“‘We must have no politics, friend Raggs,’ said he, as we drove along,—‘you and I can’t agree, that’s plain.’
“‘Heaven forbid, your Grace; that is, sir,’ said I, ‘that I should have any opinions displeasing to you. My views—’
“‘Are necessarily narrow-minded and miserable. I know it, Raggs. I can conceive how creatures in your kind of life follow the track of opinion, just as they do the track of the road, neither daring to think or reflect for themselves. It is a sad and a humiliating picture of human nature, and I have often grieved at it.’ Here his Grace blew his nose, and seemed really affected at the degraded condition of commercial travellers.
“I must not dwell longer on the conversation between us,—if that, indeed, be called conversation where the Duke spoke and I listened; for, from the moment the dinner appeared,—and a very nice little clinner it was: soup, fish, two roasts, sweets, and a piece of cheese,—his Grace ate as if he had not a French cook at home, and the best cellar in England.
“‘What do you drink, Raggs?’ said he; ‘Burgundy is my favorite, though Brodie says it won’t do for me; at least when I have much to do in “the House.” Strange thing, very strange thing I am going to mention to you,—no Cavendish can drink Chambertin,—it is something hereditary. Chambers mentioned to me one day that very few of the English nobility are without some little idiosyncrasy of that kind. The Churchills never can taste gin; the St. Maurs faint if they see strawberries and cream.’
“‘The Baggs,’ said I, ‘never could eat tripe.’ I hope he did n’t say ‘D—n the Baggs;’ but I almost fear he did.
“The Duke ordered up the landlord, and, after getting the whole state of the cellar made known, desired three bottles of claret to be sent up, and despatched a messenger through the town to search for olives. ‘We are very backward, Raggs,’ said he. ‘In England we have no idea of life, nor shall we, as long as these confounded Tories remain in power. With free trade, sir, we should have the productions of France and Italy upon our tables, without the ruinous expenditure they at present cost.’
“‘You don’t much care for that,’ said I, venturing a half-hint at his condition.
“‘No,’ said he, frankly; ‘I confess I do not. But I am not selfish, and would extend my good wishes to others. How do you like that Lafitte? A little tart,—a Very little. It drinks cold,—don’t you think so?’
“‘It is a freezing mixture,’ said I. ‘If I dare to ask for a warm with—’