Days of merriment and revel welcomed her to the palace, and then the coronation came. The streets were gravelled from Tower to Temple Bar, and freshly hung with purple. The crown of Edward the Confessor was too heavy for the girlish brow, and a new one was made for the new Queen, mainly of rubies red as blood. You may see it in the jewel-room of the Tower with the other crowns and the Kohinoor of Queen Victoria. There were vast processions of horsemen, Ambassadors with badges and decorations, and so many collars set with gems it was said whole estates were carried on men's shoulders. A fountain ran wine, and any--the way-side beggar with the rest--might put in his cup and drink his fill. Even the cooks wore satin that day. [Illustration: THE CORONATION CHAIR.] But all else was of slight interest--Duke and Earl, belted knight and high-born gentleman--beside the lady for whom the parade was ordered. She was seated in an open litter covered with cloth of gold shot with white. Her robe was silver tissue under a mantle of ermine, auburn ringlets flowing on her shoulders below the ruby crown. The ladies attending were mounted on palfreys with trappings that shone with gold and crimson. It was in bridal June, when merry England is merriest, and with shoutings and trumpetings Anne entered Westminster, and was crowned at the high altar of the Abbey. Royal purple took the place of crimson robes, and the unholy marriage was preceded by the Holy Sacrament, and made a sinful mockery with vows solemn and binding. Countesses and marchionesses were the Queen's train-bearers, and the world seemed at her feet. No warning prophet was there to foretell that the triumph would pass like a vision of the night, and when the blossoming hedges had showered their snows three times she would slip from her high place and, for her sweet lord's pleasure, fall a headless corpse. Bluff King Harry was highly pleased with the coronation show, and the bride, radiant with bloom and happiness, held his fickle fancy for a time. She was used to admiration, and knew the art of pleasing. Studying the moods and tenses of her fitful master, she bent her finer nature down to his. Did he wish to ride, she could try the mettle of his best jennet, her glossy brown hair mingling with the floating plumes of her hat, making a sunlit picture. Would his Majesty walk, in banquet-hall or bower, on greensward or under silken pavilion, she was ready to trip with fairy tread. Did he want music, she charmed with lute and song. If the stormy ruler preferred silence, she could sit still as chiselled marble till his varying temper brought her lord to her side again.