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<h2>Letter 15.</h2> London. Dear Charley:— I know how curious you are to hear all about the royal exhibition, so I shall do my best to give you such an account of our visits to it as may enable you to get a bird's eye view of the affair. Almost as soon as I arrived, I determined upon securing season tickets for the boys, in order that they might not only see the pageant of the opening on the 1st of May, but also have frequent opportunities to attend the building and study its contents before the reduced prices should so crowd the palace as to render examination and study nearly impracticable. However, there came a report through all the daily papers that the queen had abandoned the idea of going in person to inaugurate the exhibition, and the sale of tickets flagged, and it was thought prices would be reduced below the three guineas, which had been the rate. I left London for a few days without purchasing, and on my return I called for four season tickets, when, to my surprise, I was told that, just an hour before, orders had been given from the board to raise them to four guineas. I at once purchased them, although I regarded the matter as an imposition. A few days after, Prince Albert revoked the action of the board, and orders were issued to refund the extra guinea to all who had purchased at the advanced price. This was easily ascertained by reference to the number on the ticket, and registered at purchase with the autograph of the proprietor. Of course, we saved our four guineas. For several days before the 1st of May all London, I may say all England, and almost all the world was on tiptoe. Every man, woman, and child talked of "the Crystal Palace, the great exhibition, the queen, and prince Albert." For a week or two there had been a succession of cold rain storms. Winter had lingered in the lap of April. Men were looking at the 1st of May with gloomy anticipations of hail, rain, snow, and sleet. Barometers were in demand. The 30th of April gave a hail storm! The 1st of May arrives,—the day,—and lo! <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Heaven is clear, And all the clouds are gone." </div> </div> It was as though the windows of heaven were opened to let the glory from above stream through and bless Industry's children, who are about to celebrate their jubilee. The queen, it is said, has a charm as regards the weather. I heard many exclaim, "It is the queen's weather; it is always her luck." Such a sight as that day afforded was never before witnessed, and such a spectacle will probably never again be gazed upon. The streets were thronged early. Every westward artery of the great city pulsated with the living tide that flowed through it. From the far east, where the docks border the Thames, came multitudes, though not exactly stars in the hemisphere of fashion. Ladies in the aristocratic precincts of Belgravia rose at an early hour, and, for once, followed the queen's good, every-day example. The lawyers rushed from Lincoln's and Gray's Inns of Court. The Royal Exchange was so dull at ten o'clock that the very grasshopper on its vane might have been surprised. Holborn was crammed at when in olden time people pressed, and struggled, and strove to see Jack Sheppard, Joshua Wild, Dick Turpin, or any such worthies on their sad way to Tyburn. But it is no gibbet now allures the morbid multitude. They are gayly, gently, and gladly travelling to the home of industry. Among all the pleasant sights that every moment delighted us none were more pleasant than the happy family groups, who, on every side, "push along, keep moving." Just see that mechanic; he looks as proud as a lord,—and why shouldn't he be?—with his wife leaning trustingly, lovingly on his arm. He, good man, has thrown away the saw, or plane, or any other tool of handicraft, and now his little boy—O, the delight, the wonder in that boy's face!—is willingly dragged along. Well, on we go,—driving across what you would call impassable streets, and lo! we are wedged up in a crowd,—and such a crowd,—a crowd of all nations. At length we reach the palace gates; and there, who can tell the press and strife for entrance. Long and nobly did the police struggle and resist, but at length the outward pressure was omnipotent, and the full tide of lucky ones with season tickets gained, entrance into, not the palace, but the enclosure. Then came order,—breathing space,—tickets were examined, and places assigned on cards, given as we entered into the palace itself. We all obtained good positions—very good ones. This was at eleven o'clock. At about a quarter to twelve, one standing near to us remarked, "She will be to her time; she always is." And he was right; for scarcely had he prophesied before a prolonged shouting told that the queen was coming. "Plumes in the light wind dancing" were the outward and visible signs of the Life Guards, who came gently trotting up. Then came four carriages,—the coachmen and footmen of which were so disguised with gold lace, and wigs, and hair powder, that their mothers wouldn't have known them,—and then the queen—not robed and tricked out like the queens in children's story books, so dreadful as to resemble thunderbolts in petticoats; not hooped, and furbelowed, and stomachered, and embroidered all over, as was Elizabeth; nor with a cap, like Mary, Queen of Scots; not with eight horses prancing before the queen's carriage, but in her private carriage, drawn by two horses. Off went all hats. I wish you could have heard the cheering as the queen entered the wondrous building. O, it was like "the voice of many waters." Such deep, prolonged, hearty cheering I never, heard. As Victoria entered, up went the standard of England, and never before did its folds wave over such a scene. The entrance of majesty was the signal 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 parts of the house. In the diplomatic corps there was great splendor of costume, but no man carried himself more stately than did Mr. Lawrence, whose fine, manly figure admirably becomes a court dress. I do not think that I ever saw a collection of ladies so plain and homely as the court ladies of Queen Victoria, who walked behind her in procession. The Duchess of Sutherland has been renowned for her majestic beauty; but she is passe, and her friends are, I think, matchless for entire destitution of personal charms. But there was enough present to atone for the want of this in the royal circle. Some of the most exquisite faces I ever saw were there in those galleries, and forms of beauty that can hardly be surpassed. I was much surprised at noticing in the vast crowd, known to be about thirty thousand, that there were so few lads. I do not believe there were more than ten or fifteen in the palace; and, as we have already said, the absence of lads is owing to their all being at boarding-schools. Our boys, you may well suppose, are greatly pleased with having witnessed the greatest pageant of the age, and one that can never be surpassed. We shall soon be at the exhibition again, and apply ourselves to a careful survey of its interesting contents. Yours affectionately, j.o.c. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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