WATERLOO BREECHES.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 312, 31 October 1888, Page 3

WATERLOO BREECHES.

Tui'.KK arc many stories told about the great Duke of Wellington, which, whatever their 1 other merits, do not possess the chief merit of being true. In fact, it seems to be the fate of eminent men to become the centres of legends ; and the worst ot it is that sometimes we find the .same legend toldabouthalf a dozen different persons, so that the true history of it is apt to grow hopelessly obscmed. Here, howev er, is a Many about the Duke of Wellington r.he truth of which can bo vouched for ; nor i* truth its only merit, for it is decidedly funny, and carries more than one moral in its train. One morning, then, when the Duke wan at breakfast, he icceived a letter in an unknown and rather illegible handwriting. With a view to obtaining a clue to its content*, he put on his eye-glasses and scrutinised the signature, which he read, 'C.J. London.' 'Oh!' said his grace, f ' tho Bishop of London, to be sure. What does the bishop want of me, I wonder ">' Then he began at the beginning, and reac 1 the note carefully through, an expression of bewilderment and perplexity gradually over-spieading his face as he did so. Tho writer craved hi.s grace's parden for the intrusion, and lcquested, a& a personal favour, that tho Duke would kindly permit him to come and see his famous Waterloo breeches. ' Why, the bishop must have gone mad '' I exclaimed the Duke, as he let his glasses fall. ' See my Wateiloobrcecb.es! What in the world does the man want to see my breeches for ? However, I'm sure I have no objection, if he has a cuiiosity about them. A queer whim, though, tor a bishop to take into his head.' INext morning the Bishop of London on sorting his pile of coriespondenco found among it a letter beaiing a ducal crest. He opened it, and i-ead as follows :— i\l> Dear Lord.— You arc perfectly welcome as lor as Lam concerned to come and inspret the brooches I wore al Waterloo whenever you liko. It's true I haven't a notion where (hey are; but 1 daresay my valel knows, and I will communicate AVith you more definitely in a day or two.— Yours very laithtullj , Weltjxgi'ox. ' The poor Duke !' ejaculated the Bishop ot London, in a voice of the piofoundest commiseration. ' I always thought it Avas foolish of him to enter political life after his military career. Why couldn't he have been content to retire on his laurels ? Politics, and all the anxiety he has undergone about reform, Catholic emancipation, and what not, have been too much for him. It's evident that his brain's turning. IJe must be hopelessly insane. What a dreadful thing for the country, to be sure !' So the worthy bishop, with many sighs, went into hib study and wiote ;i kind letter to tho Duke of Wellington, remembering that persons who are mentally alllicted must be dealt with tendeily. Me thanked his grace for his kindness, but assured him. as delicately as he could, that he was nob in the least anxious to inspect the historical relics ; and begged that the Duke would give himself no further trouble in the matter as tar as he, the Bishop of London, was concerned. It was now the Duke's turn to be astonished. '1 can't have been dreaming,' he said, in his perplexity. 'And yet the bishop's first letter was plain enough.' Then he did what he ought to have done in the first instance — he called his secretary, Colonel 8., and laid the whole matter before him. 'I'm at raid ifc is your grace who has made the mistake,' said Colonel 8. , an impressible smile flitting over his face as he examined the two letters. ' The first letter is not from the Bishop of London at all ; nor does the writer cay anytning about the biceches you wore at Waterloo." ' Not from the bishop !' exclaimed the Duke. ' Yet., it is. The signature is as clear as can be — 'C.J., London.' The initials stand for Charles Jume:..' 'It is fiom Mr C. J. London, a scientific gentleman who i&> piepanng an impoifcant work on forest tiee«,' replied the secretary ; ' and what he wants to see is your grace's avenue, tho Waterloo Beeches, as they are called, leading up to your front door at Strathiieldsa* c Shall I write and give him your permission V' And thus it fell out that, both Duke and bishop wore ultimately con\inccd ot each other's sanity. Moral : If ever you have occasion to write to an elderly gentlemen with defective cye«i«jht, write distinctly, and if ever you leccive a letter which puzzles you get someone with better eyesight than your own to read it before you send an answer.