^Nimrod ' 



the stones,' observes his neighbour on his right ; ' no 

 stones in London now, sir.' ' Bless me ! ' quoth our friend, 

 ' here 's a noble house ! to whom does it belong ? But 

 why those broken windows, those iron blinds, and strong 

 barricade ? ' ^ ' It is the Duke of Wellington's,' says the 

 coach -proprietor, ' the greatest captain since the days of 

 Scipio. An ungrateful people made an attack upon his life, 

 on the anniversary of the day upon which he won the most 

 important battle ever fought in Europe.' Here a passenger 

 in black threw out something about Alcibiades, which, how- 

 ever, the rattle made it impossible to understand. ' But 

 we are going at a great rate ! ' exclaims again the stranger. 

 ' Oh no, sir,' says the proprietor, ' we never go fast over 

 this stage ! We have time allowed in consequence of being 

 subject to interruptions, and we make it up over the lower 

 ground.' Five and thirty minutes, however, bring them to 

 the noted town of Brentford. ' Hah ! ' says the old man, 

 becoming young again ; ' what ! no improvement in this 

 filthy place ? Is old Brentford still here ? a national dis- 

 grace ! Pray, sir, who is your county member now ? ' * His 

 name is Hume, sir,' was the reply. ' The modern Hercules,' 

 added the gentleman on the right ; ' the real cleanser of 

 the Augean stable.' ' A gentleman of large property in the 

 county, / presume^' said the man of the last century. ' Not 

 an acre,' replied the communicative proprietor : ' a Scotch- 



1 Nearly on the site occupied by Apsley House stood, in 1742, the suburban 

 inn, the Hercules' Pillars, where Squire Western put up on his arrival in town 

 in quest of his daughter ; and from whence, by the by, he sent back his 

 chaplain several stages to fetch his forgotten tobacco-box ! 



185 



