made lackeydom tumultuous. And then Beadledom seemed crazed, and, joined with the many ale-bibbers, were turned out to do good service in the show. But, to make my Lord's train complete, there was no knowing how many men he had to ride on horseback, how many more so inebriated they couldn't ride, how many of a character nobody would desire to know out of his show, and how many _ballet_ girls who ride in circuses and so forth,--all of which latter material had faces made deep of moonshine modesty, to suit the solemn occasion. Then my Lord topped off the little end of his show with the soup and great Ministers of State. And, that nothing should be left undone, the _Times_ must have a _go in_ at it, which it did with one of Doctor Moseley's most spicy articles, putting the whole thing into a very comical nutshell. Quoth Sam, without the thunderer's dissecting knife a London Lord Mayor would be the most beautiful of nobodys--that is, so far as sense goes. Smooth, on the nicest observation, was decidedly of the opinion that only one thing more was wanted to make the Lord Mayor's Show complete--a pair of long soft ears emblazoned on the Corporation coach. The reader will excuse Smooth for dwelling thus long on little things. "Having peeped long enough at the Lord Mayor's Show, I felt like looking at something more solid; so to that end I turned about the donkey-cart, whistled to the flunkeys (kept things of this kind merely to be like other Americans when abroad), and drove into Regent street, where I would inform General Pierce and all my firm friends a desperate excitement was made. Then, in glowing independence, I rolled away down Pall Mall, where the club-people--especially those of that institution of arrogance called the Reform--seemed much astonished. From thence I proceeded past Trafalgar square, where stood in singular contrast the monument of the noble Nelson, and an equestrian statue of that ignoble creature, Charles the First, the loss of whose head saved England from disgrace. How strange, that even in this day of intelligence and liberty-loving, it should stand a shrine before which very respectable old gentlemen poured out their stale patriotism! At last I found myself in Downing street--at the door of a massive and sombre-looking mansion (No. 12) in front of which stood methodical-looking men with grave countenances. And, too, there sauntered moodily venerable-looking gentlemen, now and then casting wistful glances at the time-begrimmed walls, as if they would see some one sealed-up in the antiquated recesses of the place. Mr. Smooth's turn-out only made a stir among them; they reckoned somebody had come! In a free-and-easy sort of way I walked straight to the door, maintaining my independence the while, and feeling as important as a door-keeper in Congress. After passing the massive entrance I encountered innumerable obstacles in the form of flunkeys, and then passed into a dingy room of immense size, which for all the world had