This eccentric wish elicited a look of surprise from the Squire, which Sir Felix observing,—
“My rason is,” said he, “that the gates of heaven being open all that day long, a body may slip in unknownst, as it is to be hoped that you, Mr. Dashall, and I may do, some day shortly without any interruption at all, at all.”
This ludicrous finis excited the laughter of the company—
“But lo! the clouds break off, and sideways run, Out from his shelter lively looks the sun:”
and the united observers of Real Life hailing the favorable presage, resumed their perambulation.—
Advancing along Piccadilly towards Hyde Park, they reached the splendid mansion of the hero of Waterloo; the gates were open, and a travelling carriage with four horses was in waiting for his Grace, who was then about setting off to inspect the fortifications of the Netherlands.{2} Neither Sir Felix nor Tallyho having ever seen the Duke, the triumvirate paused at the entrance of the Court-yard, until the carriage came forth, when they saluted the gallant warrior with the tribute of respect due to distinguished services and exalted genius, which his Grace very courteously returned.
1 On the subject of “convenient accommodation for ladies who wish privately to ly in,” if we might hazard an opinion, it would be in coincidence with that of our friend Dashall. These establishments' are certainly an encouragement to licentiousness, and it is well known, that in many of these receptacles, “where the strictest honor and secrecy may be relied on,” the allurement of abortion is held out to the unhappy female, if she declines the anticipation of maternal solicitude. 2 Thirty-Two Great Personages! Anecdote of the Duke of Wellington,—His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, when last in the Netherlands, and travelling without attendants, in a part of the country where his multitudinous titles were not well understood, was overtaken on the road by a veteran officer, whose route lay in the same direction with that of his Grace. The Duke having occasion to stop; and as the officer would reach a certain town several hours before him, he requested that the veteran would take the trouble of ordering dinner for him, at the principal Inn. The old officer made his congee, and pro-ceeded on his mission. “I am desired to order dinner here,” said he, to the landlord; “but stay, I had better state who for.” Then calling for pen and ink, he presented the astonished and delighted host with the following list of his forthcoming illustrious guests. The Prince of Waterloo! The Duke of Wellington.—The Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, and The Duke of Vittoria. The Marquis of Douro, and a Marshal General of France. Master General of the Ordnance. Colonel of the Royal Regt. of Horse Guards, Blue. Colonel of the Rifle Brigade. The Lord Lieutenant of Hampshire.—And The Governor of Plymouth. Field Marshal of Austria, ——————————Russia, ——————————Prussia, ——————————France, ——————————England, and ——————————The Netherlands. A Grandee of the Highest Class. A Captain General of Spain. Knights of the Orders of The Garter, in England.—St. Andrew, in Russia.—The Black Eagle, in Russia.—Charles III. in Spain.—St. Ferdinand and Merit, in Spain.—The Golden Fleece, in Spain.—Maximilian Joseph, in Bavaria.—St. Maria Theresa, in Austria.—The Sword, in Spain.—St. Esprit, in France.—St. George, in Russia.—The Tower and Sword, in Portugal. And, (to bring up the rear,) A Doctor of Civil Laws! “Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the host, in extacy, “what a noble company!” He then began to tell them over;—“One Prince,” he continued,—“Three Dukes—One Marquis—A Marshal General of France—An English Governor—An English Lord Lieutenant— The Master General of the Ordnance, and Two English Colonels—Six Field Marshals—One Grandee of the Highest Class—A Captain General of Spain—Twelve Knights, and a Doctor of Civil Laws!.'—Mon Dieu! Thirty-two Great Personages!!” All the provisions of the town, all the delicacies of the season and all the celebrated wines, were immediately put in requisition for the illustrious company in expectancy. At last the Duke of Wellington arrived, and was ushered into a spacious dining-room, where a cloth was laid with thirty- two covers. The person of the Duke was unknown to the Innkeeper, who, full of important preparations for the Thirty-two Great Personages, thought not of any thing else.—“I ordered dinner here,” said his Grace.—“Mon Dieu!” responded the Innkeeper, “are you one of the Thirty- two Great Personages?” presenting the list at same time. His Grace glanced his eye over it,—“they are all here!” said he, “so send up the dinner immediately.” The Inn-keeper stood aghast with amazement; at last finding utterance, he ventured to express a hope that his Grace would be pleased to take into consideration, that he (the Innkeeper,) had, at great trouble and expence, provided a most sumptuous entertainment for Thirty-two Great Personages. “D——n the Thirty-two Great Personages,” exclaimed the Duke, “Send up the dinner, and your bill.—Thus I must pay the penalty,” said he, “for not having invited the old veteran to be of the party!!”
The Squire observed, that the brilliant victories of his Grace, although acknowledged and rewarded by all the Potentates of Europe, had not procured him much popularity at home. The remark was confessed by Dashall to be correct, but whence the public indifference originated, he could not presume to explain.
Crossing Hyde Park, which a celebrated physician denominated the lungs of the Metropolis, our pedestrians made their egress into Oxford-road. This fine street, with longitudinal reference the first in London, excited the admiration of the baronet; the long line of perspective indeterminable to the view, stretching from Hyde Park corner to St. Giles's, the general uniformity of the buildings, the neatness, and in many instances the splendor of the tradesmen's shops, together with the comfortable manner of their perambulation, unjostled and unimpeded by the hurry, throng and bustle of passengers, with which many other parts of the Town are annoyed, gave an additional zest of enjoyment to the trio in their excursion, while the Squire observed, that he felt in this part of the Town, always as if he had been suddenly removed to some other region of the world, far remote from the city of London, its dissonant uproar, and crowded inconveniences.
Turning into Blenheim street, Dashall apprized his companions, that if they felt inclined to take a peep into the Theatre of Anatomy, he could procure their admission.