"My lords and gentlemen, I have not forgotten the toast I am asking you to drink. ’The Commerce of London’ is a mighty fact, a tribute to our national energies and honourable name. It is potent; yet its power might be greater than ever for securing human happiness. All that is required is a little more humanity, sympathy, imagination, easy sacrifice on the part of--_us_! We, the masters, can do great things. Let us manage this. We shall not make our means and wealth appreciably less by securing that those dependent on us have sufficient to live on in decency and comfort; nor shall we lose anything worth the keeping if we resolutely refuse to condescend to such shoddy evils as sweating, jerry-building, wild-cat speculations, and the maintenance of the slums. Let us live well, and avoid dying leaving preposterous fortunes behind us. Let me make a public confession. I own five houses in a street in South London. They are old, ill-built, badly-drained, rack-rented. I know it well, but have never thought of the true facts about them till now. Those houses shall be destroyed; and, in their stead, buildings erected that will provide decent and comfortable homes at a fair rent for the present occupiers. I shall not lose much, if anything, through the improvement; but the happiness I shall in consequence gain will be immeasurable. There will be no skeletons in my cupboard henceforth. My lords and gentlemen, am I to go on this crusade alone? Will you join me in this effort for human good?" Every man in the assembly, including the toast-master, rose in his place and shouted "Yes!" "Then may I suggest that each of you takes his menu and writes on it resolutions--no pie-crust promises these, no New Year good intentions, but resolutions to be lived up to and with determination kept? If I fail in my intention, hoot me and stone me at the end of my year of office; but I will not fail! I will not fail!" June flew, and kneeling on the top of the Lord Mayor’s head--so round and smooth and shiny--kissed it delightedly. A new inspiration thereupon came to him: "Above the resolutions write--’Let us make London fit for the fairies!’ My lords and gentlemen, I give you the toast." They drank it in bumpers. *CHAPTER VII* *ARCHIDIACONAL FUNCTIONS* When the excitement which followed the Lord Mayor’s speech had to some extent subsided, there was a hurried borrowing and sharpening of pencils. The Lord Mayor wrote his resolutions with a flourish. "I’ll have that framed," he said, as he gazed with head a-slant at the inscribed menu. The Archdeacon wrote his in Latin verse. Emmanuel Oldstein--far away--began his with a gold pencil as large as a cigar; and then paused, puzzled. "’Ow d’ye thpell fairieth--oh, and what are fairieth?" He had a faint fear that they were something to do with the Book of Common Prayer.