ust tell you
all about it. The day began beautifully. After a spell of laughing and
crying weather, and all the world sneezing and blowing its nose, there
came a frosty morning with the sun shining and the air as bright as
diamonds. I left the hospital between, eleven and twelve o'clock, and
crossing the park by Birdcage Walk I noticed that flags were flying on
Buckingham Palace and church bells ringing everywhere. It turned out to
be the birthday of the Prince of Wales, and the Lord Mayor's Day as well,
and by the time I got to Storey's Gate bands of music were playing and
people were scampering toward the Houses of Parliament. So I ran, too,
and from the gardens in front of Palace Yard I saw the Lord Mayor's Show.

"Do you know what that is, good people? It is a civic pageant. Once a
year the City King makes a royal procession through the streets with his
soldiers and servants and keepers and pipers and retainers, bewigged and
bepowdered and bestockinged pretty much as they used to be in the days
before the flood. There have been seven hundred of him in succession, and
his particular vanity is to show that he is wearing the same clothes
still. But it was beautiful altogether, and I could have cried with
delight to see those grave-looking signiors forgetting themselves for
once and pretending they were big boys over again.

"Such a sight! Flags were flying everywhere and festoons were stretched
across the streets with mottoes and texts, such as 'Unity is strength'
and 'God save the Queen,' and other amiable if not original ideas.
Traffic was stopped in the main thoroughfares, and the 'buses were sent
by devious courses, much to the astonishment of the narrow streets. Then
the crowds, the dense layers of potted people with white, upturned faces,
for all the world like the pictures of the round stones standing upright
at the Giant's Causeway--it was wonderful!

"And then the fun! Until the procession arrived the policemen were really
obliging in that way. The one nearest me was as fat as Falstaff, and a
slim young Cockney in front kept addressing intimate remarks to him and
calling him Robert. The young impudence himself was just as ridiculous,
for he wore a fringe which was supported by hair-oil and soap, and rolled
carefully down the right side of his forehead so that he could always
keep his left eye on it. And he did, too.

"But the pageant itself! My gracious! how we laughed at it! There were
Epping Forest verder