Part 3

_A Practical Pleasure-seeker._ Now I tell you what we'll _do_, MARIA--you take WEETIE, and keep close to me, and I'll look after DUGGIE, and we'll just stroll comfortably up and down till the very last minute, and drop comfortably into front places, and there we are!

_Patriotic P._ What I like about occasions like this, is the spectacle of a thoroughly good-humoured, well-behaved British crowd--you don't see that on the _Continent_, y'know!

_More Patriotic P. (thoughtfully)._ No, that's perfectly true; and what I say is--we don't want all these police about. Trust more to the general spirit of decency and order--let the people feel they _are_ trusted!

_A Socialist._ Ah, you're right. Did you year what one of the Orators said in the Square the other afternoon? He told 'em Sir CHARLES would 'ave to be as wide awake as what he was 'imself, to prevent a Unemployed Demonstration to-day. "Let him remember," says he, "it's in our power to do that within arf a mile of the Mansion House, which would make the 'ole civilised world ring with 'orror," he says. And it's men like that as they're trying to silence and intimerdate!

_The P. P.'s (edging away a little nervously, to one another)._ Well, I hope the Police are keeping a sharp look-out. I--I don't seem to see so many about as usual, eh?

_A Speculator_ (with two tubs and a board) to Female P._ 'Ere you are, lydy, hony two shellin' fur a fust-rate stand--you won't see no better if you was to pay a suvring!

_Female P._ You may say what you _like_, but I'm not going to tramp about any longer, and if you're so mean as to grudge two shillings--why, I can pay for myself!

_Husb._ Oh, hang it--get up if you want to!

_The Practical P._ Well, MARIA, it's no use worrying _now_--we must go and ask at the Police-Stations afterwards--it was a mistake to bring them!

_The Patriotic P._ Of course one is _told_ there's a good deal of rough horse-play on these occasions, but anything more entirely----

[_A "larrikin" comes up behind and "bashes" his hat in; a string of playful youths seize each other by the waist and rush in single file through crowd, upsetting everybody in their way; both the_ Patriotic Pleasure-seekers _go home by the Underground, without waiting for the Procession_.

_The Female P. (on the stand)._ JOHN, I'm sure this board isn't safe. We should see ever so much better on one of those carts--they're only asking sixpence, JOHN. You _are_ the worst person to come out with--you never give yourself the smallest trouble--I have to do it all! _You_ can stop here if you choose, _I'm_ going to get into one of those carts! [_She and_ JOHN _descend, and mount upon a coal-cart which is being driven slowly along the route_.

_Later; Procession approaching, distant music._

_Crowd (jumping up and down like "skip-jacks" to see better)._ 'Ere they are, they're coming!

[_The way is cleared by trotting mounted Constables._

_Stout Lady._ Well, if I wanted to faint ever so, I couldn't now--where are you, my dear?

_Another Stout Lady (cheerfully)._ I'm all right, Mrs. PORTER, Mum. I've got tight 'old of this nice young Perliceman's belt--don't you fret yourself about me!

_Experienced Sightseer (catching hold of little_ DUGGIE _and placing him in front, then pushing forward_). Make room for this little boy, will you, please, I want him to see.

_Crowd good-naturedly make way, affording unimpeded view of procession to_ DUGGIE--_and the_ Experienced Sightseer, _who troubles himself no further_.

_A Superior Sightseer._ To think of the traffic of the first city in the world being stopped for this contemptible tomfoolery!

[_Fights hard for a front place._

_Procession passing._

_Impertinent Female (to gorgeous Coachman)._ 'Ow you _'ave_ altered!

_Well-informed Person (pointing out City Marshal)._ That's Sir CHARLES, that is!

_Unemployed (smarting with sense of recent wrongs)._ Yah, toirant!

[_The C. M. beams with gratification._

_Open carriages pass, containing Aldermen in tall hats and fur-coats._

_Critical Crowd._ Brush yer 'ats! There's a nose! Oh, ain't he bin 'avin' a go at the sherry afore he started, neither! 'Ere comes old "Sir BEN"--that's 'im in the white pot 'at!

[_They cheer_ Sir BEN--_without, however, any clear notion why_.

_Allegorical Cars pass._

_Crowd._ Don't they look chilly up there! 'Old on to your globe, Sir! Don't ketch cold in them tights, Miss! They've run up agin somethink, that lot 'ave. See where it's all bent in--eh?

_Lord Mayor's Coach passes._

_Crowd._ 'Ooray! That's 'im with the muff on. No, it ain't, yer soft 'ed! It's 'im in the feathered 'at a-layin' back. Whoy don't yer let 'im set on yer lap, Guv'nor? &c., &c.

_A block. Lady Mayoress's Coach stopping._

_Crowd._ There's dresses! They must ha' cost a tidy penny!

_Agitator._ Wrung out of the pockets of the poor working-man! _I'd_ dress 'em, I would! Why should sech as you and me keep the likes o' them in laziness? If we 'ad our rights, it's _us_ as 'ud be riding in their places!

_Artisan (after a glance at him)._ Dunno as the Show'd be much the prettier to look at for _that_, mate.

_After the Procession._

_Practical Pleasure-seeker (who has been pushed into a back row, and seen nothing but the banners, to_ DUGGIE _and_ WEETIE, _miraculously recovered_). Thank Heaven, they're found! Children, let this be a lesson to you in future never to----What? Seen the Show beautifully, have you? (_Boiling over._) Oh, very well--wait till I get you home!

_The Female P._ Now, don't say another word, JOHN,--anyone but an _idiot_ would have _known_ that that cart would be turned down a back-street! If I hadn't _insisted_ on getting out when I did, we should have missed the Show altogether. Policeman, is the Show ever coming? Shall we get a good view from here?

_Policeman._ Capital view, Mum--if you don't mind waiting till next November! [_Tableau. Curtain._

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* * * * *

The Ingratitude of Grandolph.

Many terrible things have our patriots seen; They have seen their dear DIZZY extending the suffrage, And versatile GLADSTONE a-wearing the Green, And HARCOURT defending Home Rule and the rough-rage; And Disintegration approaching our realm, And Rads--so they fancy--inviting invaders; But that which their souls must with woe most o'erwhelm Is--Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL a-chaffing Fair Traders!

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"'_Jam' satis,_" as our Schoolmaster had just breath enough to murmur when he escaped from out of the midst of a Socialist Meeting in Trafalgar Square.

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Unfortunately, the great enemy of the Teetotal Temperance Societies is--the British "Public."

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MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE CITY OF LONDON.

(_A Contribution towards a Future History, by Macaulay Stiggins, C. C._)

The LORD MAYOR was the first Privy Councillor created, and has remained so ever since that auspicious event. On the death of the Monarch, he presides at the meeting that is immediately summoned, and appoints the new Cabinet, generally from the members of the late Government, but on one memorable occasion he appointed all the members of the Court of Aldermen who had passed the Chair, and although they were afterwards induced to resign, it was noticed that during their short administration matters went on much as usual. This was called the Cabinet of Absolute Wisdom, after Alderman WOOD, the Prime Minister, who was the First Lord of the Treasury who ever left more in it than he found there. His beautiful daughter, MARIA, was the reigning Toast of those hard-drinking days, and gave her well-known name to the magnificent City Barge that periodically conveys the City Fathers, together with the City Mothers, on their several important inspections of the Silver Thames, in the neighbourhood of Richmond and Twickenham. The matters they have to discuss on these occasions are of so weighty a nature that they are compelled to have five or six horses to draw them. On one occasion, and one only, they managed to get as far as Oxford, an account of which celebrated voyage was written by the Lord Mayor's Chaplain of the time, under the title of "Alderman WENABLES' Woyage to Hoxford," a copy of which is still preserved in the Bodleian, among their most cherished treasures, and can only be seen on special application, as fabulous sums have been offered by the Court of Aldermen for its destruction, it being the only copy that escaped when the whole edition was ordered to be bought up and destroyed. This unique volume is said to contain such astounding revelations as must be seen to be believed, and would possibly not be believed even then.

Before the newly-elected Lord Mayor is sworn in, he has to produce a Certificate from a Wine Merchant, "residinge in ye Cittye," and a Freeman of the Vintners' Company, that he has placed in the capacious Cellar at the Mansion House, provided for that purpose, ten Tuns, or one thousand dozen of good wine, for the year's consumption, and whatever is left, _if any_, is distributed among the Royal Hospitals, the quantity being carefully recorded by the learned Recorder, which record is placed under the control of the equally learned Comptroller, and remains for all time, as a witness to the liberality or stinginess of the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor of that particular year.

The Sheriffs are the most ancient officers of the Corporation, having been first elected in the reign of King NEBUCHADNEZZAR. A singular custom still prevails, originating, it is said, in their association with the grass-eating monarch. They are entitled, by virtue of their office, to the first six bundles of sparrow-grass--as it was originally spelt, and is still called by Members of the Corporation--that are brought into Covent Garden Market: and his Grace the Duke of BEDFORD is always courteously invited to partake of it, at a sumptuous banquet called "the Grass Festival." (_Vide Stow_, cap. 23 of BELL'S ed.)

The City Marshal was formerly a personage of great importance, being in fact of the same rank as a Field Marshal, the only difference being that one acted in the City and the other in the Field, whence their names. The City Marshal was the City Champion, and always rode into Guildhall, fully armed, on Lord Mayor's Day, at the commencement of the Banquet, and, throwing down a glove, dared anyone to mortal combat who disputed the rights of the Lord Mayor. If no one accepted his challenge, he quaffed a flagon of sack to his Lordship's health, and then cleverly and gracefully backed out of the Hall. It is recorded that on one occasion his challenge was accepted by a gallant Common Councilman who had been fulfilling the important duties of Wine-taster, and who, when called upon to name time and place for the deadly encounter, said, in the memorable words of the great ALFRED, "Here and now!" which so astonished the Champion that he pleaded sudden indisposition, and withdrew. The custom has since been discontinued. The gallant Common Councilman was made Deputy of the Ward of Port-soaken.

In ancient times the LORD MAYOR, as every one knows, had a Fool all to himself, and he was the only Fool permitted in the City. The appointment was open to all by competitive examination. On the occasion of a LORD MAYOR making a Fool of himself the office was abolished by the Common Council from motives of economy. In memory of this ancient privilege the LORD MAYOR once in the season has a fool--a gooseberry fool--all to himself.

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A NAPPY HOLIDAY.

_Any Time in August._--Just been reading capital article in _Nineteenth Century_, by Dr. JAMES MUIR HOWIE, on the "Nerve Rest-Cure," which says--"For those who cannot get a sufficient holiday, the best substitute is an occasional day in bed." Why not several days in bed? In fact one's whole summer holiday? "Better than climbing toilsome mountains," he remarks. Quite so--and much better than toilsome trip to Ramsgate with one's whole family in tow. (Think of the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. _She_ had all her family in _toe_. Laugh feebly at my own joke. Really my nerves must be _very_ bad.) Best feature of new holiday plan, however, is its _cheapness_. Was quite at a loss how to afford our annual trip till HOWIE came to rescue with his "(y)early to bed" cure. Announce to family that I intend following Dr. HOWIE'S advice. Family seems too stupefied to say anything.

_Evening._--Family has found its voice. Protests unanimously and quite fiercely against new holiday plan. Wife "sure I can afford trip to sea-side." If not, _where_ does my money go to? Argument forcible, but unpleasant.

_First Day._--Holiday begins. Sleep till 11 A.M. Scrumpshous! Should have slept longer, but two hurdy-gurdies stop outside, playing different airs. Not only murder the tunes, but "murder sleep" as well. Listen for ten minutes--nerves terribly shaky. Oughtn't to get out of bed, HOWIE says, but must. See my eldest boy, HENRY, giving Italian fiends money! What does this unwonted generosity mean?

_Afternoon._--Dinner in bed not a success. Everything underdone. Tell wife. She says, "Cook and servants in bad tempers; thought we were all going to Ramsgate, and they would have rest." Rest means clandestine kitchen parties. Feel angry--bad for nerves, but can't help it. Sleep impossible, as bed full of crumbs. Wonder HOWIE didn't think of this. Send HENRY for evening paper--perhaps it will soothe me.

It doesn't. He brings back one three days old. Says shopman gave it him! Send him again, and shop closed for night. Nerves actually _worse than ever_.

_Second Day._--Had disturbed night, owing to lack of my usual exercise yesterday. Still must stick to HOWIE'S prescription. Terrific row in house. Wife comes up after breakfast (in tears) to say children, deprived of sea-side trip, are ungovernable; pretend to be buffaloes and Cowboys _in drawing-room_! Already two valuable vases wrecked. Hang the children! Hang Colonel CODY too! Still even paying for new vases cheaper than Ramsgate lodgings. Read morning paper. Just dropping off to sleep over somebody's important speech on Ireland, when----

_Three_ hurdy-gurdies outside! Rush to window, open it, and bid men avaunt. They won't avaunt. Say "they've been ordered to come every morning for a month by the young gent." This must be HENRY'S "Plan of Campaign." Send for him, and find he has prudently gone out. Nothing for it but to stuff cotton-wool into ears till men go. Cotton-wool in ears for a whole hour _shatters_ nerves.

_Third Day._--Much worse. Though I've given strict orders that no letters or bills are to be sent up to my bed-room, find Tax-Collector's little "Demand-Note" wrapped in fold of morning paper! Annoyed. Perhaps, after all, HOWIE wrong. Hullo! what's that? Somebody on my window-sill! Burglars? No, can't be. How bad all this is for my nerves. Spring up in time to see HENRY disappearing down rope-ladder, which he and his brothers have let down from roof. How horribly dangerous! Ring violently. Hear heavy thud in garden. Talk of "Nerve Rest-Cure"--rest of my nerves gone long ago, none left to be cured.

Wife (in tears again--awfully bad for nerves this) says the thud was not HENRY falling; boys have pulled down part of chimney, which has smashed the front steps--that's all. She suggests that perhaps, after all, this holiday plan in bed is not so good as----

_Five hurdy-gurdies_ to-day! Maddening! Hired by HENRY, wife says. Send _him_ to bed for whole day; we'll see how he likes "Rest-Cure" for _his_ nerves. Get up gloomily, dress, and go downstairs. Pitch _Nineteenth Century_ into waste-paper basket. Feel nerves better after it. Decide on Ramsgate, as usual, and so ends my holiday in bed--my "Sleepy Hollow" day!

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