bbles. The tradition is not yet extinct in
Europe. Any of you who were present, as myriads were, at that splendid
pageant, the opening of our Crystal Palace in London, must have seen two
noble lords, great officers of the household, with ancient pedigrees, with
embroidered coats, and stars on their breasts and wands in their hands,
walking backwards for near the space of a mile, while the royal procession
made its progress. Shall we wonder--shall we be angry--shall we laugh at
these old-world ceremonies? View them as you will, according to your mood;
and with scorn or with respect, or with anger and sorrow, as your temper
leads you. Up goes Gesler's hat upon the pole. Salute that symbol of
sovereignty with heartfelt awe; or with a sulky shrug of acquiescence, or
with a grinning obeisance; or with a stout rebellious No--clap your own
beaver down on your pate, and refuse to doff it, to that spangled velvet
and flaunting feather. I make no comment upon the spectators' behaviour;
all I say is, that Gesler's cap is still up in the market-place of Europe,
and not a few folks are still kneeling to it.

Put clumsy, High Dutch statues in place of the marbles of Versailles:
fancy Herrenhausen waterworks in place of those of Marly: spread the
tables with _Schweinskopf_, _Specksuppe_, _Leberkuchen_, and the like
delicacies, in place of the French _cuisine_; and fancy Frau von
Kielmansegge dancing with Count Kammerjunker Quirini, or singing French
songs with the most awful German accent: imagine a coarse Versailles, and
we have a Hanover before us. "I am now got into the region of beauty,"
writes Mary Wortley, from Hanover in 1716; "all the women have literally
rosy cheeks, snowy foreheads and necks, jet eyebrows, to which may
generally be added coal-black hair. These perfections never leave them to
the day of their death, and have a very fine effect by candlelight; but I
could wish they were handsome with a little variety. They resemble one
another as Mrs. Salmon's Court of Great Britain, and are in as much danger
of melting away by too nearly approaching the fire." The sly Mary Wortley
saw this painted seraglio of the first George at Hanover, the year after
his accession to the British throne. There were great doings and feasts
there. Here Lady Mary saw George II too. "I can tell you, without flattery
or partiality," she says, "that our young prince has all the
accomplishments that it is possible to have at his age, with an air of