expressed its admiration in silent whispering. There was no loud applause;
nevertheless, Mr. Marquis, were he present, must have felt the air
electric with praise. It was murmured that Britannia was Mrs. Marquis,
and, if that were true, she must have given her spouse afterwards, in the
sanctity of their privacy, a very grateful account of her reception.

When the band had passed a little way down the street and their somewhat
raucous notes were modified by distance, the sun came out in especial
glory, as though to take his own peep at the show, the gilt and cloth of
gold shone and gleamed, the chair of Britannia rocked as though it were
bursting with pride, and the Cathedral bells, as though they too wished to
lend their dignified blessing to the scene, began to ring for Evensong. A
sentimental observer, had he been present, might have imagined that the
old town was glad to have once again an excuse for some display, and
preened itself and showed forth its richest and warmest colours and
wondered, perhaps, whether after all the drab and interesting citizens of
to-day were not minded to return to the gayer and happier old times. Quite
a noise, too, of chatter and trumpets and bells and laughter. Even the
Archdeacon forgot his official smile and laughed like a boy.

It was then that the terrible thing happened. Somewhere at the lower end
of the High Street the procession was held up and the chariot had suddenly
to pull itself back upon its wheels, and the band were able to breathe
freely for a minute, to gaze about them and to wipe the sweat from their
brows; even in February blowing and thumping "all round the town" was a
warm business.

Now, just opposite the Archdeacon were the two elephants, checked by the
sudden pause. Behind them was the cage with the lions, who, now that the
jolting had ceased, could collect their scattered indignities and roar a