I had also a good deal to do with Mr. W. H. Collingridge, who founded that successful paper, _The City Press_, which his genial son, Mr. G. Collingridge, still carries on. By means of my connection with _The City Press_ I came into contact with many City leaders and Lord Mayors, and saw a good deal of City life at the Mansion House and at grand halls of the City Companies. I think the tendency in these days is much to run down the City Corporation. People forget that the splendid hospitality of the Mansion House helps to exalt the fame and power of England all the world over. Once upon a time I attended a Liberal public meeting at which two M.P.’s had spoken. One of the committee said to me, “Now you must make a speech.” My reply was that there was no need to do so, as the M.P.’s had said all that was required. “Oh, no,” said my friend, “not a word has been said about the Corporation of London. Pitch into them!” “No, no,” I replied. “I have drunk too much of their punch and swallowed too much of their turtle-soup.” I will never run down the City Fathers, many of whom I knew and respected, and at whose banquets men gathered—not merely City people, but the leading men of all the world. The glory of the Mansion House is the glory of the land. I could go on for a long while. Have I not been to _soirées_ at great men’s houses and met all sorts and conditions of people? Only two men have I given myself the trouble to be introduced to—one was Barnum, because he frankly admitted he was a humbug, though he seemed a decent fellow enough in private life. Another was Cetewayo, the jolliest-looking Kaffir I ever saw, and I went to see him because our treatment of him was a shame and a national disgrace. Once on a time as we were waiting for Royalty on a distant platform, one of the committee offered to introduce me to H.R.H. I declined, on the plea that I must draw the line somewhere, and that I drew it at princes, but oh! the vanity of wasting one’s time in society. Of the gay world, perhaps the wittiest and pleasantest, as far as my personal experience is concerned, was the late Charles Mathews. I had seen him on the stage and met him in his brougham and talked with him, and once I was invited to a grand party he gave to his friends and admirers. As I went into the reception-room I wondered where the jaunty and juvenile actor could be. All at once I saw a venerable, bald-headed old man coming down on me. Oh! I said to myself, this must be the butler coming to account for his master’s absence. Lo, and behold! it was Charley Mathews himself! CHAPTER XIV. HOW I PUT UP FOR M.P.