Never was Queen cast so low as she, when, flurried, fevered, now in tears and now hysterically laughing, she stood at the door of the Abbey haggling with the official who acted as porter, and striving to force or win her way into the interior. The chief of the ‘door-keepers’ demanded to see her ticket, but Lord Hood claimed exemption for her on account of her recognised rank: the door-keeper would not recognise the claim. ‘This is your Queen!’ said Lord Hood. ‘Yes, I am your Queen; will you admit me?’ The assertion and the request were repeatedly made, but always with the same effect. No passage could be given without the indispensable ticket. Lord Hood possessed one, and the Queen appeared for a moment inclined to pass in with that. But her heart failed her, and, half-laughing, to hide perhaps what she could not conceal, her half-crying, she declined to go in without her ladies. Finally, a superior officer appeared, and respectfully intimated that no preparations whatever had been made for the accommodation of her Majesty; upon which, after looking around her, as if searching for suggestions or help from the people, and finding no encouragement, she assented to Lord Hood’s proposition, that it were better for her to enter her carriage and return home. She had dared the hazard of the die: the cast had been unfortunate. She, for the first time, felt degraded, and she withdrew, still, like the gladiator from the arena, conscious of bearing the wound of which death must ultimately and speedily come. Meanwhile, let us tarry for a moment at the Hall and the Abbey. It is not likely that England will ever again behold such a scene of coronation splendour as that of George IV., and it is quite certain that England would not care to do so. The national taste does not merely regulate itself by the national purse, but by general principle; and it is an incontrovertible fact, that the outlay of millions for the crowning of one man involves the violation of a principle which the nation desires to see respected. Never did sovereign labour as George IV. laboured to give _éclat_ to the entire ceremony. He passed days and nights with his familiar friends in discussing questions of dress, colours, fashions, and effects. His own costume was to him a subject of intense anxiety, and when his costly habits were completed, so desirous was he to witness their effect that, according to the gossip of the day, a court-gossip which was not groundless, his Majesty had one of his own servants attired in the royal garments, and the King contemplated with considerable satisfaction the sight of a menial pacing up and down the room in the monarch’s garb. The man did his office with as much mock gravity as the dramatic King, Mr. Elliston, when he showered tipsy benedictions upon the public as he crossed the platform over the pit of Drury Lane.