rn potentates, the eight cream-coloured Hanoverian horses,
drawing the Jubilee landau, made their appearance, and the Queen was
seen, smiling and bowing graciously to the cheering populace. The
Doctor-in-Law, in his excitement, scrambled on to the window ledge in
order to obtain a better view; the Wallypug loyally waved his crown;
while the Rhymester, hurriedly unrolling a lengthy ode which he had
written especially for the occasion, began reading it in a loud voice,
and, though nobody paid the slightest attention to him, did not desist
until long after the procession had passed.

[Illustration: THE WALLYPUG LOYALLY WAVED HIS CROWN]

The Wallypug was very thoughtful for some time after the Queen had
gone by, and, during the drive home, expressed his great surprise
that her Majesty had not worn a crown, and apparently could not
understand why it should not be worn on all occasions.

"I suppose her Majesty has a crown of her own, hasn't she?" he asked
anxiously.

"Oh yes, of course!" I replied.

"Where is it then?" persisted his Majesty.

"I believe all of the regalia is kept carefully locked up and guarded
in the Tower of London," I said.

"Well, I think it's very unkind of them not to let her Majesty have
them out on an occasion like this. I shall see what I can do about
it."

The dear Wallypug's intentions were evidently so good that I did not
say anything in reply to this, though I wondered to myself whatever
his Majesty thought that _he_ could do in the matter.

There were so many people about that we considered it best to spend
the rest of the day quietly at home, though we did venture out in the
evening to see the illuminations, which delighted his Majesty
exceedingly.

The next afternoon the whole party, with the exception of
One-and-Nine, drove over the route taken by the procession, in order
to see the street decorations. I remained at home, and late in the
afternoon there was a knock at my door, and General Mary Jane entered.
She was nervously wringing a handkerchief wet with tears, and her eyes
were quite red with weeping.

"Please, sir," she began, sniffing pathetically, "I want to
gi--gi--give no--notice."

"Why! what ever for?" I asked in surprise, for General Mary Jane was
an excellent servant, and Mrs. Putchy had always been very pleased
with her.

"Please, sir, it's Sergeant One-and-Nine; he's broken my 'art, sir,
and I can't bear it no longer," and the poor girl burst into a flood
of