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"Why didn't you notice when the Pope came in he played 'Tiara Boom- de-ay'?" said Bonaparte, with a roar. "It was awful I shall have to send him a pourboire." "What next?" asked Fouche, the morning after the coronation, as he entered the Emperor's cabinet. "Breakfast," returned Bonaparte, laconically; "what did you suppose? You didn't think I was going swimming in the Seine, did you?"
The ship churns forward to her moorings. It is singing; there is no mistaking it. But the air! Does it deal with "spicy breezes," and "pleasing prospects?" No; it is a sort of chant. Listen again. Ah, it is Lottie Collins's masterpiece, not Bishop Heber's: it is "Ta-ra-ra boom de-ay."
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