"Oh, papa," said Willie, as he ran into the breakfast-room for
pennies, "aren't you glad you're a real man and not a pope?"

At last the ninth, the Lord Mayor's day, came. It is also the Prince
of Wales' birthday, so the city would be very gay-looking with all the
flags flying.

Alas! it was a dark, dull morning, and a heavy fog hung all over the
city. Alas for the gilt coaches, the steel armor and other braveries!
and then the elephants, how could they possibly feel their way all
round the city in a thick, yellow fog? But, happily, by eleven the
weather cleared, and the sun shone out brightly. Such a crowd as there
was at our railway dépôt! So many bonny, happy little children never
went on the same morning to the busy old town before. It was something
new for great elephants to be seen walking through the prosy business
streets. Once before, twenty-seven years ago, when Sir John Musgrave
was Lord Mayor, not only elephants, but camels, deer, negroes,
beehives, a ship in full sail, and Britannia seated on a car drawn by
six horses, had made part of the show; since then, however, no Lord
Mayor had been thoughtful enough of little and big children's pleasure
to order out such delightful things, and so this year everybody must
go. To quote from the _Daily News:_

"Since the reign of Henry III., when, by that monarch's gracious
act the Lord Mayor of London was permitted to present himself
before the Barons of Exchequer at Westminster instead of submitting
the citizens' choice for the king's personal approval, there has
been no Lord Mayor's show at which so great a concourse of
spectators assembled."