“On Wednesday did a carter see
        His Grace, the Duke of Ch-rt—­s-a,
        As plump and helpless as a bag,
        A-straddle of a big-boned nag. 
        “Lord, Sam!” the carter loudly yelled,
        On by this wondrous sight impelled,
        “We’ll run and watch this noble gander
        Master a steed, like Alexander.” 
        But, when the carter reached the Row,
        His Grace had left it, long ago. 
        Bucephalus had leaped the green,
        The duke was in the Serpentine. 
        The fervent wish of all good men
        That he may ne’er come out again!’”

Comyn’s impudence took my breath, tho’ the experiment interested me not a little.  My lady was pleased to laugh at the doggerel, and even Mrs. Manners.  Its effect upon Mr. Marmaduke was not so spontaneous.  His smile was half-hearted.  Indeed, the little gentleman seemed to have lost his spirits, and said so little (for him), that I was encouraged to corner him that very evening and force him to a confession.  But I might have known he was not to be caught.  It appeared almost as if he guessed my purpose, for as soon as ever the claret was come on, he excused himself, saying he was promised to Lady Harrington, who wanted one.

Comyn and I departed early on account of Dorothy.  She had denied a dozen who had left cards upon her.

“Egad, Richard,” said my Lord, when we had got to my lodgings, “I made him change colour, did I not?  Do you know how the little fool looks to me?  ’Od’s life, he looks hunted, and cursed near brought to earth.  We must fetch this thing to a point, Richard.  And I am wondering what Chartersea’s next move will be,” he added thoughtfully.

CHAPTER XXXIX

HOLLAND HOUSE

On the morrow, as I was setting out to dine at Brooks’s, I received the following on a torn slip of paper:  “Dear Richard, we shall have a good show to-day you may care to see.”  It was signed “Fox,” and dated at St. Stephen’s.  I lost no time in riding to Westminster, where I found a flock of excited people in Parliament Street and in the Palace Yard.  And on climbing the wide stone steps outside and a narrower flight within I was admitted directly into the august presence of the representatives of the English people.  They were in a most prodigious and unseemly state of uproar.

What a place is old St. Stephen’s Chapel, over St. Mary’s in the Vaults, for the great Commons of England to gather!  It is scarce larger or more imposing than our own assembly room in the Stadt House in Annapolis.  St. Stephen’s measures but ten yards by thirty, with a narrow gallery running along each side for visitors.  In one of these, by the rail, I sat down suffocated, bewildered, and deafened.  And my first impression out of the confusion was of the bewigged speaker enthroned under the royal arms, sore put to restore order.  On the table in front of him lay the great mace of the Restoration.  Three chandeliers threw down their light upon the mob of honourable members, and I wondered what had put them into this state of uproar.