You are once more standing outside Whitehall. It is the thirteenth day of February, in the year of grace 1689. All London is agog with excitement. Trumpets sound and kettledrums roll as the Garter King of Arms in tabard and plumed hat rides up to the gates, followed by officials carrying the maces of the two Houses of Parliament, the Lord Chancellor and the Speaker, the chief officers of state, and a long train of coaches filled with noblemen and gentlemen. Then in loud, clear tones he proclaims the Prince and Princess of Orange King and Queen of England, and charges all Englishmen to bear, from that moment, true allegiance to the new sovereigns. He concludes by praying that God, who has already wrought a signal deliverance for Church and nation, will bless William and Mary with a long and happy reign. Loud cheers break forth, and the procession re-forms and winds its way along the Strand to Temple Bar. The streets, the balconies, the very housetops are crowded with gazers, and all the steeples from the Abbey to the Tower ring out a joyous peal. The proclamation is repeated at Temple Bar and in front of the Royal Exchange, amidst the shouts of citizens and the din of trumpets. In the evening every window from Whitechapel to Piccadilly is illuminated. The state rooms of the palace are thrown open, and are filled with a brilliant company of courtiers eager to see and to do homage to their new sovereigns. The features of the Prince of Orange are familiar to them from his portraits, but now for the first time most of them see him in the flesh. They cannot fail to note, even in this scene of gaiety, his cold, reserved manner and his lack of kingly grace. The new queen, however, charms all beholders. She is beautiful, winning, and gracious, with a good heart, an excellent disposition, and an affection for her sullen husband which nothing can daunt. It is clear from the first that Mary’s popularity will be great, and that William, though he may be respected, will never be loved by his new subjects.