This may have been, probably was, to some extent a _succès d'estime_. Mr. PEEL'S speech was genuine triumph; very brief, the shortest of the series, but incomparably the best; lofty in tone, perfect in delivery, saying just the right thing at the right moment in the right way. Its effect at Mansion House something like that which electrified House when Mr. PEEL, standing on steps of Chair, faced it for first time as its SPEAKER, revealing, even to those who had known him long, the full depths of his nature and the towering height of his capacity.
"_Mon Dieu_, TOBEE," said an eminent Frenchman, "the world in both hemispheres has always envied you the possession of your House of Commons. Now we know you have a Speaker worthy of its best traditions."
Banquet a great success; certainly the most brilliant galaxy of guests drawn together in same place since Mr. PHELPS, the American Minister, said farewell in memorable speech. Much struck with completeness of arrangements. Even the waiters imbued with consciousness of great occasion.
"Hope you enjide your dinner, Sir?" said one to me, when dessert placed on table.
"Excellent," I said; "perhaps the whitebait done a little too much; showed tendency to present itself in fragments; but 'twas nothing."
"Yessir," said the Waiter, diligently brushing off imaginary crumbs. "I'm going now, Sir."
"Ah," I said; "then I suppose you don't wait to hear the speeches; flow of reason, you know, quite a treat."
"Yessir," said he, still pegging away at the spotless table-cloth. "Can I get you anything more, Sir?"
"No, thank you," I said, quite touched at the man's considerate attention, the more marked since, as far as I recognised him, I had not seen him before. "I've done excellently."
"Yessir. I'm going now." Hardly seemed able to part. Not sure whether, in circumstances of international amity, I shouldn't have shaken hands with him. Made half advance in that direction. He quickly advanced his hand, but after glance at my extended palm, as rapidly withdrew it. Perhaps he was right. Not usual to shake hands with Waiter, though really, on occasion like this, one might disregard conventionalities. Waiter lingeringly withdrew, still keeping his eye on me, as if expecting me to call him back. Nodded a friendly farewell, and pensively peeled an orange, thinking how one touch of nature makes us kin. This good Waiter and I quite subdued by the graceful, generous thought of Lord Mayor KNILL, who has added one more link to the chain that binds in amity two nations that have fought all the way from Cressy to Waterloo.