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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 other 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 with rich stuffs, whereon the
throne stands. The throne occupies the centre of the platform, and is
raised above it upon an elevation of four steps. Within the seat of the
throne is enclosed a rough flat rock--the stone of Scone--which many
generations of Scottish kings sat on to be crowned, and so it in time
became holy enough to answer a like purpose for English monarchs. Both
the throne and its footstool are covered with cloth of gold.
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