for the organ to play; the vitreous roof vibrates as the sounds fly
along the transparent aisles; and we had musical glasses on a large
scale. It would require the pen of our favorite Christopher North to
describe the magnificent scene when the queen ascended the throne,
surrounded by all the elegance and nobility of her kingdom. Her husband
reads an address; she replies; the venerable archbishop dedicates the
Temple of Industry. The queen declares the palace opened, and the
procession is formed to walk through its aisles. No small task this; but
then thirty thousand persons are waiting to gaze on the queen and her
court. A ludicrous sight it was to see two of England's proudest peers
walking backward before the queen. The Marquis of Westminster and Earl
of Breadalbane performed this feat, and glad enough must they have been
when they received their dismission. The heralds, some twelve or
fourteen, in black velvet, looked finely. The queen walked like a queen,
and bore herself nobly and womanly. She is a small figure, fair face,
light hair, large, full, blue eyes, plump cheek, and remarkably fine
neck and bust. She leaned upon her husband's right arm, holding in her
hand the Prince of Wales, while Prince Albert led the princess royal. I
was sadly disappointed in the appearance of the Prince of Wales. He is
altogether a feeble-looking child, and cannot have much mental force.
The princess is a fine, energetic-looking girl. We stood within a yard
of the royal party as it passed bowing along. Then came the members of
the royal family; and then visitors from Prussia and Holland; the ladies
and gentlemen of the queen's household; the cabinet ministers; the
foreign ministers; the archbishop in his robe, and the members of the
royal commission; the lord mayor of London, and the aldermen. There,
too, was Paxton, the architect of this great wonder. It was his day of
triumph, and every one seemed to be glad for his fortune. All these were
in gorgeous court dresses. I have seen all sorts and kinds of show, but
never did I witness such a spectacle as was this day afforded to the
congress of the world. The Duke of Wellington, and his companion in
arms, the Marquis of Anglesea, walked arm in arm, "par nobilis fratrum."
It was Wellington's birthday. He is eighty-two, and Anglesea eighty-one.
The Marquis walks well for a man of his age, and who has to avail
himself of an artificial leg. They were most enthusiastically cheered in
all part