Soon after the Queen came to the throne, the two Universities presented addresses to her Majesty. I accompanied that of Cambridge. The deputation was very numerous, and much unseemly pushing took place. I recollect a very short dumpy fellow pushing much more energetically than any other, for whom I made way, as I retired from the strife in which I was unwillingly involved. He not only pushed, but was {182} continually jumping up like a parched pea in a heated frying-pan: his object being to get a glimpse of her Majesty, and the effect accomplished being to alight on the toes or graze the heels of his colleagues.
I retired into a window close to the end of the position occupied by the gentlemen-at-arms. The Duke of Wellington, who had a short time before, as Chancellor of the University of Oxford, presented the address of that body, still remained in the state apartments. He joined me in the recess of the window, and we entered into conversation.
〈THE DUKE ASSISTS A PUSHING M.A.〉
After a time the little dumpy fellow, who had been regularly turned out of the crowd for his pushing, came up to us, and, mistaking the Duke of Wellington for a beef-eater or some palace attendant, complained, almost in tears, that he wanted to see the Queen, and that they had pushed him out, and that he had not been able to see the Queen.
The Duke very good-naturedly said he would take him to a place where he could see her Majesty without being pushed about. Accordingly, the Duke led him behind the gentlemen-at-arms to a situation in which the little man’s wish was gratified, and then returned with him to the window, and resumed the conversation.
On another occasion the University of Cambridge presented an address to the Queen at Buckingham Palace. The crowd was very great. On descending one of the flights of stairs, a short Master of Arts was unluckily caught by the string of his gown hooking itself upon one of the large door-handles. He was carried off his legs by the advancing rush. To bring back the pendant Master of Arts a single inch was impossible from the pressure onwards. So whilst two or three of his colleagues with difficulty supported him, I took out my pen-knife and cut the imprisoning ribbon. {183}
〈ALL PARCELS REJECTED.〉
When I published the “Ninth Bridgewater Treatise,” I sent my servant to Apsley House with a presentation copy for the Duke of Wellington. The next morning at breakfast my servant informed me that the porter absolutely refused to take it in, although he stated from whom it came.
I remarked to my brother-in-law, who was staying with me, that it was a very odd circumstance, and inquired what was to be done. He replied, “When a man refuses to receive a parcel, nothing more can be done.” I then observed, that if any other person than the Duke had done so, I should have taken no further step; but, I added, that I knew his character so well, that I was confident there was really a good and sufficient reason, although I could not conjecture its nature.
After breakfast I wrote a short note to the Duke, mentioning the circumstance, taking for granted that it arose entirely from some misconception of his orders. I then requested him not to take the trouble of writing to me to explain it; but added that I would send the volume to Apsley House on the following morning, when, I had no doubt, the mistaken interpretation of his orders would have been rectified.