_Mrs Nutts._ Well, I’m nothin’ to Mrs Biggleswade opposite. She expected nothin’ but the people a-fightin’ with the soldiers; and so moved her chest o’ drawers agin the door, and her feather bed behind the shop windows, to stop the bullets and cannon-balls. Now, whatever my feelings was, bating filling my bottle with hartshorn, I took no other trouble. _Nutts._ And there’s one comfort; wherever there’s a woman, hartshorn’s sure not to be wasted. _Slowgoe._ (_With paper._) A magnificent ceremony! What I call a holiday for a whole people. _Tickle._ Quite a holiday for all the statues anyhow. Not one of ’em, I’m told, but felt it so. They say Queen Anne at St Paul’s, shook her petticoats and stood an inch higher. George the Third in Corkspur Street, raised himself in his stirrups. George the Fourth in Trafalgar Square, stroked up the bustus of his wig. And the Duke of York, perched on that very high pillar, out of the way of the sheriff, for once left off thinking of his debts as quite beneath him, and looked like a gentleman in easy circumstances. _Slowgoe._ I don’t believe a word of it. Statues do this? ’Tisn’t likely. What for? _Tickle._ What for? Jest as married people--ask your pardon, Mrs Nutts--grin the most at a wedding, ’cause other folks have got into a scrape as well as themselves. _Nutts._ Have you heard how the waxwork at Madame Tussaud’s took it? _Tickle._ Better than was expected. In course the Iron Duke will be a great opposition, a great pull agin ’em for two or three weeks; but as November comes in, and the shine’s taken out of his Grace, the waxwork has hope that folks will come back to somethin’ like nature agin. _Nutts._ You saw all the show, I b’lieve, Mr Tickle? _Tickle._ Pretty well, only---- _Enter =Cannikin=, a drayman._ Well, isn’t this droll? Here’s the very man as is one of Mr Goding’s, the brewer’s, gen’lemen, as assisted at the ceremony. _Cannikin._ Jest did, then. Great day for the brewery. Not a ’oss that drawed the Duke as isn’t twenty pound the better for it. Fetch it at the ’ammer. _Tickle._ No doubt. More than that if advertised: “Warranted to carry twenty stone; quiet in harness; and never shied at the Duke of Wellington.” _Cannikin._ And didn’t the ’osses--the whole team on ’em--look a credit to their grains? All on ’em--with laurel in their heads? _Nutts._ Considering where they come from, wouldn’t hops have been properer? Well, and when the people saw the statue, how did they take it? _Cannikin._ They opened their mouths, and hooraed as if they would ha’ swallowed it. If instead o’ bright brass it had been made o’ gilt gingerbread, and the mob had been schoolboys, they couldn’t ha’ shouted and smacked their lips more. _Tickle._ Well, I don’t wonder--it did somehow look good to eat. It hadn’t so much a goolden as a custard look about it; seemed to my eye as if it had been smeared with yolk o’ eggs. But go on; tell Nutts, Mr Cannikin.