“Sally,” said I, “your ladyship is an angel;” and so, having kissed each of my daughters, who were in progress of dressing, I descended the stairs, to begin the auspicious day in which I reached the apex of my greatness.—­Never shall I forget the bows—­the civilities—­the congratulations—­sheriffs bending before me—­the Recorder smiling—­the Common Sergeant at my feet—­the pageant was intoxicating; and when, after having breakfasted, I stepped into that glazed and gilded house upon wheels, called the state coach, and saw my sword bearer pop himself into one of the boots, with the sword of state in his hand, I was lost in ecstasy, I threw myself back upon the seat of the vehicle with all imaginable dignity, but not without damage, for in the midst of my ease and elegance I snapped off the cut steel hilt of my sword, by accidentally bumping the whole weight of my body right, or rather wrong, directly upon the top of it.

But what was a sword hilt or a bruise to me?  I was the Lord Mayor—­the greatest man of the greatest city of the greatest nation in the world.  The people realized my anticipations, and “Bravo, Scropps!” and “Scropps for ever!” again resounded, as we proceeded slowly and majestically towards the river, through a fog, which prevented our being advantageously seen, and which got down the throat of the sword bearer, who coughed incessantly during our progress, much to my annoyance, not to speak of the ungraceful movements which his convulsive barkings gave to the red velvet scabbard of the official glave as it stuck out of the window of the coach.

We embarked in my barge; a new scene of splendour awaited me, guns, shouts, music, flags, banners, in short, every thing that fancy could paint or a water bailiff provide; there, in the gilded bark, was prepared a cold collation—­I ate, but tasted nothing—­fowls, pates, tongue, game, beef, ham, all had the same flavour; champagne, hock, and Madeira were all alike to me—­Lord Mayor was all I saw, all I heard, all I swallowed; every thing was pervaded by the one captivating word, and the repeated appeal to “my lordship” was sweeter than nectar.

At Westminster, having been presented and received, I desired—­I—­John Ebenezer Scropps, of Coventry—­I desired the Recorder to invite the judges to dine with me—­I—­who remember when two of the oldest and most innocent of the twelve, came the circuit, trembling at the sight of them, and believing them some extraordinary creatures upon whom all the hair and fur I saw, grew naturally—­I, not only to ask these formidable beings to dine with me, but, as if I thought it beneath my dignity to do so in my proper person, deputing a judge of my own to do it for me; I never shall forget their bows in return—­Chinese mandarins on a chimney-piece are fools to them.