It is now 4 o’clock. All the streets within a mile of the Crystal Palace are crowded with people, instead of drays, carts, wagons and other impeding obstacles to the World’s Fair. For a quarter of a mile down the street that leads to St. James’ Square, where the Queen resides, at Buckingham Palace, I presume I can see 50,000 people bareheaded, that is to say, they have their hats off. But, at the further end of this quarter of a mile, I see a uniform commotion, and this commotion of heads are coming towards Hyde Park. I mean only the commotion but not the heads. These heads are being responded to from an open plain Calashe, that is coming as rapid as a Post Chaise from the battle field when bringing good tidings to a King.—The object of this exciting moment is the Queen of England. One minute and she is gone by, as she passed me, bowing on all sides to the crowd greeting her. I felt a sort of religious thrill pass over me, and I said to myself “this is civilization.” Her Majesty was evidently proud of her people’s homage; and her people were not ashamed to show their loyalty to their “gracious Queen.” She was looking remarkably healthy for one living on the delicacies of a Queen. In fact she was too healthy in appearance for a Queen. Her color was too red and masculine for a lady. She was considerable stouter than I thought she was, and quite as handsome as I expected to find the great Queen. Seated opposite her, face to face, was her Maid of Honor; and seated by her side vis-a-vis to the Queen, was a couple of the “little bloods” of her Majesty and Prince Coburgh. I thought it strange that his highness, Prince Albert, was not accompanying the Queen. I learned afterwards that it was usual for the Queen to go in Hyde Park alone. I also found that the Prince and his courtiers were gone out deer stalking.

In the Queen’s calashe was four greys. The driver rode the hindmost left horse. In his right hand he carried a light whip which was altogether useless. About 50 yards ahead of this moving importance, a liveried outrider sped on at a rapid speed, that the populace might know that he was soliciting their attention to making way for the Queen. He wore long, white-legged boots, and held his Arab steed as artful as a Bedouin sporting over a rocky desert. His other habiliments were red, save his hat, which was a latest style silk. The driver keeps him in view, and has nothing to do but mount and drive off after this courier or out-rider, who gets his orders at the Palace where to lead.

It is said that the Queen is not celebrated for a good temper. Like her symbol, the lion, she is not to be bearded by any one, no matter how important. She is a natural monarch and feels her royalty. Prince Albert is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. The like of the Prince’s popularity among the ladies of the Court cannot be equaled by any nobleman in England; but that popularity must be general, it cannot be in spots, for the Queen is not unlike other women under the influence of the “green-eyed monster.” Although Prince Albert’s virtue has never been dishonored by even a hint, still the Queen is not to be too trusty. Prince Albert is a model of a “true gentleman.” He could not suspect half as quick as the most virtuous Queen the world has ever been ornamented with.

The English people are alone in all things pertaining to domestic life. It would puzzle the double-width intellect of a hermit to tell what one was thinking about; and this nonchalence of air to surrounding circumstances is every moment blowing upon the object in their heart. France sets the fashion for the world, but what the morning paper say about the dress worn by the empress on the champs d’elysee yesterday, is not what the poorest maid servant is trying to find out to cut her calico by, but what her Majesty wore at Windsor or Buckingham. These people were wearing the skins of the beasts of their forests in the days of the C?sars’ invasion, and barbarous as our Indians, but now they are the most civilized and christian power on this earth.

A German now sitting by my side tells me this is a gross subject for me to be writing upon. I asked what subject? He said Konigon (Queen). On reflection I find it true, and now retire from the beading of this chapter.