What was I to do? Should I, caught in so dire an emergency, drown my principles in the cup that cheers and inebriates? Was all my Methodism and New England temperance to go down in shipwreck? The exigency nerved me for the task, and I found a courage sufficient to carry me through. I had never tasted a drop of wine, and I was not going to begin now. I glanced about the room, and slowly raised the glass to my lips. I did not taste the wine, but the other guests thought that I did. "We all know," I said, "that the wine at your lordship's table is the best." This passed without challenge, and, in the ripple of applause, my omission to drink the wine was not observed. Later in the evening I went with the bishop to the American minister's reception, and soon saw how well it was that I was in his lordship's carriage. Had I been in a hired cab, I should have fared badly. I should have had to wait in the long line of these vehicles, while flunkeys called out, in stentorian tones as if to advertise all London of the fact that you were in a hired concern, "Mr. Train's cab!" and other flunkeys, down the line, would take up the cry, "Mr. Train's cab!" until one would sink in a fever of chagrin. But as I came in the bishop's carriage, I heard respectful voices announce, "Lord Spencer and Mr. Train." I observed several ladies bending over an elderly gentleman, and soon another lady asked me if I had seen the duke. As there were two or three dukes present, I asked which one. She looked very much surprised, as if there could be more than one duke in the world. "Why, the Duke of Wellington!" she exclaimed. I now took occasion to get a good look at the venerable old man. It was the first time, and proved to be the only time, I ever saw him. He would not have impressed me, I think, had it not been for the light of history which seemed, after I once knew it was he, to illuminate his face and frame. It was the last year of his enjoyment of great renown. He died shortly afterward. While in England, I availed myself of every opportunity to see the country, and study it from every possible point of view. I may add that this has been my invariable custom in all countries. I have gone through the world as an inquirer and an observer of men and things. As I had visited Scotland, I was desirous of seeing another of the islands, Wales, so I ran down into that curious country on a vacation, in 1850. I went to Bangor, on the Menai Straits, and hardly had got into the hotel when a tremendous commotion in the corridors told me that some guest of unusual importance had arrived. I asked who it was, and was informed that it was the Duke of Devonshire.