All the world is familiar with the "Diary of a Physician," the "Diary of an Ennuyee," the "Diary of a Lady of Rank," and Heaven knows how many other diaries besides! but who has ever heard of, or saw, the "_Diary of a Lord Mayor_,--that day-book, or blotter, as it may be commercially termed, of a gigantic mind? Who has ever perused the autobiography of the Lama of Guildhall, Cham of Cripplegate, Admiral of Fleet Ditch, Great Turtle-hunter and Herod of Michaelmas geese? We will take upon ourselves to answer--not one! It was reserved for PUNCH to give to his dear friends, the public, the first and only extract which has ever been made from the genuine diary of a _late_ Lord Mayor of London, or, as that august individual was wont, when in Paris, to designate himself on his visiting tickets-- "Mr. ---- "FEU LORD MAYOR DE LONDRES." How the precious MS. came into our possession matters little to the reader; suffice it to say, it is a secret which must ever remain confined to the bosoms of PUNCH and his cheesemonger. DIARY. _Nov. 10, eight o'clock._--Dreamed a horrid dream--thought that I was stretched in Guildhall with the two giants sitting on my chest, and drinking rum toddy out of firemen's buckets--fancied the Board of Aldermen were transformed into skittle-pins, and the police force into bottles of _Harvey's sauce_. Tried to squeak, but couldn't. Then I imagined that I was changed into the devil, and that Alderman Harmer was St. Dunstan, tweaking my nose with a pair of red-hot tongs. This time, I think, I _did_ shout lustily. Awoke with the fright, and found my wife pulling my nose vigorously, and calling me "My Lord!" Pulled off my nightcap, and began to have an idea I was somebody, but could not tell exactly who. Suddenly my eye rested upon the civic gown and chain, which lay upon a chair by my bed-side:--the truth flashed upon my mind--I felt I was a _real_ Lord Mayor. I remembered clearly that yesterday I had been sworn into office. I had a perfect recollection of the glass-coach, and the sheriffs, and the men in armour, and the band playing "Jim along Josey," as we passed the Fleet Prison, and the glories of the city barge at Blackfriars-bridge, and the enthusiastic delight with which the assembled multitude witnessed-- [Illustration: THE LORD MAYOR TAKING WATER.] I could also call to mind the dinner--the turtle, venison, and turbot--and the popping of the corks from the throats of the champagne bottles. I was conscious, too, that I had made a speech; but, beyond this point, all the events of the night were lost in chaotic confusion. One thing, however, was certain--I was a _bona fide_ Lord Mayor--and being aware of the arduous duties I had to perform, I resolved to enter upon them at once. Accordingly I arose, and as some poet says-- "Commenced sacrificing to the Graces, By putting on my breeches."