We may sit now,
and look and think at our leisure. We have glimpses here and there and
yonder, through the dim cathedral twilight, of portions of many
galleries and balconies, wedged full with people, the other portions
of these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by
intervening pillars and architectural projections. We have in view the
whole of the great north transept- empty, and waiting for England's
privileged ones. We see also the ample area or platform, carpeted with
rich stuffs, whereon the throne stands. The throne occupies the center
of the platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four
steps. Within the seat of the throne is inclosed a rough flat rock-
the Stone of Scone- which many generations of Scottish kings sat on to
be crowned, and so it in time became holy enough to answer a like
purpose for English monarchs. Both the throne and its footstool are
covered with cloth-of-gold.
Stillness reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags heavily.
But at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the torches are
extinguished, and a mellow radiance suffuses the great spaces. All
features of the noble building are distinct now, but soft and
dreamy, for the sun is lightly veiled with clouds.
At seven o'clock the first break in the drowsy monotony occurs;
for on the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters the
transept, clothed like Solomon for splendor, and is conducted to her
appointed place by an official clad in satins and velvets, whilst a
duplicate of him gathers up the lady's long train, follows after, and,
when the lady is seated, arranges the train across her lap for her.
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