A very imposing and pretty part of the show was the procession of the Princess-Dowager of Wales from the House of Lords to the Abbey. The royal mother was led by the hand of her young son, William Henry, and followed by the other members of her household, all attired in white and silver. The princess wore a silk train short enough to require no bearers; her long hair fell over her shoulders in ringlets, and her head was encircled by a band of diamonds.
The Westminster boys sang Vivat Regina as the queen entered the Abbey, and Vivat Rex when the king appeared, then followed the usual ceremonies, and a sermon by the Bishop of Salisbury. The Archbishop of Canterbury placed the crowns on the heads of the sovereigns, and then proceeded to administer the sacrament. Contrary to any precedent, the king desired his crown to be removed, that he might appear humbly at this ceremony; but, as the queen's crown had been fastened on with pins to keep it secure, it was not an easy matter for her to follow the king's example, therefore he consented that she might retain hers; but it was to be considered simply as part of her dress, and not as indicating any power or greatness in a person kneeling before God.
The banquet which followed cost ten thousand pounds. Earl Talbot carried the second course to the king's table. He had taken great pains to train his horse to back the whole length of the hall, so that on retiring the animal would not turn his rump towards the king. So much training must have bewildered the horse, for he backed into the hall, much to the disgust of the earl, and was heartily applauded by the spectators at his retreat. The champion appeared on the identical charger that George II. had ridden at the battle of Dettingen, and acted his part admirably. Many persons of quality in the galleries let down handkerchiefs tied together, and strings with baskets attached, for some of the good things from the tables; for they had eaten nothing since morning, and were almost famished.
It was the universal opinion that no public festival had ever passed off with more eclat than the coronation of George III. and Queen Charlotte. They were both young and popular, and the nation was enjoying a season of prosperity with political leaders who were in favor. The removal of Pitt, the prime minister, who had been replaced by Lord Bute, was not considered a wise move on the part of George; but he had stood in awe of that powerful statesman, and had declared, "that he would not be the only slave in a country where it was his wish to see all the people free."
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London became very gay under the new reign. The queen announced her intention to attend the opera once a week, and that seemed a great deal of dissipation to a woman who had been strictly educated in the smallest and quietest of German courts. She was soon coaxed into attending the theatre oftener, particularly as the great actor, David Garrick, was then at his best. He had excited universal praise as Richard III., in which he made his first appearance twenty years before. But this was all new to the young queen, who, after witnessing one play, thirsted for another. One night she went with the king to see "King John"; but that play was not repeated, because George III. grievously offended Garrick by preferring another actor who took the part of Falconbridge. As soon as the great tragedian heard of this proof of what he considered bad taste on the part of his majesty, he would not allow "King John" to have its run, and substituted something in which he was certain he could have no rival.
The last splendid scene of this year was when the queen was introduced to the citizens of London, on Lord Mayor's Day. All the royal family left St. James's Palace at noon in great state, escorted by guards, and cheered by crowds of people. They proceeded to the house of David Barclay, a silk mercer, and a member of the Society of Friends. Barclay was eighty-one years of age, and boasted of having entertained the two other Georges on occasions similar to the one on which he welcomed George III. and his Queen Charlotte. About a hundred Quakers had assembled at the old man's house, which was decorated with brilliant crimson damask, to do honor to their majesties, and each was presented in turn. The king kissed all the women, young and old, ugly and pretty, without distinction, and after he passed into the next room, his young brother followed his example. A little grand-daughter of Mr. Barclay kissed the queen's hand with so much grace that the Princess-Dowager took her up in her arms and embraced her a dozen times. The Duke of York was so charmed with the child that he wanted to present her to the king; but she refused until assured that he was a prince, whereupon she confidently put her hand in his, and permitted herself to be led. His majesty was greatly amused when the little five-year old Quakeress told him, "that she loved the king, though she must not love fine things, and that her grandpapa would not allow her to kneel."
Mr. Barclay's daughters served the queen with tea; but they merely handed it to the ladies-in-waiting, who presented it on their knees. After witnessing the procession, the royal family attended a banquet at Guildhall, which cost eight thousand pounds. It was so magnificent that, on retiring, the king said to the Lord Mayor, "To be elegantly entertained I must come to this end of the city." One of the foreign ministers described it as a feast fit only for one king to give to another.