Strand. So does human progress, promoted
by Exhibition Halls, dissipate prejudice and
dispel the mists of delusion. When the Prince
proclaimed the Reformatory Exhibition open,
he at the same time intimated to many there
present in the reserved seats, that Islington was
within the reach of even the most fashionable
and westerly residents of the metropolis.

Instead of being behind time, I was before
time, and considering it bad manners to go
round and inspect the treasures before the
Prince, I awaited his Royal Highness's arrival
at the northern entrance. I was sorry to
observe a very very sparse attendance of the public
in general. The public in particular was pretty
numerously represented in the reserved seats;
but the great body of the hall was almost
deserted. It could not be said that there was a
want of attraction. The exhibition was the
first of its kind, and the Prince of Wales was
coming to open it. But "five shillings," I
suspect, was a little too much to the body of the
hall. Had it been one shilling, the thousands
who were contenting themselves with a sight
of the outside of the show would have walked
up and paid their money; and it would not
have happened that the Prince entered the hall
without encountering a sufficient number of his
mother's loyal subjects to raise anything like a
cheer in his honour. None seemed more
disgusted with this state of things than the police,
who were of the A division, and accustomed to
the more fervid loyalty of the west. There
were just forty of us at the royal entrance,
including shoe-black boys, stall attendants, the
Lord Mayor, a sheriff, the civic old gentleman
in the fur hat and his inseparable
companion the other civic old gentleman with the
sword; and we stood quietly in two rows, and
were so well behaved and orderly, that I am
sure the four policemen in charge hated us
from the bottom of their hearts. I saw it
written in their faces: "Why don't you shove
about and give us an opportunity of exercising
our authority? Pretty thing for officers of the
A division to have to come up all the way from
Whitehall to take charge of a set of milksops
like you, who haven't the courage even to step
upon that old rag of a carpet that they have
laid down for the Prince to walk upon." I am
sure that particular officer who had charge of
me and the shoe-black boy (who, by the way,
had decorated his box with counterfeit coins
for the occasion) would have given anything if
I had stepped upon the carpet. He stepped
upon it himself, as if to tempt me on—trailed
it like the tail of his coat (he was Irish) to
challenge me to a collision with the authorities.
When I obstinately declined the challenge,
and persisted in being provokingly peaceable
and orderly to the last, the officer went off
duty in disgust, evidently satisfied that I hadn't
the spirit to molest a fly, much less his Royal
Highness.

I never witnessed so tame a royal procession.
The two civic old gentlemen advanced, the one
doddering under his muff, the other staggering
under his sword; there was a glitter of
preposterous gold cable, signifying Lord Mayor,
Aldermen, and Sheriffs, and then without a
sound, and before we knew what it all meant,
there strolled past us a very gentlemanly-looking
young man, in company with a very
venerable old man, chatting together pleasantly, and
apparently asking after each other's health, and
the healths of those who belonged to them at
Marlborough House and Lambeth Palace. Now
this quiet proceeding was very disappointing to
me and my friend of the shoe-black brigade, but
no doubt to the Prince it was highly agreeable;
and possibly he would go home and report that
he had spent a most delightful day without being
run after, and shouted at, and otherwise treated
as if he were a wild animal let loose to be
baited.

My policeman returned at this point,
evidently expecting to catch me out in following
the royal procession through the sacred avenue
towards the dais; but I disappointed him again
by turning on my heel and ascending to the
gallery, where a juvenile brand rescued from
the burning immediately invited me to have my
card printed in large German text, suitable for
the ironmongery line. Feeling the active
operations of the printing press to be unseemly
—though otherwise honourable—while the
archbishop was reading prayers, I declined,
but with regret, and sauntered along to a
point where I could obtain a good view of
the opening ceremony.

Opening ceremonies are all very much alike,
and even when they have the advantage of
novelty, they are not interesting. All I will
say of this one is, that the Prince read his reply
to the address with much aplomb, with good
emphasis, and in a singularly clear and distinct
voice. It did, however, appear a little absurd
that the Earl of Shaftesbury should read an
address to him, and then hand him the reply he
was to make to it.

It is time, I think, to enter some protest
against certain forms and ceremonies which are
observed in dealing with royal personages—
fulsome nonsense which only tends to make
them look ridiculous. Why could not this
young Prince, who spoke better than any one
there, and generally conducted himself naturally
and with good sense, be entrusted with the
custody of his own speech? Taking that speech
from the hands of the nobleman who addressed
him, was the only unnatural thing he did. It
was making a schoolboy of him—teaching him
to say his A B C, as if he were one of those
reformatory lads who could not be trusted with
the custody of the spelling-book out of which
they learned their lessons. I would also
suggest to the chroniclers of courtly doings, that
it does not tend to exalt the importance of
royal personages to say of them that they are
"graciously pleased to approve" this, that, and
the other. I read once that the Prince of
Wales was graciously pleased to express his
approval of Niagara. I wonder the reporter did
not go on to say tliat the compliment was