LET us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in Westminster Abbey,

at four o'clock in the morning of this memorable Coronation Day. We are not

Without company; for although it is still night, we find the torch-lighted

Galleries already filling up with people who are well content to sit still and

Wait seven or eight hours till the time shall come for them to see what they

May not hope to see twice in their lives — the coronation of a king. Yes,

London and Westminster have been astir ever since the warning guns boomed

at three o'clock, and already crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the

Privilege of trying to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the

Entrances reserved for their sort.

The hours drag along, tediously enough. All stir has ceased for some time, for

Every gallery has long ago been packed. We may sit now, and look and think

At our leisure. We have glimpses here and there and yonder, through the dim

Cathedral twilight, of portions of many galleries and balconies, wedged full

With people, the other portions of these galleries and balconies being cut off

From sight by intervening pillars and architectural projections. We have in

View the whole of the great north transept — empty, and waiting for

England's privileged ones. We see also the ample area or platform, carpeted