The
imagination easily supplied a gold coach, eight cream-colored horses
of your true Pegasus breed, huzzaing multitudes, running footmen, and
clanking knights in armor, a chaplain and a sword-bearer with a muff
on his head, scowling out of the coach-window, and a Lord Mayor all
crimson, fur, gold chain, and white ribbons, solemnly occupying the
place of state. A playful fancy could have carried the matter farther,
could have depicted the feast in the Egyptian Hall, the Ministers, Chief
Justices, and right reverend prelates taking their seats round about his
lordship, the turtle and other delicious viands, and Mr. Toole behind
the central throne, bawling out to the assembled guests and dignitaries:
"My Lord So-and-so, my Lord What-d'ye-call-'im, my Lord Etcaetera, the
Lord Mayor pledges you all in a loving-cup." Then the noble proceedings
come to an end; Lord Simper proposes the ladies; the company rises from
table, and adjourns to coffee and muffins. The carriages of the nobility
and guests roll back to the West. The Egyptian Hall, so bright just now,
appears in a twilight glimmer, in which waiters are seen ransacking the
dessert, and rescuing the spoons. His lordship and the Lady Mayoress
go into their private apartments.
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