"Aunt Jennie," said my little godson Willie, a few days ago, "wont
you go with us to see the Lord Mayor's show? There'll be thirteen
elephants and eight clowns, and an elephant picks a man up with his
trunk and holds him there. And then mamma's going to take me to
Sampson's. Do you know Sampson, Aunt Jennie?"
"I know about Samson in the Bible, Willie."
"Oh, not that one; our Sampson is a man in a shop in Oxford street,
and he makes such nice boys' clothes, and he's the master."
I have just come home from the Sandwich Islands, where I have been
living; I spent a few years, too, in New Zealand and Tahiti, and so
have seen many wonderful things on the land and sea; but a Lord Mayor
going to be sworn in to his duties, attended by thirteen elephants and
a London crowd, would be a novelty to me. I thought, too, that certain
little boys and girls in the Sandwich Islands and the United States,
who also call me Aunt Jennie, would like to hear all about it.
This has been an exciting week for the London children. The fifth of
November fell on Sunday, and Guy Fawkes had to wait till Monday to
make his appearance. All that day he was carried about the streets in
various shapes and forms, and the naughty, ignorant little boys, in
spite of enlightened school-board teaching, sang at our doors:
"A ha'penny loaf to feed the Pope,
A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
A pint of beer to wash it all down,
And a jolly good fire to burn him."
"Oh, papa," said Willie, as he ran into the breakfast-room for
pennies, "aren't you glad you're a real man and not a pope?"
At last the ninth, the Lord Mayor's day, came. It is also the Prince
of Wales' birthday, so the city would be very gay-looking with all the
flags flying.
Alas! it was a dark, dull morning, and a heavy fog hung all over the
city. Alas for the gilt coaches, the steel armor and other braveries!
and then the elephants, how could they possibly feel their way all
round the city in a thick, yellow fog? But, happily, by eleven the
weather cleared, and the sun shone out brightly. Such a crowd as there
was at our railway dépôt! So many bonny, happy little children never
went on the same morning to the busy old town before. It was something
new for great elephants to be seen walking through the prosy business
streets. Once before, twenty-seven years ago, when Sir John Musgrave
was Lord Mayor, not only elephants, but camels, deer, negroes,
beehives, a ship in full sail, and Britannia seated on a car drawn by
six horses, had made part of the show; since then, however, no Lord
Mayor had been thoughtful enough of little and big children's pleasure
to order out such delightful things, and so this year everybody must
go. To quote from the _Daily News:_
"Since the reign of Henry III., when, by that monarch's gracious
act the Lord Mayor of London was permitted to present himself
before the Barons of Exchequer at Westminster instead of submitting
the citizens' choice for the king's personal approval, there has
been no Lord Mayor's show at which so great a concourse of
spectators assembled."
We crowd into the cars and are soon in Cannon street. At the gates a
boy meets us with little books for sale, shouting, "Thirteen elephants
for a penny! the other boys'll only give you twelve, but I'll give you
thirteen. Sold again! Thirteen elephants for a penny!" This wonderful
book consists of a series of common gaudily colored pictures, supposed
to represent the procession, which has done service at the show
from time immemorial, but it is each year as welcome as ever to the
children who each have a penny to buy one. Through the streets we have
passing visions of pink silk stockings, canary-colored breeches, and
dark green coats and gold lace, also tri-colored rosettes as large as
saucers; and pass by shop-windows full of sweet, eager little faces,
in the place of hose, shirts, sewing-machines, etc.
At last we arrive at our destination in Cheapside, where, through the
kindness of a friend, a window on the first floor of a large building
is waiting for us. How impatient we are until we hear the band of the
Grenadier Guards, which heads the procession. After this band and that
of the Royal London Militia, come the Worshipful Company of Loriners,
preceded by jolly watermen in blue and white striped jerseys and white
trousers, bearing banners; more watermen follow to relieve them; the
beadle of the company with his staff of office; the clerk in his
chariot; the wardens, wearing silk cloaks trimmed with sables,
in their carriages, and amongst them Sir John Bennett, the great
watch-maker in Cheapside, a charming-looking old gentleman with rosy
cheeks and profuse gray curls; his face lights up with smiles as the
shouts of "Bravo, Bennett," show how popular he is.
Then comes a grand yellow coach, in which rides the Master of the
Company, attended by his chaplain. After the Loriners come the
Farriers, the band of the First Life Guards, banners, beadle and mace
clerk, wardens and master. After them the Broderers. As these pass
slowly along, an excitement is caused by the behavior of the horse of
a hussar, who is mounting guard. It does not like the proceedings at
all, and still less the greasy asphalt on which it stands, dances
round, backs into the Worshipful Master of Broderers' carriage, and
finally rears and falls, unseating its rider. The hussar is quite cool
and quiet, soon reseats himself, and rejects the offer of a fussy
little man in red to hold his horse.
And now comes the Worshipful Company of Bakers, preceded by their
banner, with its good old motto, "Praise God for all." These are
really very jolly and well-favored looking companions, most of the
members bearing large bouquets of flowers. After them the Vintners'
Company, with the band of the Royal Artillery; ten Commissioners,
each bearing a shield; eight master porters in vintner's dress; the
Bargemaster in full uniform, and the Swan Uppers. These are men who
look after the swans belonging to the corporation of London, which
build their nests along the banks of the Thames, and they mark the
young swans each spring.
The "Uppers" look very well in their dress, consisting of dark cloth
jackets slashed with white, blue and white striped jerseys and white
trousers.
After this company had passed, a grand shout announced the coming of
the elephants. These, as some small boy has observed, are "curious
animals, with two tails--one before and one behind." First came a
number of large ones, with Mr. Sanger, their owner, who was mounted on
a curiously spotted horse. They were gorgeous with oriental trappings
and howdahs. On the foremost one rode a man representing a grand
Indian prince. He had a reddish mustache, wore spectacles, a
magnificent purple and white turban, and showy oriental costume. He
produced a great impression on the crowd. In other howdahs sat one,
two or three splendid Hindoos, whose dress was past description. Then
came several young elephants ridden by boys; one of these was seized
with a desire to lie down, and had to be vigorously roused; but,
on the whole, they behaved in a wonderfully correct and dignified
manner--now and then gracefully swinging round their trunks amongst
the sympathizing crowd, in search of refreshment.
The elephants were escorted by equestrians in state costumes, and
followed by six knights in steel armor, with lances and pennons,
mounted on chargers. One of these "wouldn't go," and had to be dragged
on ignominiously by a policeman. Then the Epping Forest rangers came.
They were picturesquely dressed in green velvet coats, broad-brimmed
hats and long feathers. After these, trumpeters, under-sheriffs in
their state carriages, aldermen, the Recorder, more trumpeters, and
then a most gorgeous coach--with hammer-cloth of red and gold, men in
liveries too splendid to describe, and four fine horses--brings the
late lord mayor. The mounted band of household cavalry follows. These
really look splendid in crimson coats covered with gold embroidery and
velvet caps, riding handsome white horses.
There is a stoppage just as they come up. They are rapturously greeted
by the crowd, and requested to "play up." The mayor's servants, in
state liveries, follow on foot. After them rides a very important
person, the city marshal, on horseback. The city trumpeters come now,
preceding the right honorable the lord mayor's most gorgeous gilt
coach, drawn by six horses. In it sits Sir Thomas White, supported by
his chaplain, and attended by his sword-bearer and the common crier.
An escort of the 21st Hussars brings up the rear. Policemen follow,
and after them a stray mail-cart, a butcher's boy with his tray; after
that, not just the deluge, but the crowd.
"Oh, mamma!" says Willie, "the beefeaters didn't come! Nine of them
there are in my book, and a grand one going in front, blowing a
trumpet. And the man holding his thumb to his nose at the sheriffs;
and the policeman knocking a thief down with a staff! And the lord
mayor had no spectacles on. That's not fair! Do beefeaters eat lots of
beef, mamma?"
"Oh, no," says Charlie, with a superior air, "they are only sideboard
chaps."
Willie is still more puzzled, until he is told that in the olden time
servants so costumed used to stand by the sideboard, or buffet, as
it was called, at feasts, and so got the name of buffetiers, and by
degrees the name became changed into beefeaters, which was more easily
remembered by the people.
[Illustration: THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON'S SHOW.]
From our window we could not, of course, follow the procession on its
winding way, nor had we seen it start. On looking at the paper next
morning, we read that at first it was feared that the elephants had
failed to keep their appointment. It was almost time to set out, and
no elephants were to be seen. What must be done? The people ought not
to be cheated out of the best part of the show; and yet, on the other
hand, how undignified for a lord mayor to be kept waiting for thirteen
elephants! I am sorry to say the police were rather glad. They had
been very much afraid that the animals might prove troublesome during
so long and unusual a walk; or else, coming from a circus, might, at
any sudden pause, imagine themselves in the arena, and take it into
their grave heads to perform on two legs and terrify the horses, or
possibly annoy the lord mayor and his chaplain by putting their
long trunks into his coach. But, happily for us, the police were
disappointed. Such dignified creatures could not be expected to come
early and be kept waiting.
Just at the right time they came leisurely up, and gravely taking
their proper place, marched on with their proverbial sagacity--waiting
outside Westminster Hall, whilst the lord mayor swore to do his
duty, as quietly as though they were at home--and afterward left the
procession at Blackfriars Bridge, to go to their own quarters and
eat their well-earned dinner. It is to be hoped that the lord mayor
ordered something specially good for them.
The elephants having left, the **embassadors, her majesty's ministers of
state, the nobility, judges, and other persons of distinction, joined
the procession, and proceeded to feast with his lordship and the lady
mayoress at Guildhall.
[*sic]
* * * * *