and holds the city sword, as long as a pike-staff--Odd's blood! If he
once draws that sword, Majesty itself is not safe!

Under the protection of this mighty potentate, therefore, the good
people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple Bar is an effectual
barrier against all interior foes; and as to foreign invasion, the Lord
Mayor has but to throw himself into the Tower, call in the trainbands,
and put the standing army of Beef-eaters under arms, and he may bid
defiance to the world!

Thus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own habits, and its own
opinions, Little Britain has long flourished as a sound heart to this
great fungous metropolis. I have pleased myself with considering it as
a chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John Bullism were garnered
up, like seed corn, to renew the national character, when it had run
to waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spirit of
harmony that prevailed throughout it; for though there might now
and then be a few clashes of opinion between the adherents of the
cheesemonger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud between the
burial societies, yet these were but transient clouds, and soon passed
away. The neighbors met with good-will, parted with a shake of the hand,
and never abused each other except behind their backs.

I could give rare descriptions of snug junketing parties at which I
have been present; where we played at All-fours, Pope-Joan,
Tome-come-tickle-me, and other choice old games; and where we sometimes
had a good old English country dance to the tune of Sir Roger de
Coverley. Once a year, also, the neighbors would gather together, and
go on a gypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done any man's heart
good to see the merriment that took place here as we banqueted on