to our respective seats.

It might be concluded, after what I have said, that I should have been prudent enough to guard against another taste of starvation. Refreshments had not been supplied in the early part of the day, but this I considered presumptive proof that they would be most abundant at its close. Alack for the truth! After waiting some hours, the suffering of the morning was renewed, and save the viands spread on the tables in the Hall for the peers and others who took part in the ceremonial, no eatables came in sight.

The want of sleep, the unwonted exertions I had made, and last, not least, the inflammatory breakfast above recorded, had thrown me into a high fever. My left eye was particularly affected, and the only part of my encumbering finery which afforded me any comfort, was my sword, the steel hilt of which, when I managed to bend my eye to it, I found extremely cool, and it abated my pain for the

moment.

At the Coronation of King George the Third, through some mismanagement, a part of the concluding ceremonies in the Hall were performed in almost total darkness. This was a good deal remarked upon at the time, and it was waggishly reported that the proper court functionaries had gravely promised the King that the mistake should be effectually guarded against at the next coronation. I was curious to mark whether the promise was kept, and am free to declare that had the officer who was reproved in 1761 been still living and in his place, he could not have used greater care to atone for his former failure, than was taken by his successor to provide plenty of candle-light. The day was glorious-the sun at mid-day shone with almost insufferable brilliance, and while its most vivid rays poured through the windows of Westminster Hall, the candles were lighted to add their dim flame to the blaze of celestial as well as terrestrial splendour which the ancient walls at that moment enclosed. Why this was done I cannot say. I do not suppose it was from any religious anxiety to make good the pledge given sixty years before: I suspected that the real object of lighting the candles at that early hour, was to afford an opportunity of exhibiting an improved ladder apparatus, which had been brought for the purpose, and which the parties interested in its display, foresaw there would be no opportunity of showing off that day, if it were deferred till light were really wanted.

Well, the procession returned from the abbey, the company took their seats, George the Fourth acted his part with dignity and grace, and the several state officers went through the tasks assigned to them with becoming gravity, but I cannot say that the effect was singularly striking. Every incident was so minutely indicated in the programme, which was in every hand, the mind was so prepared for all that was to be exhibited, that though coveted while unseen, each feature of the solemnity, at the moment it came off, was coldly surveyed as a matter of course, and the spectacle, though one of surpassing grandeur, was not one of very stirring interest. The chal

lenge of the herald in armour, the throwing down of the gauntlet, and the backing of the knight's horse through the hall, after this valourous display, won but faint admiration. Probably the eye, fatigued by the dazzling varieties it had beheld within the last few hours, was satiated with magnificence, and could enjoy no more.

And the coroneted guests seated at the tables in the hall seemed to partake of the languor I have described. They partook but sparingly of the delicacies set before them. The coronation banquet wore less of the aspect of joyous, hearty feasting, than any public entertainment at which I have been present, of which eating and drinking formed a part. His Majesty, I was told, writhing under the heat of the day and the encumbrance of his robes, as he entered the hall on his return from the abbey, recognised Coleman the dramatist, and shrugging up his shoulders exclaimed, "O George!" in a low tone which seemed to bespeak commiseration for what he then suffered. Though the Barons of the Cinque Ports attended with their canopy, the king seemed to set no high value on their services; for impatient of being so inclosed, he walked at their head, instead of in the midst of them, and they had nothing for it but to hasten after him with their lumbering, and obviously useless, part of the pageant, which they held over my head about as much as they did over his.

It seemed to everybody a relief when the gorgeous display reached its conclusion. The king withdrew about eight o'clock, and his noble and distinguished guests immediately separated. A scramble then commenced for the ornaments on the table among the crowd of inferior degree, who in one capacity or other had found their way into the Hall. The mobility, though it was understood that they would have been admitted in the olden time, it was thought prudent on this occasion to exclude. I had ascertained at an early period of the day that the objects now contended for were so paltry as to have little intrinsic value, and exhausted as I was by long watching and privations, to which I had been little accustomed, I had no fancy to strive for any of these, but effected my retreat to my own home as expeditiously as possible.

All present admitted the spectacle in the Hall to have been one of surpassing magnificence. This I felt at the moment, but much more strongly did I feel it, when I saw the scene represented at Drury Lane Theatre. Elliston greatly exerted himself to surprise the town, and those who were not present at the coronation, were astonished at its grandeur, while to me, with the real ceremony fresh in my recollection, it appeared pitiful and insignificant. The real robes worn by George the Fourth were sold some years ago by Mr. Phillips, of New Bond Street, by public auction for a trifle, and the spot on which the throne rested and on which the crowned monarch appeared with the sceptre, surrounded by every object of costly gorgeous display, presented before that day twelvemonth a picture strangely different; for there, where I had beheld the majesty of England, every vestige of finery and decoration had vanished; the steps had been removed for repairs which had become necessary, and the places of the king, foreign princes, and peers, were occupied by ragged beggars who were scratching the uncovered earth, in search of nails, rags, or any other trifling objects, which might furnish them with the means of collecting a few pence. Sic transit gloria

mundi.

H. T.