Meanwhile other Members troop off to Lords, where spectacle
is provided which beats the pantomimes into fits. Two new Peers to
take their seats; procession formed in back room outside; enters from
below Bar. First comes Black Rod, with nothing black about him; then
Garter King-at-Arms, a herculean personage, fully five feet high, with
a dangerous gleam in his eye, and the Royal Arms of England quartered
in scarlet and blue and gold on his manly back. Behind, in red cloaks
slashed with ermine, the new Baron and his escort of two brother
Peers. There being no room for them to advance in due procession, they
fall into single file, make their way to the Woolsack, where sits that
pink of chivalry, that mould of fashion, that perfection of form, the
LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.
New Peer drops on one knee, presents bundle of paper to LORD
CHANCELLOR. L.C., coyly turning his head on one side, gingerly takes
roll, hands it to Attendant. New Peer gets up; procession bundles back
to table; here Gentleman in wig and gown gabbles something from long
document. New Peer writes his name in a book (probably promising
subscription towards expenses of performance.) Garter King-at-Arms
getting to the front trots off with comically short strides for
so great a dignity; New Peer and escort follow, Black Rod solemnly
bringing up rear.
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