At the door stand tall guards, as rigid as statues, dressed in rich and picturesque costumes, and bearing halberds.

In a high gallery which runs all around the place is a band of musicians and a packed company of citizens of both sexes, in brilliant attire.

In the centre of the room, upon a raised platform, is Tom's table.

Now let the ancient chronicler speak: "A gentleman enters the room bearing a rod, and along with him another bearing a tablecloth, which, after they have both kneeled three times with the utmost veneration, he spreads upon the table, and after kneeling again they both retire; then come two others, one with the rod again, the other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread; when they have kneeled as the others had done, and placed what was brought upon the table, they too retire with the same ceremonies performed by the first; at last come two nobles, richly clothed, one bearing a tasting-knife, who, after prostrating themselves three times in the most graceful manner, approach and rub the table with bread and salt, with as much awe as if the King had been present." {6} So end the solemn preliminaries.

Now, far down the echoing corridors we hear a bugle-blast, and the indistinct cry, "Place for the King! Way for the King's most excellent majesty!" These sounds are momently repeated -- they grow nearer and nearer--and presently, almost in our faces, the martial note peals and the cry rings out, "Way for the King!" At this instant the shining pageant appears, and files in at the door, with a measured march.