And now the Horse Guards, a glimpse of beauti
ful cream ponies, and a golden panoply, a hurricane
of cheers, the crashing of bands " The King ! the
King! God save the King!" Everybody has gone
mad. The contagion is sweeping me off my feet.
I, too, want to shout, " The King ! God save the
King ! " Ragged men about me, tears in their eyes,
are tossing up their hats and crying ecstatically,
"Bless em ! Bless em ! Bless em ! " See, there
he is, in that wondrous golden coach, the great
crown flashing on his head, the woman in white
beside him likewise crowned.

And I check myself with a rush, striving to con
vince myself that it is all real and rational, and not
some glimpse of fairyland. This I cannot succeed
in doing, and it is better so. I much prefer to be
lieve that all this pomp, and vanity, and show, and
mumbo-jumbo foolery has come from fairyland, than
to believe it the performance of sane and sensible
people who have mastered matter, and solved the
secrets of the stars.

Princes and princelings, dukes, duchesses, and all
manner of coroneted folk of the royal train are
flashing past; more warriors, and lackeys, and con
quered peoples, and the pageant is over. I drift
with the crowd out of the square into a tangle of
narrow streets, where the public houses are a-roar
with drunkenness, men, women, and children mixed

[[146]]

p145 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p146w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p147

v?