Our gallery was immediately over the great altar.  The whole vast avenue of lofty pillars was directly in front of us.  At eleven the guns fired, the organ struck up, and the procession entered.  I never saw so magnificent a scene.  All down that immense vista of gloomy arches there was one blaze of scarlet and gold.  First came heralds in coats stiff with embroidered lions, unicorns, and harps; then nobles bearing the regalia, with pages in rich dresses carrying their coronets on cushions; then the Dean and Prebendaries of Westminster in copes of cloth of gold; then a crowd of beautiful girls and women, or at least of girls and women who at a distance looked altogether beautiful, attending on the Queen.  Her train of purple velvet and ermine was borne by six of these fair creatures.  All the great officers of state in full robes, the Duke of Wellington with his Marshal’s staff, the Duke of Devonshire with his white rod, Lord Grey with the Sword of State, and the Chancellor with his seals, came in procession.  Then all the Royal Dukes with their trains borne behind them, and last the King leaning on two Bishops.  I do not, I dare say, give you the precise order.  In fact, it was impossible to discern any order.  The whole abbey was one blaze of gorgeous dresses, mingled with lovely faces.

The Queen behaved admirably, with wonderful grace and dignity.  The King very awkwardly.  The Duke of Devonshire looked as if he came to be crowned instead of his master.  I never saw so princely a manner and air.  The Chancellor looked like Mephistopheles behind Margaret in the church.  The ceremony was much too long, and some parts of it were carelessly performed.  The Archbishop mumbled.  The Bishop of London preached, well enough indeed, but not so effectively as the occasion required; and, above all, the bearing of the King made the foolish parts of the ritual appear monstrously ridiculous, and deprived many of the better parts of their proper effect.  Persons who were at a distance perhaps did not feel this; but I was near enough to see every turn of his finger, and every glance of his eye.  The moment of the crowning was extremely fine.  When the Archbishop placed the crown on the head of the King, the trumpets sounded, and the whole audience cried out “God save the King.”  All the Peers and Peeresses put on their coronets, and the blaze of splendour through the Abbey seemed to be doubled.  The King was then conducted to the raised throne, where the Peers successively did him homage, each of them kissing his cheek, and touching the crown.  Some of them were cheered, which I thought indecorous in such a place, and on such an occasion.  The Tories cheered the Duke of Wellington; and our people, in revenge, cheered Lord Grey and Brougham.