There was a great flower show of the Horticultural Society at Holland Park that afternoon. The band of the Blues had been engaged. Mr. Godfrey, the bandmaster, came up to me and said that he had not half his men. The troops were confined to barracks—and he had with him only the married men who lived out; and then he told me what had happened. I rushed off and called a hansom (there were no taxis till four or five years later) and drove to Buckingham Palace for news. The account was good so far as it went, but the danger was still acute. It would be difficult to exaggerate the anxiety which was felt all over England, but mercifully the bulletins improved from day to day: the King recovered and the Coronation took place on the 9th of August. It was a great anxiety for all those who loved the King—and who was there in all that vast assembly, or indeed throughout England, that did not love him?—but he bore the strain splendidly and all was well. The glories of the Coronation have been described by abler pens than mine; with them I dare not compete. Great as Westminster Abbey is, full of immemorial traditions, it can never have looked more splendid than it did on that day when Princes, Peers and Commoners, subjects from lands lying far away across the seas, were all gathered together to acclaim their King. Never before in the history of man had such a world’s gathering been brought under one roof. And when we listened to the salvoes of artillery, and remembered that eight thousand miles beneath our feet the booming of the cannon was thundering out the joy of men in the Antipodes who were fellow-subjects with us, we felt the power of which that royal figure on the throne was the symbol. One touching episode will never be forgotten. When the venerable Archbishop of Canterbury did homage, he was weak and tired and failed by himself to rise. The King leant forward and, grasping the old man’s hand, which had anointed him, bore it to his lips, and helped him to stand upright. It was a kingly act performed with all the grace and dignity of which our Lord the King had the secret. Not even the kiss when he greeted the Prince of Wales with all the tenderness to which the present King testified when he said: “I have lost not only a Father’s love but the affectionate and intimate relations of a dear friend and adviser,” could create greater emotion than this spontaneous tribute of respect to the brave old prelate, who a few weeks later, a slave to duty, made his last heroic effort in the House of Lords—broke down—and was taken home never to come forth again. * * * * *