The Press. SATURDAY, AUGUST 9, 1902. THE CORONATION.

Press, Volume LIX, Issue 11347, 9 August 1902, Page 8

The Press. SATURDAY, AUGUST 9, 1902. THE CORONATION.

God willing, a King will be crowned to-day at Westminster, under circumstances unique in the history of the British (Monarchy. Seven weeks ago the sense of expectancy throughout the Empire was strained to the highest pitch of intensity. In volume, extent, and variety, it surpassed anything that had ever been excited by a coming event, even as in growth and varied interests the British world itself had reached a position for which history furnished no precedent. From the heart of the Empire to its utmost extremities one thought dominated all others,. and the hum of preparation resounded from the snow-fields of North-West Canada to the swamps and jungles of tropical protectorates. The sense of an absorbing interest was common to all; but it took a variety of forms. Historians and antiquaries were thrilled by a new-born curiosity about former Coronations. High officers of Court worked out the details and precedents of the great ceremony, and disputed about their respective shares in them - , as matters of momentous import. Political thinkers meditated on the curious spectacle of a shrunken prerogative, clothing itself in new forms cf splendour and influence. The commercial world gathered itself together for the supreme effort which was to crown years of plodding toil and anxiety. Millions of children all over the world rehearsed their movements and their singing, with the vague feeling that something big and portentous was in the air. Musicians and poets, good, mediocre, and 'bad, felt that for them silence was impossible under' such. an. overwhelming consensus of emotion. Dark tribes, always susceptible in their fantastic way to ceremonial, prepared to honour the occasion with all that was most weird and grotesque in their traditionary observances. The great selfgcveraing branches of the Empire, exulting j in their freedom and their strength, pre- j pared, without any canatraint, to lay a

wreath of living loyalty and faith at tb* foot of the Throne of England. And, over all this vast anticipatory movement, lay the aolemnising influence of -.-profound religious significance, a whole people consecrating itself afresh, in the person of its ruler, to the God whom thtey wwshipped io camtenon.

Audi th«», with .carcely a note of warn* ing, cam* the crash. There was a pause and a shudder, as if the earth had been tilted from its orbit. Amid the sudden wreck of the -world which they had built up for themselves, men hardly realised that the one person, round whom that world revolved, lay dangerously ill, perhaps dying. Almost simultaneously with the full sense of. thk new danger came the first faint hopes of recovery. Emotions succeeded each other with suca startling .rapidity that before the first shock of disappointed anticipation had reached its climax, it had begun to yield to the feeling of profound relief that a worse thing was not to happen. Gradually calm and rest came to an agitated Empire. Peace had succeeded to war, and we were to have not only a living King, but a Coronation too. Quickly preparations were resumed, but in subdued tones. The new Coronation was not, as the old, to be like the sun blazing full in the zenith; but, like the after-glow, whose solemn hues would speak of deeper meanings and a chastened pride. And an added solemnity was not the only element contributed by the moving drama, through which we had passed; a fresh bond had arisen between the King and his people, and the hearts of Britons went out with renewed fervour to the man who fought a terrible disease for their sakes, and who, in the first moments of conscious agony, had groaned out; "Will the people ever fcrglve mc?"

It will elevate our ideas of our own celebrations to-day if we let our thoughts revert occasionally to the great central event at Westminster. There is something very impressive about tbe blending of old and new, which gives to that event its breadth and grandeur. A monarch, who is heir to all the ages, enters into full possession of his inheritance, an inheritance which carries with it all that is most modern in science, art, and national development. The hoary monarchy of England, instead of shivering to pieces against modern ideas and modern growth, derives a new life from their touch, as Antaeus of old from the touch of his mother earth. And a speaking memorial of the union of stability with perennial adaptiveness is furnished by the grand old shrine, which wiH witness the act of national consecration- There it stands, with the mists of the far-off past hanging round its towers, its aisles peopled with' the ghosts of England's mighty dead. It is a temple, "Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam Melts if it cross the threshold." Much of its story ca_ be read with the physical eye. Busts and inscriptions crowd its walls; statues peep out from behind its pillar.; on. its floor we thread our way among the names of those who sleep beneath. But the eye of the imagination sees much more than records in marble or brass. The Abbey is saturated with all that is noble and Cofty in English history. From century to century it utters its d_6p-to_ed protest against the gross and mean. From century to century it adds to its accumulated store of inspiring memories. Its meanings are broad as the heavens, and deep as the ooean. It is a great Christian Church; the Christian faith is expounded from its pulpit, and Christian praise rolls through its vaulted recssses in psalm and anthem. But it throws the shelter of its large, tolerant guardianship over those who did nobly, though they could never accept the faith which was preached there. It teaches us that the heroic mould is of plastic material:, and adapts itself to many forms of human endeavour- This grand old pile, with all it. weight of years, is endowed with perennial youth. It is even with us as a living force, and not as a mere derelict on the ocean of ecclesiastical architecture. Such an event, in such a place, needs no spsctacular pomp or military show to make it impressive. Yet these things, too, are right and proper, and appeal to sides of our nature which demand satisfaction as much as any other. Probably for one person who to-day will fed the detper meanings of the Coronation, a hundred will feal an honest, healthy elevation of spirits, the excitement of shows, and, we think we may add, a real, genuine gladness at the recovery of our King. We must not overstrain human nature on such occasions, or make exaggerated demands upon it. The King himself ds a genuine Englishman in this respect. He will feel in their full power the great emotions of the occasion, and then wiQ concern himself about seeing that the people enjoy themselves, and have the fullest possible opportunity of sharing in the proceedings. Tha gracious message which be has sent to his people on the eve of tlue Coronation, is fresh proof of his Majesty's sympathy and good Udlng. And we, knowing that he is with us, not only in great moments of national elevation, but in the more ordinary levels of our common humanity, grip his hand to-day in spirit, and say in our inmost hearts, "LONG MAY HE REIGN!"