There are assembled the prelates and captains and
chief men of her realm; the priests of the religion that
consoles, the heroes of the sword that has conquered, the
votaries of the craft that has decided the fate of empires;
men grey with thought, and fame, and age; who are the stewards
of divine mysteries, who have encountered in battle the hosts
of Europe, who have toiled in secret cabinets, who have
struggled in the less merciful strife of aspiring senates; men
too, some of them, lords of a thousand vassals and chief
proprietors of provinces, yet not one of them whose heart does
not at this moment tremble as he awaits the first presence of
the maiden who must now ascend her throne.
A hum of half-suppressed conversation which would attempt to
conceal the excitement, which some of the greatest of them
have since acknowledged, fills that brilliant assemblage; that
sea of plumes, and glittering stars, and gorgeous dresses.
Hush! the portals open; She comes! The silence is as deep as
that of a noontide forest. Attended for a moment by her royal
mother and the ladies of her court, who bow and then retire,
VICTORIA ascends her throne; a girl, alone, and for the first
time, amid an assemblage of men.
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