“Down with every one that has a crown except myself!”
The policeman mildly replied, “Your Majesty, I haven’t got a crown in the world; my missus doesn’t allow me more than 4 and 9 a-week for pocket-money.”
A BOUNDING JOY.
“Just as well for you; those who are limited to four and ninepence can feel proper respect for a sovereign,” said the old lady; “now for our court.” So saying, she began to perform a most wild minuet de la cour, the policeman beating time with his hands. Then ordering him to take off his greatcoat, she fastened it on as a train, and set off for the court.
RUNNING MELODY.
The policeman went first, playing a grand march on a Jew’s harp, which he produced from his pocket. It was as big as a fire-shovel, but this did not matter, as he had a mouth reaching from ear to ear. The old lady followed, holding her baton-sceptre up, and with her long, sharp chin cocked so high in the air that you could have hung a hat upon it. The policeman’s music made her quite lively, and she began to sing, with a chorus to each verse, which ran thus,—
Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy,
Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy,