Ennuyée," the "Diary of a Lady of Rank," and Heaven knows how many other
diaries besides! but who has ever heard of, or saw, the "_Diary of a Lord
Mayor_,--that day-book, or blotter, as it may be commercially termed, of a
gigantic mind? Who has ever perused the autobiography of the Lama of
Guildhall, Cham of Cripplegate, Admiral of Fleet Ditch, Great Turtle-hunter
and Herod of Michaelmas geese? We will take upon ourselves to answer--not
one! It was reserved for PUNCH to give to his dear friends, the public, the
first and only extract which has ever been made from the genuine diary of a
_late_ Lord Mayor of London, or, as that august individual was wont, when
in Paris, to designate himself on his visiting tickets--

"Mr. ----
"FEU LORD MAYOR DE LONDRES."

How the precious MS. came into our possession matters little to the reader;
suffice it to say, it is a secret which must ever remain confined to the
bosoms of PUNCH and his cheesemonger.

DIARY.

_Nov. 10, eight o'clock._--Dreamed a horrid dream--thought that I was
stretched in Guildhall with the two giants sitting on my chest, and
drinking rum toddy out of firemen's buckets--fancied the Board of Aldermen
were transformed into skittle-pins, and the police force into bottles of
_Harvey's sauce_. Tried to squeak, but couldn't. Then I imagined that I was
changed into the devil, and that Alderman Harmer was St. Dunstan, tweaking
my nose with a pair of red-hot tongs. This time, I think, I _did_ shout
lustily. Awoke with the fright, and found my wife pulling my nose
vigorously, and calling me "My Lord!" Pulled off my nightcap, and began to
have an idea I was somebody, but could not tell exactly who. Suddenly my