We next see Henry IV. and Henry V. successively installed on the Stone of Scone; and then comes Henry VI., a child of nine, "beholding all the people about sadly and wisely;" his queen, Margaret of Anjou, was crowned here fourteen years afterwards. The coronation of Edward IV.

presents no particular feature of interest. For that of Edward V. all was ready, robes for the guests, provisions for the banquet. But the Tower beheld the "midnight murder" of the only English monarch who never wore the crown. Then with splendid ceremonial Richard III. tried to cover the defects of his t.i.tle. Six thousand gentlemen rode with him to Westminster Hall on June 26th, 1483, and a few days afterwards there was a very grand procession to the Abbey, when Richard and his wife were anointed King and Queen of England. Amongst the Queen's train was Margaret of Richmond, little dreaming that within three years her son should be crowned here as Henry VII. But this monarch's real coronation had already taken place, when the crown of England was found in the hawthorn bush on Bosworth Field, and placed on Richmond's head by Lord Stanley. The public ceremonial was only a poor display. Not so the next event of this character, when Henry VIII. and Catherine of Arragon were crowned with great splendour, and when for the last time a Roman Catholic Archbishop performed the ceremony. Anne Boleyn's coronation (commemorated by Shakespeare) was a noticeable one, and Cranmer, fresh from sentencing Catherine, performed the ceremony.

Edward VI. came to the Abbey, now a Cathedral, amidst much curious pageantry, and for the first time a Bible was presented to the sovereign.... Mary's procession to the Abbey is signalised by the exploits of a Dutchman, who sat astride on the weatherc.o.c.k of St. Paul's five hundred feet in the air, as the Queen pa.s.sed. The two Archbishops and the Bishop of London were all in the Tower, so Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, put the crown on Mary's head. On Jan. 14th, 1559, London was wild with joy, as Elizabeth pa.s.sed from the Tower to the Abbey. The women flung flowers into her lap, groups of children sang welcomes, even old men wept for gladness. The Bishop of Carlisle crowned the Queen.

James I. was crowned in the time of the Plague, so there was no procession. There was a slight hitch because his wife refused the sacrament. She had "changed once from Lutheran to Presbyterian, and that was enough." The coronation of Charles I. was marked by a slight earthquake shock. This was not the only bad omen. The dove of gold on the staff of Edward the Confessor had been broken, none knew how, and had to be replaced. Oliver Cromwell did not venture on a ceremony in the Abbey; he was enthroned, as I have already said, in Westminster Hall.

At the Restoration, Charles II. was crowned "with the greatest solemnity and glory," as the old historian says. The Regalia was all new, to replace that which had been lost during the Commonwealth. The crown was placed on the king's head by the weak and aged Archbishop Juxon, who had attended Charles I. on the scaffold. At the coronation of James II., a hundred thousand pounds were spent over the Queen's robes and jewels, and the procession was omitted to save expense, much to the wrath of the Londoners. As the crown was placed on James's head, it tottered and would have fallen, but for the Keeper of the Robes, who held it up.

The next coronation, that of William and Mary, was delayed two hours by the receipt of the news that James II. had just landed in Ireland. The Queen, being very short, had to be lifted into the chair of state. When girt with the sword and invested with crown and sceptre, the Princess Anne, who stood near her, said, "Madame, I pity your fatigue." The Queen sharply replied, "A crown, sister, is not so heavy as it seems." When the King came to make the usual offering, he found he had no money with him, and had to borrow twenty guineas from a n.o.bleman. Anne was suffering from gout when her turn came to be crowned, and she had to be carried to the Abbey. Sarah, d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough, acted as Lord High Chamberlain. At the coronation of George I., the king knew no English and his ministers knew no German, but they all knew Latin imperfectly, and everything had to be explained to the monarch in that language. The crowning of George II. presents no particular feature of interest; that of George III. was a splendid show, and was marked by a curious incident. Amongst the witnesses was Prince Charles Edward, the Young Pretender, who had been staying in London under the name of Mr. Brown, and had managed to procure admission to the scene of his rival's triumph. George the Fourth's coronation was a splendid ceremony; but the portly monarch found it very exhausting, and whilst the peers were doing homage in succession, he used up pocket-handkerchiefs innumerable in wiping his streaming face, handing them when done with to the Archbishop of Canterbury. His unfortunate Queen, Caroline, had vainly tried to be present at the ceremony, but was repulsed at each of the doors she attempted to enter, and had to drive away discomfited. William IV., to please the political reformers of the period, wanted to dispense with a coronation altogether, and the procession and banquet _were_ omitted.

Our present gracious Queen was crowned in the Abbey, in the flower of her youth, in June, 1838, and the ancient building was crowded with all that was eminent in the land as the crown was placed upon the girlish head of the ill.u.s.trious lady who for nearly half a century has worn it so faithfully and so well.

THE LITTLE FLOWERS' WISH.

Some daisies grew in a green piece of turf just outside the palings of a garden. The gra.s.s all round them was soft and fine; they had plenty of room to grow in, and they were near enough to the road to see all that went by. Would you not have thought they were contented?

Little yellow b.u.t.terflies came and told them stories, little shadowy clouds went scampering over the gra.s.s-plot, the pleasant warm sun shone down on their little round faces. And yet they were unhappy with all this.

Through a crack in the palings they had seen into the garden, and it made them all long to be there. Flowers of different kinds grew happily in the garden-beds. Some of them had sticks to lean against and some were trained against the wall.

"Oh, what care is taken of them!" thought the foolish little daisies.

Every day the gardener came and watered these choice flowers. And a stately lady paced the garden walks, and noticed if the flowers grew or faded.

"Oh, if only we could get into the garden!" sighed the daisies, ruffling all their little leaves; "oh, how much happier we should be if we were only growing in there!"

Just then there came running out of the garden a little child with golden hair. Whether he heard what the daisies said I do not know, but it almost seemed as if he did.

"Come along, little flowers," he cried, "would you like to come and live in the garden? See, I will plant you in nicely."

With his soft baby hands he plucked the little daisies from their stalks, sped back with them through the garden gate, and commenced to plant them in the earth. First he made a little hole for each of them in the soft brown mould, then put the rootless flowers in and pressed the earth round tightly.

"It is cold, it is cold," said the daisies.

"I shall have a nice little garden of my own now," said the child, and he ran away contented to his play.

Next day little Harold came to see his garden, and he burst into tears, for the poor little daisies were dead.

And other daisies grew in the gra.s.s-plot outside, and the b.u.t.terflies told tales to them as of old.

THE EDITOR'S POCKET-BOOK.

JOTTINGS AND PENCILLINGS. HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The Wounded Cat and the Doctor.

Colonel Stuart Wortley says that when he entered the Malakoff, so famous in the Crimean war, he found a cat whose paw had been pinned to the ground by a bayonet that had fallen upon it. He released the poor thing, and took her for two mornings to the doctor to have her foot dressed.

The next day he was absent on duty before daybreak, and puss went herself to the doctor's, scratched the tent to be admitted, and when she was let in, held up her foot to be attended to. This cat was very grateful to the colonel, for she followed him about the camp till the close of the war.

A Remarkable Bell.

In the temples at Kyoto, j.a.pan, is a great bell, which swings in a huge wooden tower. The bell is a large bronze cup, with nearly perpendicular sides and a flat crown; and is sounded by bringing a big beam against the rim. It needs twelve natives to ring it. It used to be rung once a year, but it may now be heard twice or thrice a month. It is 18 feet high, 9-1/2 inches thick, 9 feet in diameter, and weighs almost 74 tons.

It was cast in 1633, rim upwards; and the gold that entered into its composition is estimated at about 1,500 pounds. The tone of the bell is described as magnificent, and when struck with the open hand, the vibration may be heard a hundred yards off.

About the Mina Bird.

A lady in India sends me some interesting notes about a mina bird which she obtained possession of while travelling in the Presidency of Madras.

These birds talk better even than parrots, and this one soon displayed his cleverness. On the day after his arrival he began to make such a noise that it was thought he was hungry, and the _ayah_, or nurse, was told to feed him. He was then heard to say "Mina wants his dinner."

After he had had some food he said "Mina wants clean water." He calls out "Ayah" and "Boy," so naturally that at first the servants thought it was their master calling them. One day he created some amus.e.m.e.nt by crying out "Mina wants his breakfast dinner." It appeared he had already had some bread and milk, and being doubtful as to which meal he ought to ask for, gave an order comprehensive enough to include both meals, so as to make sure of one. He is dainty, and will eat only particular food.

One day his curry and rice contained plenty of rice but not much curry, whereupon his dissatisfaction was promptly evinced by a shout of "No curry." He gave evidence of soon becoming an excellent linguist, and had acquired a knowledge of some of the native tongues.

An Historical Cocoa-Plant.

In a greenhouse belonging to the Royal Botanic Society there is a cocoa-plant which has achieved greatness, for it has actually borne fruit, and is, according to Professor Bentley, the first that has done so in England. The fruit gave evidence of reaching maturity and of ripening its seeds. Linnaeus called cocoa "Theobroma," by which he meant to imply that it was food for the G.o.ds, but Belzoni, writing in the sixteenth century, regarded it as fitter for pigs than for men. Readers will be able to decide this knotty point for themselves, despite the proverbial difficulty of deciding when doctors disagree. Sixty years ago the annual consumption of cocoa amounted to only a quarter of a million pounds, but now it has reached a total of probably not less than twelve millions of pounds.

The International Health Exhibition.

The great Health Show which was opened in May has already proved itself to be the most prominent feature of the London summer season. It embraces a display of everything even remotely connected with Health, and a more interesting and attractive collection it would be impossible to form. Appealing, as it does, to the taste of all ages, its variety is certainly charming. Nor is it without its educational value, as the "bits" of Old London, the historical costumes, and the trades in operation, abundantly testify. And not the least pleasing circ.u.mstance is that those very exhibits which are of an instructive character are the most popular. One sees in different ways that the experience gained by the Fisheries Exhibition of last year has been of immense service to the promoters of the Health Exhibition. The grounds have been decorated and illuminated by night so successfully that the Horticultural Gardens have been transformed into fairyland itself. The lakes and terrace picked out in many-coloured lamps, the lawns festooned with Chinese lanterns, the dazzling brilliancy of the electric light that lords it supreme overhead, the strains of the military bands, all combine to render the grounds of the exhibition the favourite open-air resort of Londoners and visitors during the warm summer nights.

Famous Old London Buildings.

The most novel feature of the exhibition is a street in which have been constructed imitations of several of the most celebrated buildings in Old London. Each has been carefully reproduced from engravings and drawings in Mr. Gardner's priceless collection. The street begins with an excellent imitation of Bishopsgate, one of the City gates, with moss-grown walls, and statues of Bishop William the Norman, and of Alfred the Great and Aldred. On one side of the street will be found such quaint and picturesque buildings as the "Rose" Inn and "c.o.c.k"

Tavern, the "Three Squirrels," Izaak Walton's House, and All Hallows'

Church, Staining; on the other side will be seen, among others, d.i.c.k Whittington's House and the Hall of the Holy Trinity Guild in Aldersgate. The street ultimately narrows into Elbow Lane, in which will be observed a number of historical places, such as Gunpowder Plot House, where Guy Fawkes and his fellows concocted their detestable plot; and the curious houses at Pye Corner--which are ill.u.s.trated on the opposite page--where the Great Fire of London ceased its ravages. The street runs down to London Wall. The ground floor of the houses is occupied by shops, in which the different trades of the old City Guilds are carried on. Perhaps the only thing that spoils the illusion--apart from the unavoidably modern crowds of sightseers--is that the interiors of the houses are connected by a gallery that runs from one end of the street to the other, so that you may enter the "Rose" Inn and come out at All Hallows' Church, or _vice versa_.

Model Dairies.

In the South Gallery will be noticed a number of Model Dairies, which are well worth a visit. Here little folk will see how the trade has been revolutionised, and how in such matters even as milk and b.u.t.ter machinery has to a very large extent replaced hand labour. These dairies are beautifully clean, and the effect is in one case decidedly improved by the introduction of a few stalls occupied by some pretty cows and a little calf, some ewes and two kids, and some queer-looking Zulu sheep, all of which excite much admiration.

Trades in Operation.

The West Gallery is one of the most popular and instructive in the Exhibition. Here a variety of trades are in full operation, in which it is possible to trace an article from the raw to the finished state. In one stand, for instance, may be seen the whole process of mustard-making. The seed may be viewed in the _pulveriser_, then in the _crusher_, then in the _sieve_, and then being done up in packets of various sizes for sale. The making of jam also affords much entertainment to onlookers. Doubtless the nature of the trade will account for the large crowds who surround the stand where Messrs.

Allen's industrious workmen turn out lozenges, and almonds, and chocolate in enormous quant.i.ties. Their machines are busy from morn till night. Where all the operations are interesting it is difficult to specify any in particular; but, perhaps, the process of preparing, cutting out, and printing lozenges is as worthy of special attention as any. Elsewhere the mysteries of meat-cutting machines may be solved, and the processes of aerated water making and of soap-making studied with profit. These are but types of the busy life of the West Gallery, which resounds with the clang of machinery in motion, and the hum of hundreds of voices of amused spectators.