retired from my chair in London to answer my
call a day or two after in Liverpool; who has
sprung up at my side at Inverness, and whom I
have found flicking the crumbs from the table
of a Fleet-street eating-house on my return, as if
he had never left Fleet-street in his life. The
ubiquity of waiters is very remarkable. And the
contemplation of this characteristic of the tribe
leads me to make another sombre remark in
spite of myself. How like are waiters to
undertakers' men! The same waiters help the rich and
the poor alike to live; and the same undertakers
help the rich and the poor alike to their graves.
—Let me now put the skull out of sight, gild it,
and turn it into a drinking-cup.

I pass through the centre of the Hall, ascend a
flight of steps, and find myself at what I may
call the cross-roads of Guildhall. If I bear to
the right, I come to the reception-rooms of the
Lady Mayoress; if I turn to the left, I arrive at
the kitchens and store-rooms; if I hold straight on,
I am beguiled to imagine that I am at Spithead,
seeing an iron-clad proceeding to sea. For here
there is a "set scene," which the stage carpenter
is now hurrying to completion. I turn to the left,
and peep into the kitchen and store-rooms.
The turtle is already bubbling in a hundred pots,
and there are shells enough to furnish a Roman
legion with shields. Here is a store-room
filled with cakes and jellies, another devoted to
fowls and pea-hens and pheasants ready trussed
for the spit; a third, a very large apartment, is
purple with hundreds of bunches of hothouse
grapes. Grapes on the floor, grapes on the
chairs, grapes on the tables, grapes on every
ledge and shelf. Nothing else showing except
the pure white wood on which the luscious fruit
is laid. Here is a room that appears to be
strewn with ingots of silver and nuggets of gold.
Have I strayed into the cellars of the Bank of
England, or has the enchanter let me down into
the genii's cave? Well, no; it is neither silver
nor gold, but something which only silver
can buy—the champagnes, regally crowned, of
Epernay, of the Veuve Clicquot. Pish! The
treasures which Aladdin's lamp revealed were
tinsel compared to these. What were his rubies,
his diamonds, and pearls (considering how the
market must have been overstocked in his part
of the country), to the bright bubbling juice of
the grape, which is ready at the touch of the
pincers to leap forth from those sweet mouths,
in sparkling fountains of inspiration! Rub me
no lamps after this! Twist me wire, draw me
corks! Let Aladdin rub; be mine the pleasant
conjuration to cut the twine; let All Baba say
"Open sesame," the signal of my heart's desire
is "pop." Clap on the stone, magician, and
keep me here. I don't want to come up and
take these jewels to market, I can enjoy them
where I am. A flitting thought of the Happy
Valley calls to mind the Doctor's resonant
locution—the "potentiality of wealth beyond the
dreams of avarice." This is not fringe, but what
the successful fringe-making will achieve.

Which, you will please to understand, is
an allusion to the fact—of which he is justly and
honourably proud—that the present Lord Mayor
of London is a fringe-maker. Nothing that I
saw on this (in my calendar) red-letter day
gratified me so much as the honest pride which
the Lord Mayor, the aldermen, and all the City
magnates, took in the trade and commerce by
which they had gained wealth, and attained to
eminence among their fellow-citizens. I must
be allowed to say this, and I say it from my
heart, that a more unaffected, hearty, jolly set
of men, I never had the pleasure of meeting—
except (I hope the exception will not be
resented) among the aristocracy of birth and
rank. I had an opportunity, before coming to
the Guildhall, of witnessing preparations for
certain private festivities, which proved to me
that Lord Mayor Phillips was a worthy
representative of the old English gentleman who,

          While he feasted all the rich,
          He ne'er forgot the poor.

It was a holiday at the Lord Mayor's warehouse
in Newgate-street, and the industrious
apprentices, male and female, were busy draping
the stairs and walls with flags, and laying out the
countless counters, not with fringes and rare
fabrics for the inspection of the public, but with
a variety of good things to eat and to drink for
their own delectation, and in celebration of the
high honours to which their master had that day
attained. The Lord Mayor himself and his
sons were there, taking a lively interest in the
preparations, and all thoughts for the grand
ceremonies of the Guildhall were postponed until
the domestic rejoicings were duly provided for.
It was a scene for the pencil of Hogarth. The
industrious apprentice had become Lord Mayor
of London, and here were all his own industrious
apprentices preparing to rejoice in the scene of
that industry which had been the stepping-stone
to his success. The shelves to-day are laden
with sirloins of beef, and savoury pies, and jellies,
and fruit, and all sorts of good things. And
mind how you kick under the counters! You
will not kick sleeping apprentices here, but
you may break champagne-bottles. They are
going to feast here in style, I can tell you. I am .
loth to tear myself away. I should like to
remain and celebrate the occasion with the
apprentices.

To return to the Guildhall. In my absence the
waiters have executed several more manoeuvres.
Pine-apples have taken up position, sponge-cakes
and jellies are in rank, front and rear, and pigeon
and grouse pies have formed square, to resist the
heaviest and hungriest knife-and-fork squadrons.
Two pulpits have been erected, one on each side
of the principal entrance to the Hall. Is the
Archbishop of Canterbury going to ask a blessing from
one, and the Archbishop of York to return thanks
from the other? I am about to make inquiries,
when I am summoned to breakfast. The scene of
the refection is one of the council chambers. The