--that in passing through the apartment _they stepped
with the greatest caution_, and did not offer to touch his Royal Highness.
For the greater security in this respect, a part of the apartment was
latticed off _in the Chinese manner_, to prevent curious persons from
approaching too nearly."
That lattice "in the Chinese manner" was a small yet fatal fore-shadowing
of the Chinese Pavilion at Brighton--of that temple, worthy of Pekin,
wherein the Royal infant of threescore was wont to enshrine himself, not
from the desecrating touch of the world, but even from the eyes of a
curious people, who, having paid some millions toward manufacturing the
most finished gentleman in Europe, had now and then a wish--an unregarded
wish--to look at their expensive handiwork.
What different prognostics have we in the natal day of our present Prince
of Wales! What rational hopes from many circumstances that beset him. The
Royal infant, we are told, is suckled by a person "named Brough, formerly
a _housemaid_ at Esher." From this very fact, will not the Royal child
grow up with the consciousness that he owes his nourishment even to the
very humblest of the people? Will he not suck in the humanising truth with
his very milk?
And then for the Spanish treasure--"hard food for Midas"--that threw its
jaundiced glory about the cradle of George the Fourth; what is that to the
promise of plenty, augured by the natal day of our present Prince? Comes
he not on the ninth of November? Is not his advent glorified by the
aromatic clouds of the Lord Mayor's kitchen?--Let every man, woman, and
child possess themselves of a _Times_ newspaper of the 10th ult.
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