on July 19, 1821, and the whole
ceremony was got up in the most costly, the most gorgeous, and, as it
would seem now {10} to a calm and critical reader of history, in the
most theatrical style. The poor Queen did, indeed, make an attempt to
take the place which she claimed in the performances at Westminster
Abbey. "It was natural," says Miss Martineau, "that one so long an
outcast and at length borne back into social life by the sympathies of
a nation should expect too much from these sympathies and fail to stop
at the right point in her demands." Miss Martineau adds, however, and
her words will carry with them the feelings of every reader now, "It
would have been well if the Queen had retired into silence after the
grant of her annuity and the final refusal to insert her name in the
Liturgy." The Queen, of course, failed to obtain an entrance to
Westminster Abbey. It had been arranged by orders of the King that no
one was to be allowed admission, even to look on at the ceremonial,
without a ticket officially issued and properly accredited with the
name of the bearer. The Queen, therefore, was allowed to pass through
the crowded streets, but when she came to the doors of the Abbey the
soldiers on guard asked for her ticket of admission, and of course she
had none to present. Some of the friends who accompanied her
indignantly asked the soldiers whether they did not recognize their
Queen, the Queen of England; but the officers in command replied that
their orders were strict, and the unhappy Caroline Amelia was literally
turned away from the Abbey door. The King had accomplished his object.

[Sidenote: 1821--Death of Queen Caroline]

The poor woman's story comes to an end very soon. On August 2, only a
few days after the Coronation, it was made known to the public that the
Queen was seriously ill. She was suffering, it appears, from internal
inflammation, and the anxieties, the excitements, the heart burnings,
the various agonies of emotion she had lately been undergoing must have
left her poorly prepared. On August 7 her condition became so alarming
to those around her that it was thought right to warn her of her
danger. She quietly said that she had no wish to live, that she hoped
not to suffer much bodily pain in dying, but that she could leave life
without the least regret. She {11} died that day, having lived more
than fifty-two years. It was her singular fate, however, that even in
her death, which