THE CITY AS IT WAS AND IS. 



A DIALOGUE. 



OLIVER. I am disposed to admit, Thompson, that there was 

 once a city of London ; but I as positively deny that it longer exists 

 in character and spirit. Not but that there are men and things sig- 

 nificative to common or Common Council capacities of " the city" 

 houses churches mayors aldermen marshals pastry-cooks, and 

 pickpockets ; but heart, life, and soul are wanting. The stern 

 probity, the prominent but honest vulgarity, the cheering, high- 

 sounding joviality of better days, are all cashiered, displaced, and 

 cut. The chivalric contract-supported loyalty is discouraged, de- 

 funct, abased ; and confound it, Sir ! even the very weather of an 

 inauguration day is changed. Instead of a nice drizzling, com- 

 pounded of smoke, water, and heaven knows what else, which cast 

 a solemn and a sober shade over the glories of the pageant, making 

 them loom broader and higher to the strained sights of men, and 

 rendering them, by partial concealment and obscurity, yet more 

 imposing the sun shines out upon the modern gawd, shewing it a 

 thing of mere human invention, and of ordinary mortal composition. 

 Sir, in the olden time there was more of poetry in it. The voices 

 of the marshalmen controlling the progress of the pageant, rose into 

 upper air : then came a slow, and heavy, and lumbering tread, 

 splashing, as might well be heard, the sable riches of the pavement 

 on either side ; and sounds something like the blowing of a troop of 

 grampuses, on a dark night in the Mediterranean, announced men 

 of portly corporations, of liberal feeding, of inagile movement, sorely 

 distressed in their travail. The steps of a steed succeeded. Anon 

 the gazing multitude had a visiofc of the marshal, elevated in his 

 pride of place, composed of cocked hat, and lace-covered coat (like a 

 crimson skeleton with golden ribs), holding the reins with only one 

 hand. It was Marlborough King William Julius Caesar. As the 

 vehicles rolled successively onward, the mind's eye strove to pierce 

 through the very mist ; and the heart warmed as the imagination 

 gave to view the rubicund honours of Sir William's visage, with 

 Mister Recorder, himself a picture his full and swarthy face, con- 

 trasted with the purity of his judicial wig; his hanging the word 

 was ominous black bushy brow j his game leg, and all his other 

 imposing attributes. Then there was Guildhall, Sir. What magni- 

 ficent associations are connected with that venerable word ! What 

 generous sympathies are awakened by its very name ! What rich 

 and glorious imagery dazzles the mental gaze, as fancy peoples the 

 civic board " with mighty men men of renown !" The rosy wings 

 of poetry soar higher at the very view. The form of history swells 

 into matchless grandeur. Like the ghost in Don Juan, Beckford's 

 marble statue steps from its pedestal, to become the arbiter of dain- 

 ties. Lord Chatham smiles, in approbation of the scene. Nelson's 

 profile gazes with monocular delight ; and Gog and Magog chuckle 



M. M. No. 92. T 



