246 
LIFE OF DEAN BUCKLAND. 
[CH. IX. 
eagle never lets go its prey, the string was pulled directly 
it had seized the bird, and down came the eagle. It was 
easy then to throw a rug over it and cut the bird's wing. 
Buckland had taken his children up to the top of the 
Abbey tower in the morning to view the procession ; but 
the streets were empty, and as deserted by traffic as if it were 
Sunday. Tired of so dull a look-out, the children descended, 
and it was not till after their third journey up the innumer¬ 
able stone steps leading to the tower roof that a cab was 
seen driven into the Palace Yard, through a drizzling rain, 
with the charter tied on to the top of it. It was, they 
thought, a very poor sight after a whole day of anxious 
expectation. No soldiers were to be seen ; and Buckland, 
in common with the rest of London, praised the “ good 
tact ” of the Duke of Wellington, who placed the troops in 
the houses and gardens of Bridge Street and Parliament 
Street, to be ready in case of emergency, but out of sight 
of the mob. Mrs. Andrew Crosse tells of these troublous 
times in an amusing story in the “ Red-Letter Days of My 
Life ” 
“ Other visitors there were at Broomfield [Dr. Andrew 
Crosse’s home] in those years, notably a party of four 
distinguished men—Dr. Buckland (the then Dean of West¬ 
minster), Dr. Daubeny, Lord Playfair (then Dr. Playfair), 
and Baron Liebig. These gentlemen had been inspecting 
the cheese-making process of Cheddar, and, arriving at 
Bridgewater, ordered a carriage and pair at the hotel, 
requiring to be driven to Broomfield without loss of time. 
It was the summer of 1848, the year of revolutions abroad 
and Chartist alarms at home. The inn-keeper, hearing a 
foreign language spoken, and learning their destination, 
jumped to the conclusion that these strangers might be 
