and the repeated appeal to "my lordship" was sweeter than nectar.

At Westminster, having been presented and received, I desired--I--John
Ebenezer Scropps, of Coventry--I desired the Recorder to invite the
judges to dine with me--I--who remember when two of the oldest and most
innocent of the twelve, came the circuit, trembling at the sight of
them, and believing them some extraordinary creatures upon whom all the
hair and fur I saw, grew naturally--I, not only to ask these formidable
beings to dine with me, but, as if I thought it beneath my dignity to do
so in my proper person, deputing a judge of my own to do it for me; I
never shall forget their bows in return--Chinese mandarins on a
chimney-piece are fools to them.

Then came the return--we landed once more in the scene of my dignity--at
the corner of Fleet Street we found the Lady Mayoress waiting for the
procession--there she was--Sally Scropps (her maiden name was
Snob)--there was my own Sally, with a plume of feathers that half filled
the coach, and Jenny and Maria and young Sally, all with their backs to
_my_ horses, which were pawing the mud and snorting and smoking like
steam engines, with nostrils like safety valves, and four of _my_
footmen hanging behind the coach, like bees in a swarm. There had not
been so much riband in my family since my poor father's failure at
Coventry--and yet how often, over and over again, although he had been
dead more than twenty years, did I, during that morning, in the midst of
my splendour, think of _him_, and wish that he could see me in my
greatness--yes, even in the midst of my triumph I seemed to defer to my
good, kind parent--in heaven, as I hope and trust--as if I were anxious
for _his_ judgment and _his_ opinion as to how I should perform the
arduous and manifold duties of the day.