discussed with him the report that Bonaparte was mad, and Zachariah,
on his part, told her what had happened to him during the day, and
what he had read in the newspapers. The Prince Regent had been to
Oxford, and verses had been composed in his honour. Mr. Bosanquet
had recited to the Prince an ode, or something of the kind, and had
ventured, after dilating on the enormous services rendered by kings
in general to the community during the last twenty years, to warn
them:


"But ye yourselves must bow: your praise be given
To Him, the Lord of lords, your King in heaven."


And Mrs. Zachariah, with a smile and unwonted wit, wondered whether
Mr. Bosanquet would not be prosecuted for such treasonable
sentiments. Zachariah hardly knew what to make of his wife's gaiety,
but he was glad. He thought that perhaps he was answerable for her
silence and coldness, and he determined at all costs to try and
amend, and, however weary he might be when he came home at night,
that he would speak and get her to speak too.

The eventful evening arrived. Zachariah was to get away as early as
he could; the Major was to call at about six. After Zachariah had
washed and dressed, they were to take a hackney coach together. At
the appointed hour the Major appeared, and found Mrs. Zachariah
already in her best clothes and tea ready. She was charming--
finished from the uttermost hair on her head to the sole of her
slipper--and the dove-coloured, somewhat Quakerish tint of her
wedding-gown suited her admirably. Quarter-past six came, but there