What cheer, my lord? I am return'd from

sea,

To amplifie your day of Jubilee, In this tried vessel, &c.

His lordship having surveyed the ship, and the trumpets sounding, he continueth his determined course toward Guildhall, but by the way is once more obstructed by another scene, called the Palace of Pleasure, which is a triumphal ionic arch of excellent structure, where, in distinct and perspicuous situations, sitteth nine beautiful and pleasant ladies, whose

names, natures, and ornaments are consentaneous, 1. Jollity, 2. Delight, 3. Fancy, 4. Felicity, 5. Wit, 6. Invention, 7. Tumult, 8. Slaughter, 9. Gladness; all of them properly enrobed and adorned; and to augment their delight, there are several persons properly habited, playing on sundry loud instruments of music, one of which, with a voice as loud and as tunable as a treble hautboy, chanteth our a Ditty in commendation of the Merchant-tailors' Trade, commencing thus,

This song, containing five more verses, being ended, the foot-marshal places the assistants, livery, and the companies on both sides of King's-street, and the pensioners with their targets hung on the tops of the javelins; in the rear of them the ensign-bearers; drums and fifes in front; he then hastens the foins and budge-bachelors, together with the gentlemen ushers, to Guildhall, where his lordship is again saluted by the artillerymen with three volleys more, which concludes their duty. His land attendants pass through the gallery or lane so made into Guildhall; after which the company repairs to dinner in the hall, and the several silk-works and triumphs are likewise conveyed into Blackwell-hall; and the officers aforesaid, and the children that sit in the pageants, there refresh themselves until his lordship hath dined. At the dinner in Guildhall, his lordship and the guests being all seated, the city music begin to touch their instruments with very artful fingers. Their ears being

as well feasted as their palates, and a concert lesson or two succeeding, "a sober person with a good voice, grave humour, and audible utterance, proper to the condition of the times," sings a song called The Protestants' Exhortation, the burden whereof is, Love one another, and the subject against the catholics. The song being ended, the musicians play divers new airs, which having done, three or four "habit themselves according to the humour of the song," and one of them chanteth forth The Plotting Papist's Litany, in ten stanzas, the first of which ends with

Joyntly then wee 'l agree,
To sing a Litany,
And let the burden be,
Ora pro nobis.

In the year 1688, the second mayoralty of sir Thomas Pilkington, who being of the skinner's company, a pageant in honour of their occupation, consisted of 66 a spacious wilderness, haunted and

inhabited with all manner of wild beasts and birds of various shapes and colours, even to beasts of prey, as wolves, bears, panthers, leopards, sables, and beavers; likewise dogs, cats, foxes, and rabbits, which tossed up now and then into a balcony fell oft upon the company's heads, and by them tossed again into the crowd, afforded great diversion; melodious harmony likewise allayed the fury of the wild beasts, who were continually moving, dancing, curvetting, and tumbling to the music."

On the alteration of the style, the swearing in of the lord mayor and the accompanying show, which had been on the 29th of October, was changed to the 9th of November. The speeches in the pageants were usually composed by the city poet, an officer of the corporation, with an annual salary, who provided a printed description for the members of the corporation before the day. Settle, the last city poet, wrote the last pamphlet intended to describe a lord mayor's show; it was for sir Charles Duncombe's, in 1708, but the prince of Denmark's death the day before, prevented the exhibition. The last lord mayor who rode on horseback at his mayoralty was sir Gilbert Heathcote in the reign of queen

Anne.

It will be remarked after this perusal,

that the modern exhibitions have no pretension to vie with the grandeur of the old "London triumphs." In 1760, the court of common council recommended pageants to be exhibited for the entertainment of their majesties on lord mayor's day. Such revivals are inexpedient, yet probably some means might be devised for improving the appearance of the present procession, without further expenditure from the city funds, or interfering with the public appropriation of the allowance for the support of the civic dignity. All that remains of the lord mayor's show, to remind the curiously

informed of its ancient character, is in the first part of the procession, wherein the poor men of the company to which the lord mayor belongs, or persons hired to represent them, are habited in long gowns and close caps of the company's colour, and bear painted shields on their arms, but without javelins. So many of these head the show, as there are years in the lord mayor's age. Their obsolete costume and hobbling walk are sport for the unsedate, who, from imperfect tradi

tion, year after year, are accustomed to call them "old bachelors"-tongues less polite call them "old fogeys." The numerous band of gentlemen-ushers in velvet coats, wearing chains of gold and bearing white staves, is reduced to halfa-dozen full-dressed footmen, carrying umbrellas in their hands. The antiquarian reminiscences occasioned by the throwing o substances that stone-eaters alone would covet, from the tops of the houses, can arise no more; and even the giants in Guildhall are elevated upon octagon stone columns, to watch and ward the great west window, in no other than a gigantic capacity: their proper situation they were displaced from some few years ago, owing, it is presumed, to lack of in formation in the civic authorities, that figures of giants anciently belonged to Guildhall, and that their corporate station was at the Guildhall door. In their present station, they are as much out of place as a church weathercock would be if it were removed from the steeple, and put on the sounding board of the pulpit.

This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and lithographed. It is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of his face. By way of denoting his pretension to "deathless notoriety," it has these few expressive words beneath it; namely, "Without equal in nature or art, this or in any other age or globe." Afterwards follows this intimation, "Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming, London, October, 1825." In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell the prints for five shillings each. Although he had coupled it with written intimation that he is "the Erial invaluable," and that after his decease will be inscribed on his tomb, "If this was not a gentleman, he would not have been buried in christian burial," yet the publishers were impenetrable to his "assurance," and therefore before and after, and on Guy Fawkes's day, a man was employed to walk the streets with a board bearing a couple of the impressions pasted thereon, the said man bearing also unpasted ones, "to all who choose to buy them" at one shilling each. The first public intimation of this "phenomenon," is in the Times of Saturday, July 2, 1825:-"An individual in a splendid dress of Spanish costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens. Having walked or rather skipped round the promenade, with a great air of consequence, saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst the audience in the front of the orchestra, and distributed a number of cards, on each of which was written, 'The Erial challenges the whole world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such. After having served about three or four hundred of these challenges, he darted off like lightning, taking the whole circuit of the gardens in his career, and made his exit through the grand entrance into the road where a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven off.” Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by "The Ærial" for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares himself "an Adonis; that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of his uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of Manchester by the common stage coach, and that assuming the disguise of common dress, like Apollo in "Midas" after expulsion from the celestials, he arrived in London on the day of June. Dull as he found this me

66

tropolis to personal merit, yet, to his Agreeable Surprise," there were some who said in the language of Lingo: "Such beauties in view I

Can never praise too high." Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered disclosure of his elegant person were honoured by visits from him. He represents some interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president of the royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired what "he considered the essential principle of man ?" the Ærial immediately answered "the thigh." Sir Thomas insensible to the mundane charms before him, observed that he thought the beauties of the mind should be preferred to those of the body, and therefore suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental beauty. This was an indignity, for it was opposed to the theory maintained by the Erial, that mental beauty results from personal beauty. Mr. Haydon was not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the cost of, the Erial, as will hereafter appear, that he had "a beautiful leg." His oral developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr. Chantry, induced that gentleman to decline prolongation of the interview, and to say he should at once call himself Ærial, and from that moment he did. Mr. Behnes told him that he was 66 no conjuror," and that every body laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor by such means humbled He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious strength he rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.

He conceives that he is the most beautiful person in the world, and hence besides calling himself "the Ærial," the "New Discovery," and "the Great Unknown," he adds "the Paragon of Perfection," "the Phoenix," "the God of Beauty," and "the Grand Arcana of Nature." Some one intimated that arcanum would be correct; he said, he did not choose to hum, and he was "not to be hummed." It was hinted that he might assume the name of Apollo; he turned from the speaker with contempt-"Apollo is nothing compared with me: there is no figure to compete with me in any respect, except the Achilles in the park, which may be somewhat like me in the under part of the foot upon the ground.

but upon that it is impossible to determine with accuracy, unless the figure flew from the pedestal."

an

He relates, that he visited Dr. Thornton, who lectures at the Marlborough rooms, in Great Marlborough-street, on craniology, botany, chemistry, astronomy, vision, hearing, the circulation of the blood, digestion, and the beneficial effects produced by the different gases in the cure of diseases." He inquired of this gentleman whether he thought exhibition of something never before seen under the sun, and which, when seen, people would fall down and worship, would be likely to take ?" The doctor inquired what the "something" was; the Erial answered by inquiring which of all the exhibitions was likely to be the most successful; the doctor answered, "the panorama of London in the Regent'spark when it opens." "But what do you think an infinitely more attractive exhibition will produce." "It is impossible to say-perhaps 20,000l. a year; but what is yours?"_" ?"_" You shall see-but not now -to-morrow." On the morrow the Erial came with a small bundle; and having obtained permission to retire therewith, alone to a room, promised to return in a few minutes, and cheer the sight of the doctor and his family with a more astonishing production of nature than the doctor or all mankind born before him had seen, or after ages could see. During his absence, the doctor's household were on tiptoe expectation till the long-looked-at door opened, when the Ærial entered in a close-fitting dress, and walking to the middle of the room, threw out his chest and left arm, and projecting his right arm behind, cried, "Behold!" Determined on an immediate public exhibition, the Ærial conceived the idea of a new joint stock company, "capital one million;" for which "good and valuable consideration, he proposed to put himself at the disposition of the company so soon as the subscription was filled up." To certain observations of the chancellor against the "new companies," the Ærial attributed a general indifference to personal overtures that he made to several individuals, with a view to arrangements for bringing him "into the market." He resolved to speculate on his own account; the first thing to be obtained was a grand room;" but the proprietor of the "Egyptian-hall" was deaf to the voice of the charmer, and

every room in London was denied to him, except on degrading conditions which people "without souls" are accustomed to require on such applications. Could he have obtained one friend to have gone shares with him, the summum bonum might have been obtained. If only one monied man would have advanced with capital, the Ærial would have advanced in person. It was to have been an exhibition by candlelight, for candlelight he said was indispensable to produce "extreme height," and render him in common eyes "a giant." This effect of exhibition by candlelight would be, he said, a “new discovery;" and therefore he added to himself the title of the "New Discovery." Ile is five feet one inch and a quarter high. Some one unthinkingly conversing in his presence, stated him to be five feet one inch and a half; the Arial corrected the inaccuracy with severity. “A quarter, sir," he said; "five feet one and a quarter, sir; mine is the perfect height; a quarter of an inch more would be higher, a quarter of an inch less would be lower than the standard of perfection!"

Acquiring experience from disappointment, and deeming that the wonder of his person might be as insupportable as

66

excess of light," the Ærial purposed to let himself in upon the public by degrees. At his chambers in Thavies-inn, he procured the attendance of a person to mould that limb, which Mr. Haydon, from inability to duly appreciate the rest of his body, had denominated" a beautiful leg." The operation was so tedious, that the mould was not completed till eleven o'clock in the evening. It was then carried away for the purpose of being cast, but the Arial suspected "all was not right," and "convinced," he says, "that the artist was sitting up to surreptitiously take a thousand casts from it, in the course of the night, and sell them all over the country," he jumped into a hackney, between one and two in the morning, and caused the coachman to drive him "as fast as the horses could go," to the artist's house. The coachman, then he, the door-knocker seized, and there both kept "lowd rub a dub tabering, with frapping rip rap." The drowsy servant roused from slumber, "creeping like snail, unwillingly" opened the street door; the Ærial called out "where's my leg! I'm come for my leg!" and, seizing "the candle," rushed to the workroom, which to his astonishment was