Ho, guildsmen, all your banners wave! ho, gaily ring, ye bells! Ho, trumpets, sound a flourish! ho, urchins, shriek your yells! Thou coachman, drive on furiously; ye horses swiftly stride; Speed on that glorious coach which bears our Lord Mayor in his pride. No sun shone on those panels decked with classic subjects old; The mists of damp November dimmed its hammercloth of gold; Still boys at its great Jehu stared, and their tears began to flow, To think such coach they ne’er would see until next Lord Mayor’s Show. From the Guildhall to Westminster, whene’er that pageant passed, The tide of business there was slow, as on a day of fast; Girls rushed to doors and windows, men climbed on gates and walls, Right loud and clear the bells all day rang out from great St. Paul’s; The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked neither left nor right, But as he looked straight to his front he must have seen the sight. At Westminster it paused, and then down Thames Embankment wound, While thicker still became the throng, and louder still the sound, Till, Guildhall reached, it halted, while the Mayor in state descends To greet and feast great Beaconsfield, to banquet with his friends. As grand as was the Show this year, so may it next year be; Heaven send us such another sight, and take me there to see. SPHINX (_Captain J. A. Barlow_, 96th Reg.) _Second Prize._ Come hither, children, for you love your grandsires tales, I know―― I’ll tell you of the Lord Mayor’s Show I saw long years ago; What time the gallant ’prentice band came forth with gibe and jeer To flout the civic monarch whom they had been used to cheer. It was a fine November day, the year of the Zulu war, Hot-foot a little ragged boy came flying to Temple Bar; He said he’d seen the brave array advancing to the Strand, Preceded by the minstrelsy of all the Life Guards band; He’d dodged beneath a horse, and ’scaped by dint of nimble feet, Though a peeler tall, B 99, had chased him down the street. Straightway each clerk and office boy his walnuts ceased to crack, Forth from its hiding place was brought a hideous doll dyed black; The dirty little boys ran out the soldiers to espy, While in the crowd the pickpockets were faking many a cly. * * * * *