indulging a privilege, by hopping into the air and bouncing their
knapsacks up to their necks. After what seemed an unreasonable delay,
but was doubtless requisite for the transaction, the detachment sent for
the change of colors returned with the proper standards. The historic
rite was then completed, the troops formed in order, and marched back to
their barracks to the exultant strains of their band.

The crowd outside the palace yard, which this daily sight attracts,
dispersed reluctantly, its particles doubtless holding themselves ready
to reassemble at the slightest notice. It formed a small portion only of
the population of London which has volunteer charge of the goings and
comings at Buckingham Palace. Certain of its members are on guard there
from morning till night, and probably no detail of ceremony escapes
their vigilance. If asked what they are expecting to see, they are not
able to say; they only know that they are there to see what happens.
They make the most of any carriage entering or issuing from the yard;
they note the rare civilians who leave or approach the palace door on
foot, the half-dozen plain policemen who stand at their appointed
places within the barrier which none of the crowd ever dreams of passing
must share its interest. Neither these policemen nor the sentries who
pace their beat before the high iron fence are apparently willing to
molest the representatives of the public interest. On the April morning
in case, during the momentary absence of the policeman who should have
restrained the crowd, the sentry found himself embarrassed by a
spectator who had intruded on his beat. He faltered, blushing as well as
he could through his high English color, and then said, gently, "A
little back, please," and the intruder begged pardon and retired.

In the simple incident there was nothing of the nervousness observable
in either the official or the officious repositories of the nationality