Under a heat which amazed Antonio the quays and the dock became more unsavory every day: but he did not quit the _Queen of the Medway_. His friend the Excise officer agreed with Mr. Crowberry that decency required patient waiting until after the King's funeral. Meanwhile, however, the dock charges and other expenses were running on. Accordingly, Antonio drafted a discreet and respectful letter to the comptroller of the royal cellars, asking him to affix seals to a small bonded warehouse in which the wine could await his convenience. Mr. Crowberry admired and signed the letter and despatched it through a privileged middleman. The comptroller's people accepted the proposal with surprising alacrity; and within a week of his reaching London the cargo lay safely under lock and seal and Antonio was free. Through pure thoughtlessness Mr. Crowberry recommended Antonio to a hostelry where his expenses were a pound a day. After one night's stay he quitted these noisy and expensive quarters for a modest lodging within sight of green fields, up Tottenham Court Road. At first English habits upset him. He tried both beer and porter, and could not decide which was the more undesirable. The clarets, and even the ports, which he tasted at Mr. Crowberry's were heavy and all wrong. The saddles of mutton, the sirloins of beef and the boiled salmon were supremely excellent: but, on the whole, Antonio could not divine why the wealthy and table-loving English fed so unwisely and so unwell. Mingling with a good-humored Cockney crowd, who made room for "the Dago," Antonio saw the funeral procession of the King. He found the state-coaches much inferior to those he had seen in Lisbon: but the military pageant was beyond everything he had imagined. His chief thrill, however, went through him at the sight of the Duke of Wellington, whom a young Cockney, with vague notions concerning the Peninsular War, pointed out to Antonio as "the good old Djook wot beat yer 'oller." Antonio was much more deeply moved by the figure of the veteran warrior than by the gorgeously empalled royal coffin. He had heard many an evil word against the Iron Duke and against the cynical selfishness of England in making poor Portugal her cat's paw under a guise of magnanimity: but he instinctively uncovered as the grand old soldier rode by. A more indefatigable sightseer than Antonio never descended upon the monuments and public collections of London. He saw every notable object once, and the worthier sights many times over. The pictures overpowered him. As for the churches, he entered every one of the few that were open: but Wren's buildings to Antonio, like Lisbon's churches to an Englishman, seemed nearly all alike.