At an early stage in the proceedings the police decided to close the great bridges connecting the north of London with the south. London Bridge was closed at midnight on Jubilee Eve, the other bridges were closed a few hours later, the idea being to prevent a possible great and dangerous rush from north to south of the Thames to view the procession both on the Middlesex and Surrey sides.

To make assurance doubly sure several rehearsals of the great Service at St. Paul’s, and the business of taking up and setting down at Buckingham Palace were held; and so complete were these rehearsals, that every item of the procession was fully represented, mounted grooms taking the places of the princes and equerries who were to ride on horseback in the procession. In the final rehearsals many of those who were destined to high places in the procession were present, and there was a large demand for seats to view in St. Paul’s Churchyard.

So that the day might be one of universal rejoicing all over the country, it had been declared, on March 18, a public holiday by Her Majesty in the following proclamation:—“Victoria, R.—We, considering that it is desirable that Tuesday, the twenty-second day of June next, should be observed as a Bank Holiday throughout the United Kingdom, do hereby, by and with the advice of Our Privy Council, and in pursuance of the provisions of ‘The Bank Holidays Act, 1871,’ appoint Tuesday, the twenty-second day of June next, as a special day to be observed as a Bank Holiday throughout the United Kingdom, and every part thereof, and we do by this Our Royal Proclamation command the said day to be so observed, and all Our loving subjects to order themselves accordingly.”

The actual celebrations may be said to have commenced on Sunday, June 20. |Thanksgiving Services.| This, being Accession Day, was marked by a universal service of thanksgiving throughout the Empire, in addition to the four Special Services, which must ever be memorable in British history: the Royal Service at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, the great National Service at St. Paul’s, and the Services at Westminster Abbey and St. Margaret’s, Westminster, at which the Peers and Commons were present.

The Service at Windsor was of the simplest description. The Queen drove from the Victoria Tower at 11 o’clock to the entrance to the Dean’s Cloister. Thence she was taken in a wheel-chair to the north-east door of the Chapel. She entered the north door of the Choir leaning on the arm of an Indian attendant. The Queen’s chair was placed on the broad step at the foot of the beautiful altar, which she faced throughout the impressive Service. Besides members of the Royal family and suites, there were but few privileged visitors. The Service was arranged and conducted by Dean Eliot, and it began with the hymn, “Now thank we all our God.” The Te Deum was sung according to a very striking setting composed by the late Prince Consort, one which is not often used, but which was given on this occasion by special command of Her Majesty. The Service concluded with “God Save the Queen,” sung by the choir and congregation. The very simplicity of the scene was its impressiveness. It required a great effort of the imagination to fully comprehend it all—that the little old lady sitting there in quiet black before the altar was she who, sixty years ago, was awakened from her sleep in Kensington Palace to wear the crown of a world-wide Empire.

On Monday, June 21, the Queen travelled up to London from Windsor. |The Queen arrives.| At half-past twelve the Royal train glided gently into Paddington Station with the Royal Standard proudly waving at the front of the engine, and the Royal coat of arms on either side.

Extraordinary arrangements had been made to secure Her Majesty’s comfort and safety, and had there been an accident it would not have been due to the absence of competent officers, for besides the Royal party the train contained the head and front of the Great Western Railway, from the Chairman, Viscount Emlyn, and the Directors downward.

The Queen was dressed in black except for the white egret plumes in her bonnet, and it was noticeable that, notwithstanding her great age, she seemed in the best of health and spirits, and fully equal to the strain of the morrow.

A halt was made while Marylebone’s loyal address was presented, and then the Queen moved on to Buckingham Palace amid the delighted shouts of her subjects who lined the whole route. It was a brilliant morning and a brilliant reception—a foretaste of the morrow. While the crowds of sightseers spent the rest of the day in wandering through the gaily-bedecked streets, Buckingham Palace was the scene of receptions, banqueting, and rejoicing.

During the day the Queen graciously accepted a sunshade which was presented to her by Mr. Villiers, the doyen of the House of Commons. It was entirely covered with costly flounces of the finest black Chantilly lace; it was mounted upon an ebony stick, with gold top, and a knob handle of gun-metal set with Her Majesty’s cypher and V.R.I, in diamonds, and had a suitable inscription in gold letters inlaid round the handle, thus:—“Presented to Her Majesty on the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee, by her oldest Parliamentary member, C. Villiers.”

At nightfall, an inhabitant of London who had known it in more prosaic times might well have been pardoned for thinking the whole Nation were mad and had turned the Metropolis into Bedlam. Vast armies of excited people invaded the streets and, in spite of the fatigues that must have been endured, comported themselves most admirably. There was little prospect of their getting home. But no one cared. Why should they? They had come to see the Jubilee, some of them from the uttermost ends of the earth, and see the Jubilee they would, though they spent the night in the streets—and thousands of them did so spend the night. |Night in the Streets.| Some possibly had been unable to secure sleeping accommodation, others evidently thought it scarcely worth while to return to distant suburbs when it would be necessary for them to be up and doing early the next morning. As the short night broke into day clusters of people were seen grouped round the base of the Arch, on Constitution Hill, at Hyde Park Corner, and in Trafalgar Square. Hundreds took their stand on the kerb all along the route, and waited patiently. If they had but known it these loyal souls might have saved themselves so much trouble—for if there was one thing about Jubilee Day more remarkable than another, it was the complete absence of undue crowding in the streets. Those who strolled down to Piccadilly, St. James’s Street, Fleet Street, or the Strand two or three hours before the Procession started, were as well able to witness the most impressive pageant that London has ever seen as those whose eagerness led them to take up their positions four or five hours earlier. The route was long, and the spectators, except at points of convergence like Hyde Park Corner and Ludgate Circus, well distributed throughout its entire length, while many hundreds of thousands were accommodated in the houses; but this only partially explains the complete immunity from uncomfortable crushing enjoyed by those who lined the streets. The fact is, that a very large number of Londoners fearing the crowd, and apprehensive perhaps of extreme fatigue and even of actual danger, migrated from the Metropolis and spent the day in the country or at the seaside. It is beyond doubt, moreover, that London crowds grow more orderly and manageable year by year.

CHAPTER II.

The Weather—A brilliant day for a brilliant pageant—The Queen’s Message to her people—The Colonial Procession—The Royal Procession—Loyal enthusiasm—The Queen’s reception at the City boundary—The Service at the steps of St. Paul’s—The halt at the Mansion House—In the Borough—Return to the Palace—Presents to the Queen—Congratulations from abroad—The Royal Dinner.

THE weather in the week before Jubilee week had been broken and stormy. The most sanguine feared that “Queen’s Weather” was not to be looked for on the most momentous day in the great little lady’s life. As a matter of fact, the sky on the morning of June 22 was dull and overcast; and it was not until the scarlet coats of the soldiers lined each side of the roadway along the seven-mile route with warm colour that the expectant, buzzing multitude gave itself up to an unqualified enjoyment of the day. But the very elements conspired to add splendour to the great festival of the Queen. It is a curious circumstance that at “the very moment when the head of the Queen’s Procession came through the archway into the courtyard of Buckingham Palace the sun, which until then had been waiting its opportunity behind the clouds, tried an experimental shine. At a quarter-past eleven precisely, at the very moment when the first gun of the Royal Salute boomed out in Hyde Park to announce that Her Majesty herself was leaving the Palace, the experiment developed into an achievement. The light haze that had hung in the air seemed instantaneously to melt away, and the sunshine burst out bright and clear over the jubilant city. It seemed as though the sunshine was one of the prearranged items of the programme, and had been carried out with the absolute punctuality which marked the carrying out of all the arrangements.”

Before leaving Buckingham Palace, the Queen gave the signal for the transmission to all parts of the Empire of that gracious message which is now engraven on the hearts of her people. |The Queen’s Message to her people.| A private telegraph wire had been erected between the Palace and the Central Telegraph Office. Her Majesty touched a button attached to a small telegraphic instrument in connection with this wire, thereby giving the signal to the officials at the Telegraph Office; and before the Royal carriage had passed through the Palace gates, the royal message was being flashed along ten thousand thousand miles of wire to the farthest outposts of British civilization. Characteristic alike of the monarch and of her people were the simple words:—

Several replies from distant Colonies were found awaiting Her Majesty when she returned to her Palace. Thus the witchcraft of science added another touch of splendour to these unique festivities.

Soon after nine o’clock the first part of the Procession left Buckingham Palace. It consisted of the Colonial contingent, headed by Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, V.C., support­ing a Field-Marshal’s bâton on his right thigh, and mounted on a grey pony. All along the route the gallant soldier was greeted with mighty cheers, and it was universally thought that the choice of so popular a General to command the Colonial troops while they were in this country was a singularly felicitous one. |The Colonial Procession.| Immediately behind the Field-Marshal rode the Canadian Hussars, 2nd Canadian Dragoons, and the Mounted Police—a magnificent group of men, who excited universal admiration—preceding the carriage of the Premier of Canada, the Right Hon. Sir Wilfrid Laurier. This gentleman was received with thunders of applause by the spectators, as were the other Colonial Premiers; and if anything were needed to convince our illustrious visitors that the heart of the old country is warm for her children, their welcome on this day of days amply fulfilled the need. Then came the New South Wales Mounted Rifles, the New South Wales Lancers, and the Victorian Mounted Rifles—superb horsemen these, and singularly effective-looking in their slouch hats fastened up at the side and khaki uniforms—and after them the carriage in which rode the Premiers of New South Wales and Victoria. But it is impossible to give an account of each group. The actual spectators of the beautiful Colonial procession could but feast their eyes on each body of splendid warriors as it passed, and cherish a vain wish that the pageant might be repeated again and again until every individual horseman and foot-soldier had received a due meed of admiration. Only too quickly came into view and passed away New Zealand mounted troops—among them a few giant Maoris——Queensland Mounted Rifles, riflemen from the Cape and South Australian Lancers, Natal Carabiniers and Umvoti, Natal and Border Mounted Rifles, and then troops from the Crown Colonies; Trinidad Mounted Rifles, and Zaptiehs from Cyprus; “upstanding Sikhs, tiny little Malays and Dyaks; Chinese with a white basin turned upside down on their heads; grinning Hausas, so dead black that they shone like silver in the sun—white men, yellow men, brown men, black men, every colour, every continent, every race, every speech—and all in arms for the British Empire and the British Queen.” After the Cypriotes came a handful of the Rhodesian Horse, headed by the Hon. Maurice Gifford, carrying one pathetic empty sleeve across his breast—a group that evoked almost frantic cheering. “Up they came, more and more,” says Mr. G. W. Steevens, in the Daily Mail of June 23, “new types, new realms at every couple of yards, an anthropological museum—a living gazetteer of the British Empire. With them came their English officers, whom they obey and follow like children. And you began to understand, as never before, what the Empire amounts to. Not only that we possess all these remote outlandish places, and can bring men from every end of the earth to join us in honouring our Queen, but also that all these people are working, not simply under us, but with us that we send out a boy here and a boy there, and the boy takes hold of the savages of the part he comes to, and teaches them to march and shoot as he tells them, to obey him and believe in him, and die for him and the Queen. A plain, stupid, uninspired people, they call us, and yet we are doing this with every kind of savage man there is. And each one of us—you and I, and that man in his shirt-sleeves at the corner—is a working part of this world-shaping force. How small you must feel in face of the stupendous whole, and yet how great to be a unit in it!”

Ten minutes after the last of the Colonial contingent had passed, the advance guard of the Royal Procession proper came into sight. |The Royal Procession.| The first man in that gorge­ous company rode the giant Guardsman, Captain Oswald Ames, seeming not so very much taller than the splendid fellows who followed him, in spite of his six feet eight inches. Close following these came a Naval Gun Detachment who passed away through the avenues of enthusiastic civilians amidst a tumult of acclaim. Then, in quick succession, Life Guards, Dragoon Guards, Hussars, Lancers, and Batteries of the Royal Horse Artillery—the finest Artillery in the World. More quickly almost than these words are read the various component parts of the resplendent cavalcade came into view and vanished again. The populace waved its handkerchiefs and roared itself hoarse in a chorus of approval that was too whole-hearted to discriminate.

As a grand ceremonial figure the Crown Prince, afterwards the Emperor Frederick of Germany, had attracted more personal notice in the procession of 1887 than was accorded to any visitor in that of 1897, but the personnel of the latter function was, in general, far more distinguished. As regards the procession of carriages, which followed immediately after the glittering deputation of officers of the Imperial Service Troops in India, those containing the Royal children—Her Majesty’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren—were most enthusiastically received by the crowd. The gravity with which the tiny Princes and Princesses acknowledged the greetings of the spectators occasioned great delight among the people, and the military salutes of the young Duke of Albany and Prince Arthur of Connaught, were the signals for fresh outbursts of applause. The Empress Frederick, the Duchesses of York, of Teck, of Connaught, and of Albany, the Princesses Louise and Henry of Battenberg, were each and all cheered and cheered again. The Princes and other illustrious persons representing the States of almost every Kingdom and Republic in the World, who rode in threes close before the Queen’s carriage, made up a group of almost unparalleled interest and importance. In recognition of his exalted rank as Commander-in-Chief of the Army, Lord Wolseley, in the uniform and carrying the bâton of a Field-Marshal, rode immediately in front of the Queen’s carriage.

To quote again from Mr. G. W. Steevens, who witnessed the Procession from St. Paul’s:—“The eye was filled with splendour, but fresh splendour came crowding in on it. The advancing pageant shifted and loosened and came up in opener order. But as the mass of colour became less massive, it became more wonderfully coloured. Here, riding three and three, came a kaleidoscope of dazzling horsemen—equerries and aides-de-camp and attachés, ambassadors and Princes, all the pomp of all the nations of the earth. Scarlet and gold, azure and gold, purple and gold, emerald and gold, white and gold—always a changing tumult of colours that seemed to list and gleam with a light of their own, and always blinding gold. It was enough. No eye could bear more gorgeousness; no more gorgeousness could be, unless princes are to clothe themselves in rainbows and the very sun. The prelude was played, and now the great moment was at hand. Already the carriages were rolling up full of the Queen’s kindred, full of her children and children’s children. But we hardly looked at them. Down there, through an avenue of eager faces, through a storm of white waving handkerchiefs, through roaring volleys of cheers, there was approaching a carriage drawn by eight cream-coloured horses. The roar surged up the street, keeping pace with the eight horses. The carriage passed the barrier; it entered the churchyard; it wheeled left and then right; it drew up at the very steps of the Cathedral; we all leaped up; cheers broke into screams, and enthusiasm swelled to delirium; the sun, watery till now, shone out suddenly clear and dry, and there—and there—

“And there was a little, quiet, flushed old lady. All in black,K a silver streak under the black bonnet, a simple white sunshade, sitting quite still, with the corners of her mouth drawn tight, as if she were trying not to cry. But that old lady was the Queen, and you knew it. You didn’t want to look at the glittering uniforms now, nor yet at the bright gowns and the young faces in the carriages, nor yet at the stately princes—though by now all these were ranged in a half circle round her. You couldn’t look at anybody but the Queen. So very quiet, so very grave, so very punctual, so unmistakably and every inch a lady and a Queen. Almost pathetic, if you will, that small black figure in the middle of these shining cavaliers, this great army, this roaring multitude; but also very glorious. When the other kings of the world drive abroad, the escort rides close in at the wheels of the carriage; the Queen drove through her people quite plain and open, with just one soldier at the kerbstone between her and them.”

But we must go back a little. At the Griffin, which marks the spot where Temple Bar once stood, the Lord Mayor (the Right Hon. Sir George Faudel-Phillips) had arrived about 10.15, bearing the City Sword of State. While waiting for the Queen the Lord Mayor was entertained, in accordance with ancient custom, at Childs’ Bank.

“Just before mid-day,” says a writer in the Times of June 23, “a loud roar of cheering announced the approach of the Queen, and soon the State carriages drew up at the Griffin, where the Lord Mayor and his deputation, on foot, bareheaded, were awaiting Her Majesty. |The Queen’s Reception at the City Boundary.| The interesting ceremony of the presentation of the sword did not occupy a minute. This handsome sword, in its pearl-covered scabbard, which has been presented by successive Lord Mayors at this very spot to many Sovereigns, from Queen Elizabeth’s time to the present day, was handed to the Lord Mayor by the City Sword-bearer with a low obeisance. Sir George Faudel-Phillips held the hilt towards Her Majesty, who merely touched it, and ordered him to lead the way into the city. The Lord Mayor with considerable alacrity hurried to the spot south of the Griffin where he had left his horse, mounted it, and rode off eastward bareheaded, holding the sword aloft.”

So the magnificent cortège passed on up Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill to St. Paul’s. At the steps of the west front of the great Cathedral was to take place that religious ceremony which was to be the central point in the great celebration. On either side of the portico was erected a huge stand, set apart for ambassadors and other officials who had no place in the Procession. The right-hand stand facing Ludgate Hill was occupied by a splendid company of Indian Rajahs and other Oriental notabilities. On the steps themselves were 500 choristers, and bands. Soon after the Queen left Buckingham Palace the Archbishops and other officiating clergy took their stand upon the Cathedral steps. The Archbishops of York and Canterbury wore purple coronation copes, the Bishop of London a splendid new yellow cope, the Dean and Chapter copes of green, gold, and white, while the Bishop of Winchester, as Prelate of the Order of the Garter, wore the dark blue robes of that Order. The Marquis of Salisbury, the Right Hon. A. J. Balfour, and the Right Hon. Joseph Chamberlain were the most noticeable figures in the great assemblage of distinguished laymen collected at this point.

The religious ceremony was short. It commenced with the intonation of the Te Deum by the assembled choristers, and ended with the Benediction, pronounced by the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Old Hundredth was then sung, followed by the National Anthem, the strains being taken up by the general public all round the Cathedral, and then the Archbishop, acting on a sudden and most happy impulse, called for three cheers for the Queen. It is not too much to say that Her Majesty has never been greeted with a more enthusiastic salvo from the throats of her people than she received on this occasion.

On the conclusion of this most impressive ceremony the Colonial contingent, who had hitherto led the Procession, and who had been stationed at the north side of the Cathedral meanwhile, fell into position behind the gallant Royal Irish Constabulary men and the squadron of Royal Horse Guards, who had until now formed the rear escort of the Royal Procession.

|At the Mansion House.| At a quarter to one the Queen’s carriage halted outside the Mansion House. The Lady Mayoress presented Her Majesty with an exquisite bouquet of orchids in a beautiful silver basket. “The Queen,” says a writer in the Times, “was graciously pleased to accept the gift, and twice said to her Ladyship, ‘I am too grateful,’ at the same time extending her hand to the Lady Mayoress, who kissed it.”

It is needless to trace the progress of the Empress-Queen through the districts inhabited by her poorer, but no less affectionate, people—from the City to London Bridge, in Southwark, in Lambeth, and on over Westminster Bridge. Everywhere her reception was the same—a magnificent outburst of love and devotion.

The stand that had been erected for the Members of Parliament at Westminster occupied almost the whole space between the Clock Tower and the river, and was crowded in every corner. Places had been balloted for and Conservatives and Radicals were found seated together in the utmost harmony, differences of political opinion being entirely forgotten in the universal desire to see the procession, and to do honour to the great lady who was the centre and cynosure of all. When the Queen’s carriage came in sight the Members rose in one body and cheered as they had never cheered even their chosen leaders in the House itself. This assuredly is a testimony to the universal esteem in which Her Majesty is held by the Nation at large. There were about 600 Members, representing every shade of political feeling throughout the three kingdoms, rivalling one another in their eagerness to display their devotion to the hereditary head of the State. It is safe to say that no popularly-elected president of any existing Republic would be greeted in the streets of his capital by all classes of his fellow-citizens with a tithe of the respect, admiration, and affection accorded to our constitutional Monarch on this day of her Jubilee. The Sovereigns of the other European States—some of whom are wont to exact loyalty at the point of the sword—may well have envied the happy lot of a Queen whose chief protection is her people’s love.

At a quar­ter to two the Queen re-entered Buckingham Palace. Right nobly had she borne herself throughout the trying ordeal. Some there were who said they had never seen Her Majesty looking better in her life; others, keener of sight, perhaps, fancied that under that cheerful exterior traces of great emotion were clearly to be detected. Certain it is that on more than one occasion the Queen nearly broke down, “and once, as the tears rolled down her face, the Princess of Wales leant forward, and sympathetically pressed her hand.”

More than human must she have been had she been able to pass without emotion through those millions of loving men and women shouting themselves hoarse in the exuberance of their loyalty. Sixty years a Queen, with such a celebration to mark the sixtieth year! Not when Solomon reigned in all his glory—not when the Roman conqueror rode in triumph along the Appian Way to receive the plaudits of Imperial Rome—not when Napoleon the Great snatched the Emperor’s diadem from the Pope and placed it on his own brows—had a single human being been the centre of so much earthly splendour before.

Some mention should be made of the presents given to the Queen by her royal kinsmen and her household. The Princes and Princesses more nearly related to the head of the House of Hanover had prepared a pleasant surprise in the shape of a copy of Mr. Holmes’s authorised “Life of the Queen,” bound in covers of purest gold. |Presents to the Queen.| Two hundred ounces of gold were used, and the only ornaments consisted of the Imperial monogram surmounted by a Crown, and having at its base a scroll bearing the legend, “1837: June 20: 1897.” These were composed of 352 diamonds, with rubies and emeralds set in red enamel. On the back cover were engraved facsimiles of the signatures of the various royal subscribers. A magnificent brooch of diamonds and pearls was presented to Her Majesty by the Princess of Wales, her children, the Duchess of York, and the Duke of Fife. From her household the Queen received a bracelet of beautiful workmanship composed of round medallions set in brilliants, with large rubies and sapphires at intervals. On the medallions were engraved the rose, shamrock, and thistle, the lotus-flower representing the Colonies. The Queen was highly pleased with this token of the affection of her household, and wore it at all the State dinners. The design was the work of H.R.H. Princess Henry of Battenberg.

In addition to the innumerable addresses which the Queen received from every part of her dominions, an immense number of congratulatory messages was sent from foreign countries.|Congratulations from Abroad.| The quaintest of all was that of the United States. It was delivered to Her Majesty by the Honourable Whitelaw Reid, the Special Ambassador, who was conspicuous in the Jubilee Procession as the only man partaking in it in everyday attire. He wore evening dress and an opera hat. The text of the address was as follows:—

“To Her Majesty Victoria, Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India.

“Great and good friend, in the name and on behalf of the people of the United States, I present their sincere felicitations upon the sixtieth anniversary of your Majesty’s accession to the Crown of Great Britain.

“I express the sentiments of my fellow-citizens in wishing for your people the prolongation of a reign which has been illustrious and marked by advance in science, arts, and popular well-being. On behalf of my countrymen I wish particularly to recognise your friendship for the United States and your love of peace exemplified upon important occasions.

“It is pleasing to acknowledge the debt of gratitude and respect due to your personal virtues.

“May your life be prolonged, and peace, honour, and prosperity bless the people over whom you have been called to rule. May liberty nourish throughout your Empire under just and equal laws, and your government continue strong in the affections of all who live under it. And I pray that God may have your Majesty in His holy keeping.

“Your good friend,

William M’Kinley.

“Done at Washington this 28th day of May, A.D. 1897,

by the President.

John Sherman, Secretary of State.”