with the Crown Prince of Hanover?

Talking of Hanover, and _apropos_ of "humbugs," reminds me of a
circumstance that amused me at the time it occurred. Soon after the
present King of Hanover ascended the throne, the Orangemen of Ireland,
who had long been vain of their princely Grand Master, had sufficient
influence on the old corporation of Dublin to carry a motion that a
deputation should be despatched to Hanover, to convey to the foot of the
throne the sincere and respectful gratulations of the mayor, aldermen,
and livery of Dublin on the auspicious advent of his Majesty to the
crown of that kingdom. The debate was a warm one, but the majority which
carried the measure large; and, now, nothing remained but to name the
happy individuals who should form the deputation, and then ascertain in
what part of the globe Hanover lay, and how it should be come at.

Nothing but the cares of state and the important considerations of duty,
could prevent the mayor himself accepting this proud task: the sheriffs,
however, were free. Their office was a sinecure, and they accordingly
were appointed, with a sufficient suite, fully capable of representing
to advantage, abroad, the wealth, splendour, and intelligence of the
"ancient and loyal corporation."

One of the sheriffs, and the chief member of the mission, was, if I
remember aright, a Mr. Timothy Brien; the name of the "lesser bear" I
have forgotten. Tim was, however, the spokesman, whenever speaking was
available; and when it was not, it was he that made the most significant
signs.

I was at the period a very young _attache_ of the mission at Hanover;
our secretary, Melmond, being _charge d'affaires_ in the absence of our
chief, Melmond was confined to bed by a feverish attack, and the duties
of the mission, limited to signing a passport or two once a-month, or
some such form, were performed by me. Despatches were never sent. The
Foreign Office told us, if we had any thing to say, to wait for the
Russian courier passing through, but not to worry them about anything.
I therefore had an easy post, and enjoyed all the dignities of office
without its cares. If I had only had the pay, I could have asked nothing
better.

It was, then, of a fine morning in May that Count Beulwitz, the Minister
for Foreign Affairs, was announced, and the same moment entered my
apartment. I was, I own it, not a little fluttered and flattered by this
mark of recognition on the part of a minister, an