next day, Thursday, His Sacred Majesty, or Most Christian Majesty, as
he was then called, was solemnly made a Knight of the Garter, the
Bishops of Salisbury and Winchester assisting. On Friday he received
the corporation of London, and on Saturday the 23rd he prepared to
take his departure. There was a great crowd in the street when he
came out of the hotel and immense applause; the mob crying out, "God
bless your Majesty!" as if they owed him all they had, and even their
lives. It was very touching, people thought at the time, and so it
was. Is there anything more touching than the waste of human loyalty
and love? As we read the history of the Highlands or a story of
Jacobite loyalty such as that of Cooper's Admiral Bluewater, dear to
boys, we sadden that destiny should decree that in a world in which
piety is not too plentiful it should run so pitifully to waste, and
that men and women should weep hot tears and break their hearts over
bran-stuffing and wax.

Amidst the hooraying multitude that Saturday April morning was one
man at least, Zachariah Coleman by name, who did not hooray, and did
not lift his hat even when the Sacred Majesty appeared on the hotel
steps. He was a smallish, thin-faced, lean creature in workman's
clothes; his complexion was white, blanched by office air, and his
hands were black with printer's ink.

"Off with your tile, you b---y Corsican!" exclaimed a roaring voice
behind him. Zachariah turned round, and found the request came from
a drayman weighing about eighteen stone; but the tile was not
removed. In an instant it was sent flying to the other side of the
road, where it was trodden on, picked up, and passed forward in the
air amidst laughter and jeers, till it was finally lost.