Nearly three-quarters of a century had elapsed since a Queen-Consort had been crowned in Great Britain. On the present occasion, such small pomp as there was, was confined to the religious part of the ceremony. The procession, to and from Westminster Hall, the banquet there, and the dramatic episode of the entry of the champion, were all dispensed with. There was an idea prevalent, that the cost would be too great, and that the popular voice would be given to grumble;--as if money spent in the country, and made to circulate rapidly through many hands, would not have been a public benefit rather than a public injury. The ministry, however, would only sanction the maimed rites which were actually observed;--the privileged people were deprived of many a coveted perquisite, which might have dipped deeply into the public purse, and the heir of Marmion and the owner of Scrivelsby, kept his horse and his defiance at home in the domain of the Dymokes. The public, cheated of their show, called it a "half-crownation." There was only one incident at this ceremony which is worth narrating. The Queen-Consort's crown was a rich little toy, sparkling but small. It would hardly fit a baby's head, and, accordingly, Queen Adelaide's hair was turned up in a knot, in order that on this knot the little crown might safely rest. The Archbishop of Canterbury, in place of fitting the crown down upon this knot of hair, only lightly placed the glittering toy on the top of it. Had the Queen moved, she would have been discrowned in an instant, and all the foolish people whose footsteps go wandering on the borders of another world, instead of going honestly straightforward in this, would have had a fine opportunity of discussing the value of omens. But, in a case of adornment, the ladies had their wits about them, and were worth the whole episcopal bench when the matter at issue was surmounting a head of hair with its supreme adornment of a crown. Some of those in attendance stepped forward, saved their embarrassed mistress from an annoyance; and Queen Adelaide was crowned in Westminster Abbey, by a couple of ladies-in-waiting! It may be that the Archbishop was not so much to blame on this occasion. The little crown was made up at her own expense for the occasion, by Rundell, out of her own jewels, and it may not have fitted easily. She had a dread of unnecessary outlay, and, perhaps, remembered that at George the Fourth's coronation, the sum charged by Rundell merely for the hire of jewels by the King, amounted to L16,000, as interest on their value. The whole expense of the double coronation of William and Adelaide, did not amount to much more than twice that sum.