Be it known to all my readers that the Mansion House, or Guildhall, is to London what the City Hall is to New York—the Hotel de Ville to Paris or Brussels—and the Stadt Haus to Amsterdam. It is here that the Lord Mayor of London lives and here he deals out justice to his constituents. The Guildhall or Mansion House of London is one of the finest public buildings in the city, and has a noble gallery, dining hall, and a service of municipal gold and silver plate, which is used by the Lord Mayor on state occasions, besides a splendid collection of paintings.
But it is of the Justice Court, a small room in the Mansion House, that we have to speak on this occasion, and not of the plate, or of the Lord Mayor's annual show.
The Mansion House is just opposite the Bank of England and the Royal Exchange, in the very heart of moneyed London, Lombard street being but a very short distance around the corner, with its horde of money changers, bill discounters brokers, and bankers.
This Court is not opened before noonday, as the Lord Mayor of London is too mighty a magnate to be hurried in his daily duties for any command or Court of Justice.
Accordingly at noon, I find myself below the steps leading to the Mansion House, and presently I begin to ascend the broad staircase of stone, with a small crowd of policemen, officers of the Court, witnesses, and lawyers. I am questioned as to my business by an officer at the door, but being in company with detective Irving, of New York City (who is about to appear before the Lord Mayor, in the case of Clement Harwood, the celebrated forger, whom the former had captured at New York on board of an English steamer, before she had touched her dock, and had him brought back to London for trial), I am admitted, and after one or two turnings, find myself in a well-lighted room of moderate size, with a high ceiling and two windows looking out on the Poultry and Threadneedle street.
DETECTIVE IRVING.
Between those two windows is a throne or dais, gorgeous enough for a monarch, and behind the throne are emblazoned the municipal mace and sword, and the motto of the City of London, "Domine Dirige Nos," surmounted by the lion and unicorn, the arms of Great Britain. This is the Lord Mayor's Chair of Justice, but the awful being to whom it appertains has not yet made his appearance, and I have leisure to look around me.