The Sun.
London, England, 1869-11-10 00:00:00

LONDON, WEDNESDAY, NOV. 10, 1869.

If we English could only acquire some small share
of that profound veneration for the dignity of Lord
Mayor of Loudon which is inspired in the breasts. of
the majority of Frenchmen by the mere mention of
the name of that august personage, what a wonder-
ful interest we should all of us take in
the coming round of the ninth of November.
As it is, the pageant annually attendant upon the
inauguration of the year of office of the Chief Magis-
trate of the chief city of the British Empire is re-
garded very much, indeed, with the sort of amused
toleration with which there might be allowed to pass
along our streets a troop of May-day mummers, a
string of Odd Fellows, a long and fantastic array of
Foresters in buff boots and green jerkins, or any
rather superior specimen of a GUT FAWKES Proces-

sion.

Until within the last few years, in fact

it might have been said, with a good deal
of truth, that the multitude in general who lined the
principal highways of London as spectators, looked
on chiefly with a profound sense of the ludicrous, be-
cause of the utter incongruity of those mounted men
in armour, wbo, most of them, looked far rather
like badly-stuffed dummies than veritable knights and
esquires, armed cap-a-pie for the tournay, and who,
marked with a glittering touch of absurdity at inter-
vals all down the line the preposterous character of the
whole gewgaw exhibitions. Eventually the extrava-
gance of the thing came to be so very poignantly real-
ized that even the raggedest urchin inthe rabble looked
on with his tongue in his cheek as the mail-clad appa-
ritions from.Wardour-street were borne in the saddle
very ill at ease, both in regard to their apparel
and their unaccustomed exhibition of horsemanship.
The men in armour then at last came to be abolished.
An endeavour was even made by one of the most recent
Lord Mayors to do then and thenceforth without
the gingerbread coach of immemorial magnificence,
The adventurous innovator took nothing by his move
but ridicule, and was greeted as he passed through
the City streets to Westminster with hisses of

indignation. The state coach had to b e restored
in deference to a sort of popular superstition, and
yesterday it reappeared in all the glory of a com-
plete and resplendent renovation. Soldiers, mounted
and on foot•—watermen staggering under un-
wieldy banners—beadles in portentous hats and
brass-headed wands of office—gold-laced flun-
kies in delicate carnation, silk stockings, picking
their way through the mire—carriages and four,
radiant in contrasting colours, carrying the Sheriffs

—tke State-coach and six, top-heavy, ornate, one
gorgeous mass of gold leaf and carving, a sort of
shrine of Mammon on wheels, containing within it the
City sovereign for a year, with his black robed Chap-
lain and one or two other important functionaries,
including among them that wonderful creature
with the grotesque fur cap, who holds in
his grasp a sword that is never drawn, and who looks
over the half door of the carriage like an inquisitive
child who is always bent upon seeing all that
is going on outside—these are the salient
points still observable in the annual procession

every ninth of November, interrupting, for hours
together, the enormous traffic of the main line of
thoroughfares, connecting the heart of the two cities
of London and Westminster. A semblance of import-
ance is attached to the day's proceedings, year after
year, by the attendance at the grand banquet at
the Guildhall in the evening by filo cLief personages
of the Government of the time being, who counten-
ance the event by their presence, who drink
from the loving cup with the Lord Mayor
and the Aldermen, and who, when replete with
turtle and champagne, and all the delicacies out of
the season, deliver speeches full of sound and com-