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- ‘Poor Man’s Pudding,’ a sea voyage was recommended to me by my
physician. The battle of Waterloo having closed the long drama of
Napoleon’s wars, many strangers were visiting Europe. I arrived in
London at the time the victorious princes were there assembled enjoying
the Arabian Nights’ hospitalities of a grateful and gorgeous
aristocracy, and the courtliest of gentlemen and kings--George the
Prince Regent.
I had declined all letters but one to my banker. I wandered about for
the best reception an adventurous traveller can have--the reception, I
mean, which unsolicited chance and accident throw in his venturous way.
But I omit all else to recount one hour’s hap under the lead of a very
friendly man, whose acquaintance I made in the open street of Cheapside.
He wore a uniform, and was some sort of a civic subordinate; I forget
exactly what. He was off duty that day. His discourse was chiefly of the
noble charities of London. He took me to two or three, and made admiring
mention of many more.
‘But,’ said he, as we turned into Cheapside again, ‘if you are at all
curious about such things, let me take you--if it be not too late--to
one of the most interesting of all--our Lord Mayor’s Charities, sir;
nay, the charities not only of a Lord Mayor, but, I may truly say, in
this one instance, of emperors, regents, and kings. You remember the
event of yesterday?’
‘That sad fire on the river-side, you mean, unhousing so many of the
poor?’
‘No. The grand Guildhall Banquet to the princes. Who can forget it? Sir,
the dinner was served on nothing but solid silver and gold plate, worth
at the least £200,000--that is, 1,000,000 of your dollars; while the
mere expenditure of meats, wines, attendance, and upholstery, etc.,
cannot be footed under £25,000--125,000 dollars of your hard cash.’
‘But, surely, my friend, you do not call that charity--feeding kings at
that rate?’
‘No. The feast came first--yesterday; and the charity after--to-day. How
else would you have it, where princes are concerned? But I think we
shall be quite in time--come; here we are at King Street, and down there
is Guildhall. Will you go?’
‘Gladly, my good friend. Take me where you will. I come but to roam and
see.’
Avoiding the main entrance of the hall, which was barred, he took me
through some private way, and we found ourselves in a rear blind-walled
place in the open air. I looked round amazed. The spot was grimy as a
backyard in the Five Points. It was packed with a mass of lean,
famished, ferocious creatures, struggling and fighting for some
mysterious precedency, and all holding soiled blue tickets in their
hands.
‘There is no other way,’ said my guide; ‘we can only get in with the
crowd. Will you try it? I hope you have not on your drawing-room suit?
What do you say? It will be well worth your sight. So noble a charity
does not often offer. The one following the annual banquet of Lord
Mayor’s day--fine a charity as that certainly is--is not to be mentioned
with what will be seen to-day. Is it, ay?’
As he spoke, a basement door in the distance was thrown open, and the
squalid mass made a rush for the dark vault beyond.
I nodded to my guide, and sideways we joined in with the rest. Ere long
we found our retreat cut off by the yelping crowd behind, and I could
not but congratulate myself on having a civic, as well as civil guide;
one, too, whose uniform made evident his authority.
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