I rather think the Duke of Wellington moved in the House of Lords for certain papers, on which he intended to found some measure of the kind; but his death, shortly after, put an end to the question.
During the year 1851 I very frequently accompanied the Duke of Wellington to the Exhibition, or met him there by {178} appointment at the crystal fountain. Sometimes one or two of his particular friends, usually ladies, were invited to join the party.
On the first occasion I spoke to one of the attending police, simply for the purpose of facilitating our passage if we should get into a great crowd, which, of course, did occasionally happen. In these cases the policeman a little preceded us, and it was very interesting to observe the sudden changes in the countenances of those whom the constable gently touched in order to accelerate our passage. On the first slight pressure of the policeman’s hand upon the arm of John Bull, he looked round with indignation: but when the policeman quietly asked him to be so good as to allow the Duke of Wellington to pass, the muscles of John Bull’s countenance relaxed into a grateful smile: he immediately made way, and in several cases thanked the officer for giving him an opportunity of seeing the Duke. During the most crowded of those days we at one period became entirely blocked up and stationary for upwards of ten minutes. Our intelligent companion was himself wedged in, at a short distance from us. Just in front of us stood a woman with a child in her arms of about two years old, who was leaning over its mother’s shoulder.
〈THE DUKE PLAYS WITH A CHILD.〉
The Duke began to play with the infant, pretending to touch its ear with his finger, and then to touch its nose. The mother was gratified,—the child was charmed. At last the crowd almost suddenly broke up, and we went on. After we had advanced about a dozen paces I said to the Duke of Wellington, “I must step back to speak to the mother of your young friend.” I then asked her if she knew the gentleman who had been playing with her child for the last ten minutes: she said “No, Sir.” I told her it was the Duke of Wellington. Her surprise and delight were equally great. {179} I desired her to tell her boy when he grew up that, when an infant, the Duke of Wellington had played with him. I then returned and told the Duke the object of my mission. His approbation was indicated by a happy smile.
One morning the Duke of Wellington called in Dorset Street with the late Countess of Wilton, to whom he wished me to show the Difference Engine. Its home was at that period in my drawing-room. We sat round it whilst I explained its mode of action, and made it calculate some small Table of numbers.
〈LADY WILTON’S REMARK ON DIFFERENCE ENGINE.〉
When I had concluded my explanation, Lady Wilton, addressing me, said, “Now, Mr. Babbage, can you tell me what was your greatest difficulty in contriving this machine?” I had never previously asked myself that question; but I knew the nature of it well.
It arose not from the difficulty of contriving mechanism to execute each individual movement, for I had contrived very many different modes of executing each: but it really arose from the almost innumerable combinations amongst all these contrivances—a number so vast, that no human mind could examine them all.