Sir John discovered all his acumen in the solemn investigation of “Which was the upper end of the table?” Arguments and inferences were deduced from precedents quoted; but as precedents sometimes look contrary ways, this affair might still have remained sub judice, had not Sir John oracularly pronounced that “in spite of the chimneys in England, where the best man sits, is that end of the table.”  Sir John, indeed, would often take the most enlarged view of things; as when the Spanish ambassador, after hunting with the king at Theobalds, dined with his majesty in the privy-chamber, his son Don Antonio dined in the council-chamber with some of the king’s attendants.  Don Antonio seated himself on a stool at the end of the table.  “One of the gentlemen-ushers took exception at this, being, he said, irregular and unusual, that place being ever wont to be reserved empty for state!” In a word, no person in the world was ever to sit on that stool; but Sir John, holding a conference before he chose to disturb the Spanish grandee, finally determined that “this was the superstition of a gentleman-usher, and it was therefore neglected.”  Thus Sir John could, at a critical moment, exert a more liberal spirit, and risk an empty stool against a little ease and quiet; which were no common occurrences with that martyr of state, a master of ceremonies!

But Sir John,—­to me he is so entertaining a personage that I do not care to get rid of him,—­had to overcome difficulties which stretched his fine genius on tenter-hooks.  Once—­rarely did the like unlucky accident happen to the wary master of the ceremonies—­did Sir John exceed the civility of his instructions, or rather his half-instructions.  Being sent to invite the Dutch ambassador and the States’ commissioners, then a young and new government, to the ceremonies of St. George’s day, they inquired whether they should have the same respect paid to them as other ambassadors?  The bland Sir John, out of the milkiness of his blood, said he doubted it not.  As soon, however, as he returned to the lord chamberlain, he discovered that he had been sought for up and down, to stop the invitation.  The lord chamberlain said Sir John had exceeded his commission, if he had invited the Dutchmen “to stand in the closet of the queen’s side; because the Spanish ambassador would never endure them so near him, where there was but a thin wainscot board between, and a window which might be opened!” Sir John said gently, he had done no otherwise than he had been desired; which however the lord chamberlain, in part, denied, (cautious and civil!) “and I was not so unmannerly as to contest against,” (supple, but uneasy!) This affair ended miserably for the poor Dutchmen.  Those new republicans were then regarded with the most jealous contempt by all the ambassadors, and were just venturing on their first dancing-steps, to move among crowned heads.  The Dutch now resolved not to be present; declaring they had just received an urgent invitation, from the Earl of Exeter, to dine at Wimbledon.  A piece of supercherie to save appearances; probably the happy contrivance of the combined geniuses of the lord chamberlain and the master of the ceremonies!