_Nutts._ What a comfort--what a consolation for a man in a hailstorm of bullets--what a pleasure after marching and counter-marching, and living through the pains of fifty deaths,--to think that the yellow serge of his cuffs and collars shall be turned to blue! What a blessing to leave his children! Well, there’s glory in colours, isn’t there? Shouldn’t wonder that when some regiment some day does some wonderful thing never heard of afore, if her Majesty isn’t pleased to order that the same be dressed all over with harlequin patches. From yellow to blue! Well, that’s a great change in life, isn’t it? _Nightflit._ Talking of soldiers, I see they haven’t got Field-Marshal Duke of Wellington on the top of his arch yet. _Bleak._ Why, no. They say in Parliament--I’ve jest been readin’ on it--that they’re goin’ to wait till the people return to town, till they come back from raffling at the watering-places, and suchlike; and then when the statu’s up they’re to give their ’pinions. _Slowgoe._ Ha! So I see. But won’t it be a little difficult to get to the feelin’ o’ the public? _Tickle._ Not at all. Yon Colonel Trench, who says the arch was made for the statue, and the statue for the arch, just as they say of two people afore they marry---- _Nutts._ Go on. Say what you like about marriage. My wife’s out. _Tickle._ Just as they say of folks afore they marry; who, when married, turn the worst match as can be. Colonel Trench is going to manage the whole matter. When all London comes back to town, and is gathered together under the arch, the Colonel will go round and toss for the Duke--the best two out of three--with every man, woman, and child upon the ground. The Colonel’s taken odds that he’ll win, and the Duke keep the arch. _Slowgoe._ But I see they’re going to try the effect with a sort of dummy, a Wooden Duke for the Iron one. _Nutts._ Very disrespectful. Now I’ve a notion they might try it much better and cheaper. Why not hire one of the folks and a horse from Ashley’s Amphitheatre? They might hoist the animal a-top of the arch, and there he might be mounted by the player as is used to him. _Nightflit._ But the horse and the rider would only be the size of life. How could folks judge then? _Tickle._ Why, very well. Let all the House of Commons go into the Park with telescopes magnifying four-horse power, and spying through them; why, in course they would see the ’fect, and no mistake. _Slowgoe._ I see Lord John Russell’s withdrawn the Irish Arms Bill. _Nutts._ I said he would. That’s the first Whig blunderbuss as is missed fire. _Tickle._ Or rayther, the blunderbuss was so high charged, Lord John didn’t like to pull the trigger. ’Fraid it would kick a little too strong, and crack the Cabinet like chaney.