In case of a royal dinner, the Judge would lead
the Queen to the table.
The dinner was at the Town Hall, and the rooms and the whole affair were
all in the most splendid style. Nothing struck me more than the footmen
in the city livery. They really looked more magnificent in their
gold-lace and breeches and white silk stockings than any officers of
state. The rooms were beautiful; gorgeously painted and gilded,
gorgeously lighted, gorgeously hung with paintings,--the plate was
gorgeous, and the dinner gorgeous in the English fashion.
After the removal of the cloth the Mayor gave various toasts, prefacing
each with some remarks,--the first, of course, the Sovereign, after which
"God save the Queen" was sung, the company standing up and joining in the
chorus, their ample faces glowing with wine, enthusiasm, and loyalty.
Afterwards the Bar, and various other dignities and institutions were
toasted; and by and by came the toast to the United States, and to me, as
their Representative. Hereupon either "Hail Columbia," or "Yankee
Doodle," or some other of our national tunes (but Heaven knows which),
was played; and at the conclusion, being at bay, and with no alternative,
I got upon my legs, and made a response. They received me and listened
to my nonsense with a good deal of rapping, and my speech seemed to give
great satisfaction; my chief difficulty being in not knowing how to pitch
my voice to the size of the room.
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