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.