It will hardly be necessary to apologise for making the hero of Waterloo
the subject of this article; for, having had always free access to the
parlour of the Duke of Wellington, I flatter myself that I am peculiarly
fitted for the task I have undertaken.

My acquaintance with the duke commenced in a very singular manner. During
the discussions on the Reform Bill, his grace was often the object of
popular pelting; and I was, on one occasion, among a crowd of free-born
Englishmen who, disliking his political opinions, were exercising the
constitutional privilege of hooting him. Fired by the true spirit of
British patriotism, and roused to a pitch of enthusiasm by observing that
the crowd were all of one opinion, decidedly against the duke, worked up,
too, with momentary boldness by perceiving that there was not a policeman
in sight, I seized a cabbage-leaf, with which I caught his nose, when,
turning round suddenly to look whence the blow proceeded, I caught his eye.
It was a single glance; but there was something in it which said more than,
perhaps, if I had attempted to lead him into conversation, he would at that
moment have been inclined to say to me. The recognition was brief, lasting
scarcely an instant; for a policeman coming round the corner, the great
constitutional party with whom I had been acting retired in haste, rather
than bring on a collision with a force which was at that time particularly
obnoxious to all the true friends of excessive liberty.

It will, perhaps, surprise my readers, when I inform them that this is the
only personal interview I ever enjoyed with the illustrious duke; but
accustomed as I am to take in character at a glance, and to form my
conclusions at a wink, I gained, perhaps, as much, or more, information
with regard to the illustrious hero, as I have been enabled to do with
regard to many of those members of the House of Lords whom, in the course