VICTORIA: A Girl Queen of England

IN the early years of the nineteenth century, frequenters of that part
of London near the beautiful Kensington Palace and the still more
beautiful gardens bearing its name, used to enjoy almost daily glimpses
of a round-faced, red-cheeked child whose blue eyes were so bright with
health and happiness that it was a pleasure to watch her.

Sometimes the little girl was seen accompanied by a party of older
persons, and riding a donkey with a gay harness of blue ribbons, and it
was noticeable that she always had a merry greeting for those who spoke
to her in passing. At other times she would be walking, with her hand
holding tight the hand of a little playmate, or on other days she was
wheeled in a small carriage over the gravel walks of the shady Gardens,
followed by an older girl who would sometimes stop the carriage and let
a stranger kiss the blue-eyed occupant of the carriage. On pleasant days
this same little girl could frequently be seen in a simple white dress
and big shade hat, watering the plants in the beds of Kensington Palace,
and the blue-eyed child was no other than the Princess Victoria
Alexandrina, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kent, the child who was
one day to become Queen of England.

In fancying one's self a Queen-to-be, there is never any place given to
the prosaic duties of ordinary life, but Princess Victoria's child-life
at Kensington was a very simple one such as any little girl with a
sensible mother might have had.

At eight o'clock daily the Duchess had breakfast, and the Princess had
hers at the same time, at a small table near her mother, then came an
hour's drive or walk, and from ten to twelve lessons with the Duchess
herself, after which Victoria amused herself in the suite of rooms which
extended around the two sides of the palace, where she kept most of her
toys. Then after a plain dinner came lessons again until four o'clock,
after which came another walk or donkey ride in the Gardens, a simple
supper, a romp with her nurse, whose name being Brock, Victoria called
her "dear Boppy." In fact, so secluded a life did the young Princess
lead that, except for those glimpses of her in the Gardens, she was
almost unknown to all but intimate family friends; and King George the
Fourth, called by Victoria her "Uncle King," sometimes expressed his
displeasure that the child was not allowed to be present more often at
his court. But the Duchess had her own ideas about that matter, and as
they were not at all flattering to the court manners and customs of the
day, she wisely continued to keep her little girl out of such an
atmosphere, though in fear lest the King should carry out his threat of
taking the child away from her, to bring her up in gloomy Windsor
Castle, unless she was allowed to go there more often,--which threat his
kingly power would allow him to carry out, if he so chose. But
fortunately he never did as he threatened, and Victoria remained at
Kensington with her mother, where with her half-sister and brother, the
Princess Féodore and Prince Charles of Leiningen, the four formed a
family group so loyal and so loving that nothing ever loosened the bond
between them.

Although Victoria knew herself to be a Royal Highness, she was yet
ignorant that some day she would be ruler of Great Britain, and she
continued to do simple things as unconsciously as other girls might with
a far different future. She was very enthusiastic over anything which
took her fancy, and one day at a milliner's saw a hat which was exactly
what she wanted. With eager enthusiasm she waited until it was trimmed,
and then exclaimed, "Oh, I will take it with me!" and was soon seen
hurrying towards Kensington with the precious hat in her hand. And this
was a real flesh and blood Princess, heir to the throne of England!

The monotony of life at Kensington was broken by frequent trips to
various parts of England, and visits to friends and relations, but the
Duchess felt her responsibility to the English people in bringing up the
future Queen, so keenly that she never took the risk of a trip to the
continent with Victoria, because of the long journey and the change of
climate. But the Princess thoroughly enjoyed what visits she did make,
and evidently was an attractive guest, even as a child, for when she and
her mother visited King George, her grandmother wrote to the Duchess:
"The little monkey must have pleased and amused his Majesty. She is such
a pretty, clever child!"

At another time when visiting at Wentworth House, Yorkshire, Victoria
amused herself by running around the big garden with its tangle of
shrubberies. One wet morning when the ground was very slippery, she
ventured to run down a treacherous bit of ground from the terrace, and
the gardener, who did not know who she was then, called out, "Be
careful, Miss, it's slape!" a Yorkshire word for slippery. But the
Princess had no intention of being stopped, so she merely turned her
head as she ran, and asked, "What's slape?" As she spoke, her feet flew
from under her and she came down with a thud. The gardener as he helped
her to her feet said, "_That's slape_, Miss!"

At another time she rebelled against the hours of practise insisted on
by her music teacher, who stood her ground firmly, saying that there was
no royal road to art, that only by conscientious and continued practise
could she become a musician, whereupon with a gleam of mischief in her
blue eyes, Victoria jumped up, closed the piano, locked it, put the key
in her pocket and remarked to the surprised teacher, "Now you see there
_is_ a royal way of becoming mistress of the piano!" This incident shows
that she was by no means the young prig painted by so many historians,
but a girl full of fire and spirit, merry, unaffected and with a keen
delight in all sorts of girlish amusements and pranks.

At that time the education of young ladies was more superficial than
that of poorer girls, but the future Queen was given a solid foundation
of the heavier branches of learning, such as Latin, which she hated,
history, law, politics and the British Constitution, and, too, she had
many lighter studies, modern languages, painting and music, becoming a
charming singer under the famous teacher-master, Lablache. She also
danced well, rode well and excelled at archery. One day when she had
been reading about Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi and how she
proudly presented her sons to the much-bejewelled Roman matron, saying,
"These are my jewels," the quick-witted Princess added, "She should have
said, 'My Cornelians!'"

As a young girl Victoria was very pretty, then she went through a period
of homeliness, at which time a children's ball was given at Windsor
Castle by King George in honour of a little visitor, Donna Maria II da
Gloria, the child-Queen of Portugal, who was extremely pretty and very
handsomely dressed, with a ribbon and glittering Order over her
shoulder, making little Victoria, in her simple dress and with her less
brilliant appearance, look quite plain and unattractive--and not only
was Donna Maria seated at the King's right hand, but he seemed greatly
amused by her conversation. Then the dancing began, and Donna Maria did
not show up so finely, for she was an awkward dancer and fell, hurting
herself so severely that she refused to dance again, and left the
ballroom, while Victoria, who was as light as thistle-down on her feet,
is said to have remarked gaily as she danced on: "Well, if I'm not so
handsome and grand and smartly dressed as that Maria, I'm less awkward.

I was able to keep my head and not lose my feet!"

With each year Victoria grew more attractive looking, and one night she
stood before her glass scanning herself critically, while her eyes shone
and her heart beat fast with excitement, for she was going to her first
Drawing-room, and was thrilled at the idea.

Having arrived at Windsor Castle with her mother and a number of ladies
and gentlemen in State carriages, escorted by a party of Life Guards,
Victoria stood at the left of her aunt, the queen, in a maze of delight,
watching the gay Court pageant, quite unconscious that she herself was a
centre of attraction, with her fair skin, her big blue eyes, and her air
of healthy, happy girlhood. Her dress was of simple white tulle, but
there was no more conspicuous figure in all that royal assemblage, than
the young Princess.

Like King George, when William IV succeeded to the throne, he was
jealous of any honours paid to the young Princess or her mother, and
even objected to their little journeys, calling them, with a sneer,
"Royal Progresses," and forbade the salutes given to the vessel which
carried them back and forth from the Isle of Wight, to which petty
jealousies the Duchess paid no heed, but continued to bring up her
daughter as she thought fit; persevering in the "Progresses" which so
annoyed the King, and all of his objections failed to make the Princess
less than an object of intense interest and devotion to those people who
would one day be her subjects.

Although she was still unconscious of the part she was to play in the
history of the nation, the day was coming when she could no longer be
kept ignorant of it. A bill was before Parliament called the Regency
Bill, which named the Duchess of Kent as regent if the King should die
before Victoria came of age, and she heard much conversation about the
bill. The Duchess felt that the time had now come to tell her of the
position which was to be hers in the future of England, and finally
after a long talk with Baroness Lehzen, Victoria's old governess, the
way of telling her was decided upon.

On the following day, when the Princess was busily reading a book of
history, the Baroness slipped a genealogical table on the page which
Victoria was reading. She glanced at the slip of paper with an
exclamation of surprise, then read it carefully and looking up, said
with a startled expression, "Why, I never saw that before!"

"It was not thought necessary that you should," replied the governess,
and then there was a long silence. Then, after examining the paper
again, the Princess glanced up and said with quaint solemnity, "I see I
am nearer the throne than I supposed," adding, "Now many a child would
boast, not knowing the difficulty. There is much splendour, but there is
also much responsibility." Then placing her little hand in that of the
Baroness, she said:

"_Oh, I will be good!_ I understand now why you urged me so much to
learn even Latin. You told me it was the foundation of English grammar,
and all the elegant expressions, and I learned it as you wished it, but
I understand all better now."

Then pressing the Baroness's hand again and looking solemnly into her
eyes, she repeated, "I will be good!" and the Baroness felt a moisture
rise in her eyes at the thought of what life might bring to challenge
that vow.

The Princess was grave for a time after that day, then she grew
accustomed to the new thought of her coming queendom, and was once more
her gay, happy self, and there were three functions soon afterwards at
which she appeared in all the joy of conscious power and happy girlhood.

On her thirteenth birthday the King and Queen gave a great ball in her
honour, when she out-danced all the other girls, not because of her
superior rank, but because of her grace and charm of manner. After the
ball came a drawing-room when again the Princess had a glorious time,
and another glimpse of her is at the Ascot races, when an American poet
was thrilled to see her, with the Queen, leaning over the railing of the
King's stand, both listening to a ballad-singer with as keen interest as
though they had been simple country folk instead of royalty, and he
remarked that the Princess was far better looking than most of her
photographs pictured her.

Nearer and nearer to the throne came the young girl, and yet even when
she was nearly seventeen she was still in the habit of living as quietly
as she had in childhood, and it is told how at a formal reception given
in her honour, followed by a dinner and a grand ball which she opened
with Lord Exeter, after that first dance she left the ballroom to
retire, as the Duchess thought she had had quite enough excitement for
one day. That statement will seem incredible to a girl of to-day, but it
is an historical fact.

On the twenty-fourth of May, 1837, Princess Victoria came of age
according to the laws of England, and the joyous events of the day began
very early in the morning, for when dawn was just breaking in the east,
she was roused by the sound of music under her window. Jumping up, now
quite awake, she peered through the blinds and saw a band playing
merrily, and realised why they were there. Rushing into her mother's
room she shook her out of a sound sleep, and pulled her into her room,
where together they sat behind the closed blinds and applauded the
serenaders. It did not take Victoria long to dress that morning. She was
full of excitement, for by breakfast time messages of congratulations
and presents had begun to pour in, and with shining eyes she exclaimed,
"To think of all England celebrating a holiday just for me!" when she
heard that Parliament was not in session, nor boys in school, all in her
honour. And at night there was a great illumination of the city and a
grand State Ball at the Palace of St. James--quite enough tribute to
turn the head of any girl of eighteen,--but Victoria, even then in the
midst of her enjoyment, seemed to feel the responsibility more than the
flattery, and that night gave an appealing look of shy objection when on
entering the ballroom she was obliged by court etiquette to enter before
her mother, thus emphasising for the first time her superior rank.

Not long after this, one night through the vast audience rooms of gloomy
Windsor Castle went the solemn word, "The King is dead!" and in the same
breath, even the most loyal ministers of Church and State, who had known
only too well the weaknesses of the sovereign who would reign no more,
whispered softly, "Long live the Queen!"

Then there was a flurry of preparation. The Archbishop of Canterbury and
the Lord Chamberlain made ready to leave the place of mourning as fast
as horses could carry them.

Arriving at Kensington Palace in the early dawn, they found the palace
inmates sleeping quietly. It took an endless time, so it seemed, to
arouse even the porter at the gate, but at last he appeared, rubbing
sleepy eyes and grumbling at having been disturbed. At the entrance to
the court-yard came another delay, but finally they were admitted to the
Palace, were shown to a room, and waited until their patience was
exhausted, and they rang a bell so insistently that finally another
drowsy servant answered. They then requested that the Princess Victoria
should be roused at once and told that they desired an immediate
audience on most important business. The sleepy servant disappeared and
still there were more delays, more waiting. Then the Princess' special
maid appeared, saying with irritating calm that her royal mistress was
in such a sweet sleep that she could not venture to disturb her. The
Archbishop's command was not one to be set aside, "We are come on
business of State TO THE QUEEN," he said, "Even her sleep must give
way." To the QUEEN! Ah, then it had come! With flying feet the maid
rushed into the room where the Princess had gone to sleep so peacefully
a few hours since, and roused her with the cry, "They have come to make
you Queen. Oh, be quick!"

Half asleep--entirely dazed for the moment, then clear-eyed, Victoria
sprang up, with only one thought, "I must not delay them any longer,"
and rushed into the presence of the waiting dignitaries with only a
bed-gown thrown over her night-dress, her feet in slippers and her long
brown hair flying over her shoulders!

As in a dream she heard the words, "Your Majesty," and received the
first kiss of homage on her trembling hand, then with sweet pleading
grace she spoke her first words as Queen of England, looking into the
kind eyes of the Archbishop, "I beg your Grace to pray for me," she
said, with utter simplicity and sincere desire, and raising his hand in
benediction, the Archbishop's voice asked a blessing on the fair young
sovereign of so great a land.

The hours following that first knowledge of her new dignity were
overwhelmingly full of strange experiences for Victoria, but among them
all she found time to go to her desk and write a letter to Queen
Adelaide, expressing sympathy for her in her sorrow, and begging her to
remain as long as she felt inclined at Windsor. Giving the letter to her
mother, the Duchess noted that the name on it was to "Her Majesty, the
Queen." With a smile she said, "My dear, you forget who is the Queen of
England now. The King's widow is only Queen Dowager."

To which Victoria replied quickly, "I know that, but _I_ will not be the
first person to remind her of it!"

How many girls would have been as thoughtful as that, I wonder?

In a few hours she was obliged to meet many high officials, and even had
to read her first speech from a throne which was hastily erected for the
occasion. Then while the great bell of St. Paul's was tolling for the
dead King, the young monarch, dressed very simply in mourning, which
brought out in bold relief her clear fresh complexion, took an oath "for
the security of the Church of Scotland," and received the oath of
allegiance first from her royal uncles, the Dukes of Cumberland and
Sussex, whom she kissed as affectionately and impulsively as if she
were still the little Princess. Following them came a great number of
notable men to kneel before her and kiss her hand, among them the Duke
of Wellington and the Premier, Lord Melbourne. To each she showed the
same degree of winning courtesy, and only for a brief moment seemed
disconcerted by the new and dazzling ceremony in her honour as Queen of
the realm.

Evidently since the day when she had first learned that she was some day
to be a Queen, she had been studying how to proceed when the momentous
hour should come, for now she thought to do all those things which would
have scarcely been expected of an older and experienced statesman. She
even sent for Lord Albemarle, it is said, and after reminding him that
according to law and precedent she must be proclaimed the next morning
from a certain window of St. James Palace, asked him to provide a
fitting conveyance and escort for her. Then, bowing graciously to right
and left, including all the Princes, Archbishops and Cabinet Ministers
present, in her gracious salutation, she left the room alone, as she had
entered it.

What sort of a night's rest the young Queen had that night can well be
imagined. Surely her maiden dreams must have been disturbed by many
thoughts which forced her to put aside those personal fancies which
yesterday she had been justified in harbouring!

The next day she went in state to St. James Palace, escorted by a number
of great lords and ladies, and a squadron of the Life Guards and
"Blues," and was formally proclaimed Queen of Great Britain from the
window of the Presence Chamber. She wore a black silk dress and a little
black chip bonnet, and we are told that as she stood there in her simple
costume, with her smooth brown hair as plain as her dress, the tears
ran down her cheeks when she was proclaimed to the people as their
sovereign. Then when the band played the National Anthem in her honour,
she bowed and smiled at the swaying mass of people below looking with
eager interest and affection at their "Little Queen," then retired until
noon, when she held a meeting of her chief counsellors, at which she
presided with as much grace and ease as if she had been doing that sort
of thing all her life, to the intense surprise and admiration of the
great men who composed it. At one o'clock, the Council being over, she
went back to Kensington and remained there quietly until after the
funeral of the late King; and Council and populace were loud in their
praise of this young girl, who, having been brought up in the utmost
seclusion, yet now came out into the lime-light of public attention, and
behaved with the dignity and discretion of an aged monarch.

King William having been properly and pompously buried, the young Queen
took up her new position as ruler of the realm, and her royal household
was a very exceptional and magnificent one, because of the rank and
character of those "ladies in waiting" as they were called, who composed
it.

The young Queen and her household remained at Kensington until
midsummer, when they moved to Buckingham Palace, and soon after this
Victoria was obliged to go through a great parade and ceremony to
dissolve Parliament. We are told that "the weather was fine and the
whole route from Buckingham Palace to Parliament House was lined with
shouting, cheering people, as the magnificent procession and the
brilliant young Queen passed slowly along." A London journal of the day
gives this account of the ceremony: "At ten minutes to three precisely,
Her Majesty, preceded by the heralds and attended by the great officers
of state, entered the House--all the peers and peeresses, who had risen
at the flourish of the trumpets, remaining standing. Her Majesty was
attired in a splendid white satin robe, with the ribbon of the Order
crossing her shoulder, and a magnificent tiara of diamonds on her head.

She also wore a necklace and a stomacher of large and costly
brilliants."

Having ascended the throne, the royal mantle of crimson velvet was
placed on Her Majesty's shoulders by the lords-in-waiting, and she
carried herself with the air of having been born to such ceremonies, yet
it was evident that she was much affected by the ordeal, and for a
moment was so absorbed in her own conspicuous position as to forget to
notice that the peers and peeresses with her were still standing. In a
low voice, Lord Melbourne, who was standing beside her, reminded her of
this, and with a gracious smile and inclination of her head, she said
quietly, "My Lords, be seated," whereupon they and their wives and
daughters sat. The incident had brought the Queen back to herself, and
she was now so self-possessed that when the time came to read her
speech, although she did it with quiet modesty, her voice was so clear
that it rang through all the corners of the great room, and everyone
could hear her words. A great statesman from America, Charles Sumner,
who was present, was so astonished and delighted with Victoria's manner,
that he wrote to a friend, "Her voice is sweet and finely modulated, and
she pronounced every word with distinctly a fine regard for its meaning.

I think I never heard anything better read in my life, and I could but
respond to Lord Fitz-William's remark when the ceremony was over, 'How
beautifully she performs!'" As days went on, this and other golden
opinions were universally echoed about the eighteen-year-old Queen, who
was not only strong of character, but possessed of personal charm, being
then, we are told, short in height, but well formed, with hair the
darkest shade of flaxen, with expressive blue eyes, and a complexion as
fair and delicate as a rose leaf, while her expression was one of
peculiar sweetness.

In her honour there was a grand new throne erected at Buckingham Palace,
a gorgeous affair of crimson velvet, gold lace, gold fringe and ropes
and tassels. Merrily the young Queen tried it, and with a gay laugh
exclaimed, "It is quite perfect! I never sat on a more comfortable
throne in my life!"

One of the things which Victoria most enjoyed was dealing with cases
where stern military discipline should have been used, as in the case of
a court martial which was presented to her by the Duke of Wellington to
be signed. With eyes full of tears she asked, "Have you nothing to say
in behalf of this man?"

"Nothing. He has deserted three times," replied the Duke.

"Oh, your Grace, think again!" exclaimed Victoria.

"Well, your Majesty," replied the Iron Man, "he certainly is a bad
soldier, but there was somebody who spoke as to his good character. He
may be a good fellow in civil life."

"Oh, thank you," exclaimed the Queen, and dashed off the word "Pardoned"
to the lawful parchment and wrote under it her signature.

So many cases of this clemency of hers came to the notice of Parliament,
that finally they arranged matters so that this fatal signing business
could be done by royal commission, "To relieve her Majesty of painful
duty," they said, but really because they could not trust her soft
heart to deal with cases where military discipline should not be
interfered with.

In Victoria's childhood, when her father, the Duke of Kent, died, he
left very heavy debts, which the Duchess had endeavoured in every way to
pay. This Victoria knew, and almost immediately after she became Queen,
in all the whirl and splendour of her new life she sent for her Prime
Minister and told him that she wished to settle the remaining debts
standing in her father's name, saying, "I _must_ do it. I consider it a
sacred duty," and of course it was done. The Queen also sent some
valuable pieces of plate to the largest creditors in token of her
gratitude, and the young girl's earnestness and directness in thus
carrying out her mother's chief desire, brought tears, it is said, to
the eyes of Lord Melbourne, and made his feelings for the young Queen
ever afterwards that of deepest chivalry. In fact all England was
possessed of the wildest kind of enthusiasm for their new ruler, and one
can imagine that in her youth and dignity of office she seemed to young
men and maidens to be a heroine of fairy-tale made flesh and blood,
while it was said that if necessity had arisen five hundred thousand
brave Irishmen would arise to defend the life, the honour and the person
of the beloved young lady on the throne of England.

In August Victoria took possession of Windsor Castle, which soon became
anything but a gloomy place, with the gay company that filled its every
room, and to whom the young royal housekeeper showed its beauties and
comforts with as great satisfaction as if it had been a simple little
house of her own on a plain English street.

When at Windsor, Brighton was an easy journey, and there the young Queen
had a triumphal progress, her carriage passing under numberless arches,
and between ranks and ranks of school children who strewed flowers
before her and sang songs in her honour. Some months later, in London,
she dined in state with the Lord Mayor, and as her carriage passed
through the streets of the city on its way to Guildhall, a vast crowd
lining the pavements riveted their gaze on the very youthful-looking
Queen. She wore a wrap of swan's down which made a soft frame for the
fair sweet face on which was the rose bloom of girlhood, while in her
eyes beamed health and happiness.

That was a gorgeous ceremony which she attended at Guildhall. At Temple
Bar she was met by the Lord Mayor himself who handed her the keys of the
city, and also a sword, which she at once returned to his keeping. Then
a little farther on, the Blue-Coat Boys of Christ's College gave an
address of congratulation, saying how glad they were to have a woman
rule over them, and then they sang the National Anthem, with rousing
spirit, and the royal party proceeded to Guildhall, where in the
gorgeous drawing-room the address of the city officials was read. Then
Victoria performed a memorable act: she knighted Sheriff Montefiore, the
first man of his race to receive such an honour from a British
sovereign, and thereby not only reflected honour on the noble man she
knighted, but on her own daring and just spirit. This ceremony over,
they passed into the great hall, which had been wonderfully decorated
and furnished for the occasion, and is said to have looked like
fairyland with its glittering lights hanging from the roof, reflecting
brilliancy over the gorgeous court dresses and superb jewels which made
up the dazzling scene. When Victoria entered, a great chorus rang out in
a song of praise to their Queen. Then she was led to a table on a
platform at the end of the room, where she was served with a dinner as
costly as could be procured to tempt her fancy, receiving the homage of
city officials as she dined. The feast over, a person called the Common
Crier strode into the middle of the hall and solemnly proclaimed, "The
Right Honourable the Lord Mayor gives the health of our Most Gracious
Sovereign, Queen Victoria!" Of course this was drunk amid a chorus of
shouts which made the great hall ring to the roof. Victoria rose and
bowed her thanks, and then the Common Crier announced, "Her Majesty's
Toast, 'The Lord Mayor and prosperity to the city of London!'" This
toast, it is said, the Queen responded to by drinking it in sherry one
hundred and twenty years old, kept for some wonderful occasion such as
this.

That year, Victoria's first as a Queen, she celebrated Christmas at
Windsor Castle, and it would have been a very unnatural thing indeed if
the girl had not exulted with joy over the wonderful presents which
poured in on her from every side, and yet she kept through this, as in
all the honours paid to her, her simple-hearted manner and was entirely
unspoiled by what might easily have turned the head of an older and
wiser monarch.

And now comes the greatest of all the great events in which the young
Queen is the central figure--her Coronation. It is true that she had
already been Queen for a whole year, but such was royal etiquette that
the time had just arrived for the wonderful ceremonies which would mark
her official taking of the Crown.

June the twenty-eighth was the day, and the year 1838, and Victoria was
nineteen years old. They came beforehand, the old courtiers, and
explained to her the coming pageant, and how after kneeling to her they
were all required to rise and kiss her on the left cheek. Gravely she
listened and thought this over, thought not only of the salutes of the
grave Archbishops, but of the kisses of those other younger peers, of
whom there were six hundred, and then she issued a proclamation excusing
them from this duty, so all but the Dukes of Cambridge and Sussex, who
could kiss her rosy cheek by special privilege of kinship, would have to
be content with pressing a salute on her hand!

As for the Coronation, it was one of the most wonderful in history, for
all England wished to look with proud eyes on the crowning of this young
girl who even in one year had proved herself to be capable of
understanding the intricate doings of statescraft, and days before the
ceremonies were to begin, people poured in from all parts of the United
Kingdom to see the glittering spectacle and to prove their loyalty to
her who was their sovereign.

The great procession started from Buckingham Palace about ten o'clock in
the morning, and the first state carriages held the Duchess of Kent and
her attendants, then came the grand state coach, imposing in its
gorgeous array of gilding and glass, drawn by eight cream-coloured
horses from the royal stables, with white flowing manes and tails. In
the coach of state sat Her Majesty, and there was tremendous applause
all along the line as soon as the bright girlish face beaming its
welcome to her people, was seen. On reaching Westminster Abbey, the
gorgeous scene might have startled or confused her, if she had not
rehearsed beforehand as thoroughly as though it were a play in which she
were to take part.

On each side of the nave were galleries erected for the spectators,
which had been covered with crimson cloth fringed with gold, and under
them were lines of very martial looking footguards. The stone floor was
covered with crimson and purple cloth, while immediately under the
central tower of the Abbey, inside the choir, five steps from the
floor, was a platform covered with cloth of gold on which stood the
golden "Chair of Homage." In the chancel, near the altar, stood the
quaint old chair in which all the sovereigns since Edward the Confessor
had been crowned. The tiers of galleries upholstered in crimson cloth
and old tapestries, were occupied by Members of Parliament and foreign
Ambassadors, while in the organ loft sat a large choir dressed in white,
and players on instruments dressed in scarlet, while high above them
were a score of trumpeters; all of which produced a brilliant effect
that was heightened by the music pealing through the vast Abbey over the
heads of the throng.

Long before the arrival of the royal party the Abbey was crowded to its
doors with foreign Ambassadors and Princes in their gorgeous costumes,
and most gorgeous of all were the Lord Mayor and Prince Esterhazy, who
was costumed like a glittering shower of jewels from head to toe, while
hundreds of pretty women were there in every kind of elaborate evening
dress, although it was only eleven o'clock in the morning. It took both
time and thought to place all the royal personages so that none would be
offended, and every peer and peeress would be seated so as to have a
good view of that part of the minster in which the Coronation was to
take place.

The grand procession passed slowly up the long aisle, with its
dignitaries of Church and State, and all its pomp and glitter of jewels
and gorgeous costumes. Then came the Queen. She wore a royal robe of
crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine and gold lace, and on her head was a
circlet of gold. Her tremendously long train was borne by eight young
court ladies, and never did she look quite so girlish and slight and
young as she did in that great procession of older dignitaries. As she
entered the Abbey the choir began the National Anthem, which could
scarcely be heard because of the mighty cheers which burst from the
general assembly, echoing through the dome and arched recesses of the
vast building. Slowly the Queen moved toward the altar, sweetly the
choir boys chanted _Vivat Victoria Regina!_ while moving quietly to a
chair placed between the "chair of homage" and the altar, Victoria knelt
in prayer for a moment, then rose, and the Primate announced in a loud
voice, "I here present unto you Queen Victoria, the undoubted Queen of
this realm, wherefore all of you are come this day to do your homage.

Are you willing to do the same?"

Then the people all shouted, "God save Queen Victoria!" which
"recognition," as it was called, was repeated many times and answered
each time by the beating of drums and the sounding of trumpets.

Throughout all this the Queen stood, turning towards the side from which
the recognition came, and then followed a great number of curious old
rites and ceremonies which always go with a Coronation, even though many
of them have entirely lost their meaning through the lapse of time.

There were prayers and the Litany and a sermon, and then the
administration of the oath of office, and after a long questioning by
the Archbishop, Her Majesty was led to the altar, where, kneeling with
her hand on the Gospels in the Great Bible, she said in clear, solemn
tones which could be heard all through the Abbey:

"The things which I have herebefore promised I will perform and keep. So
help me God."

She then kissed the book and continued to kneel while the choir sang a
hymn, then while she sat in St. Edward's chair, a rich cloth of gold was
held over her head and the Archbishop anointed her with oil in the form
of a cross, after which came still more forms and ceremonies, the
presentation of swords and spurs, the investing her with the Imperial
robe, the sceptre and the ring, the consecration and blessing of the new
crown, which had been made especially for her, and at last the crowning.

The moment this was over all the peers and peeresses, who had held their
coronets in their hands during the ceremonies, placed them on their
heads, and shouted, "God save the Queen!" The trumpets and drums sounded
again, while outside in the sunlight, guns fired by signal boomed their
salute to the new sovereign, who was led to the chair of homage to
receive the salutation of Church and State. First in line came the
dignitaries of the Church, who knelt and kissed her hand, then the Dukes
of Cambridge and Sussex, who, taking off their coronets and touching
them to the crown (a pretty ceremony that!), solemnly pledged their
loyalty, and kissed their niece on the left cheek. Then, according to
her decree, the other dukes and peers, even the Duke of Wellington, who
knelt before her, had only the honour of kissing the small white hand.

Last of all came an old and feeble peer who found such difficulty in
mounting the steps that he stumbled at the top and fell to the bottom,
rolling all the way back to the floor, where he lay, hopelessly
entangled in his robes. Impulsively the Queen rose from her throne as if
it were but a chair and stretched out her hands to help him, but the old
peer had risen by that time, and was trying his best to raise his
coronet to touch the crown, but failed because of the trembling of his
hand, and the Queen with ready tact held out her hand for him to kiss
without the form of touching her crown. It was a pretty incident,
proving the entire unconsciousness of self which the young Queen showed
all through the imposing ceremonies. And they were not yet over. There
was yet the Sacrament to be administered to the Queen, who knelt,
uncrowned, to receive it; then came a recrowning, a re-enthronement,
more music and then the welcome release of the benediction. Passing into
King Edward's chapel, the queen changed the imperial for the royal robe
of purple velvet and went out of the Abbey wearing the crown and
carrying her sceptre in her right hand, and drove home through a surging
mass of shouting, cheering subjects and sight-seers, who noticed that
she looked exhausted, and that she frequently put her hand to her head,
as if wearing a crown were not at all a comfortable thing.

The gates of the palace were reached at last, the long, vast, tiresome
ceremonial was at an end. The home door swung open to receive her, and
out dashed her pet spaniel, barking a joyous welcome as he always did
when she had been away a long time. A girlish smile broke over
Victoria's face, for so many hours moulded into a maturer expression of
sovereignty, and crying, "There, Dash!" she unceremoniously ran in,
flung off her crown and royal robe and sceptre and ran upstairs to give
the dog his daily bath!

At that time Carlyle said of her: "Poor little Queen! She is at an age
when a girl can scarcely be trusted to choose a bonnet for herself, yet
a task is thrust upon her from which an archangel might shrink."

True indeed, but her Majesty, Queen Victoria, even at the moment of
doffing her crown to give her dog a bath, could with equal grace and
capability have answered a summons to discuss grave national issues, and
would have shown both good judgment and wisdom in the discussion. A
wonderful little woman she was, young for her task, but old for her age,
and as we see her standing in the famous portrait painted in her
coronation robes we see all that is fairest and noblest in both girl and
Queen. She stands there as though mounting the steps to her throne, her
head slightly turned, looking back over her shoulder, and we feel the
buoyancy of her youth and the dignity of her purity, a far more royal
robe than the one of velvet and ermine which is over her shoulders, and
we know that she is already worthy of the homage so universally paid
her, this girl Queen of England awaiting what the future may bring.