The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-21 00:00:00

LONDON, TUESDAY EVENING-, SEPTEMBER 21,

at Sydney occasioned by the demand for goods suited
to the Melbourne market had subsided, and it is now
reported to be in a generally healthy state. Pro-
visions of all kinds continued in demand. Wool was
quoted at ls. to ls. 4d. Hides and skins sold readily.
Tallow had advanced to 251. for beef, and SOL for
mutton, with a good demand. Exchange was at 61
per cent. discount for Bank bills, and 8 per cent. for
private bills.
The intercourse between Sydney and Melbourne
had considerably increased, and several steamers were
plying regularly between the two ports.
From Adelaide the accounts represent that colony
to be quickly regaining its prosperity. The amount
of gold received overland was very large, and steadily
increasing. Property which had been severely de-
pressed was recovering to something like its former
value.
The number of persons who had left the colony
for the gold fields amounted to 18,000 souls.

MANSLAUGHTER AT MANCHESTER.
At the Borough Court, Manchester, on Thursday,
James Connor, an Irishman, was charged with having
caused the death of Edward O'Brien. On Tuesday even-
ing, the prisoner, O'Brien and his wife, were drinking
together at a beer-house, after which the deceased went
to the Edinburgh Castle, in Henry-street, where he re-
mained until nearly twelve o'clock, and on going home
he found that his wife had not returned. In :the morn-
ing, as she had absented herself during the whole of the
night, he went in quest of her, when he met her with
the prisoner. Upon this he commenced chastising her,
and the prisoner interfering, a fight was the result. After
this he and his wife went home, but going out again be-
tween ten and eleven o'clock he met the prisoner, and
another scuffle took place. In this contest both the men
fell, and O'Brien being the undermost, his head came
is violent contact with the kerb-atone, by which he
received such injuries that he was obliged to be carried
into his own house. Ho remained there until about
five o'clock in the afternoon, when be was conveyed to
the infirmary in a state of insensibility, where ho died
about eleven o'clock the same evening. There were
very slight external appearances of injury on the de-
ceased, but he had a laceration:of the scalp, and was
bleeding from the nose and ears. Yesterday O'Connor
was again examined, O'Connor's wife being joined with
him in the charge, and both were committed for trial
at the assizes ; the wife, because she vt as the cause of
the fight and joined in it. The cause of death was
marked by a laceration on the right side of the base of
the skull, and a large quantity of blood extravasated
beneath the fracture ana over the general surface of the
brain. This was caused by the blows the. deceased had
received and the fall.

:SPIRIT of the PUBLIC JOURNALS.

FROM THE MORNING' PAPERS OF THIS DAY.
TIMES.—This day a week will have passed since
England lost the greatest of her sons, and as yet the
slightest pessibl-1 intimation has been given of the
way in which this country will perform her last debt
of gratitude. There is to be a public funeral, it is an-
nounced, and, it is further reported, on a very grand
scale. The arrangements, however, are not yet defi-
nitively settled, and among those arrangements still
left in darkness are the place, whether Westminster
or St. Paul's—the attendance, whether it will profess
to include the two Houses of Parliament—the regi-

meats to assist, and of course the time, besides every
other detail. The only clue given us is a general re-
ference to the funeral of Nelson, and we have seen it
expressly, and almoss authoritatively, stated that the
precedent of that occasion is to be observed. The only
reason we can imagine why so extraordinary a promi-

nence should be given to did precedent is that it hap-
pens to be the only precedent at all to the point since the
publication of the Annual Register. But, as the poet
tells us, " Vixe'refortes ante Agamemnon," there were
great Englishmen before the compilation of that very
convenient Annual, and among them are the names of
Monk and Marlborough, both of them far more to
the point than Admiral Lord Nelson. All the world
naturally compares Marlborough and Wellington,
and all the world gives the palm to the latter. With
Monk the comparison is not so obvious, though per-
haps more just, taking into allowance the peculiarity
of the circumstances under which Monk was called to
act, and the necessity he was under of acting a double
part. Wellington, more fortunate than either, has
never had to change his allegiance or to disguise his
loyalty. But these three men were the most renowned
and most meritorious subjects of the British Crown—
Monk in the 17th century, Marlborough in the 18th,
and Wellington in the 19th. This is the series. The
two former are the precedents to he folllowed in
the present instance, and England will show her-
self very degenerate if she does not bear
Wellington to the tomb with as much solemn
pomp and expressive circumstance as marked the
obsequies of Monk and Marlborough. The Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer, who will, we presume, have
some voice in the matter, speaks in a recent biography
with pathetic regret of the age of stately manners,
now almost gone by. We can assure him that on a
just and adequate occasion, such as the present, the
people of England are prepared for quite as much
state as ever. They are resolved to honour the man
with whom they have been accustomed to identify the
fortunes and character of this country, and whom
they regard as the providential agent for securing to
England and the world the longest term of prosperity,
order, and peace that they have ever enjoyed. It is
time to speak with emphasis and precision on the sub-
ject, because we have beard some ridiculous rumours,
which may or may not have an atom of foundation,
but which, in the absence of authentic announce-

ments, we can only disbelieve. We have heard it said
that the Duke cannot he buried in St. Paul's because
there is no place near St. Paul's where the artillery
can fire a salute, and that there are not troops enough
within call to keep the line from Apsiey House to Sr.
Paul's, besides those who will join the procession. it
is also whispered that the Guards attend none but
Royal funerals. The only word we can find for
these objection-, is that expressive monosyllable with
which Mr. Burch.-11, in the " Vicar of Waliefle:d,”
describes the ceeiver.-,tien of the fine Loudon ladie,,
"It is all fudge.." There are plenty of places near
St. Paul's whf nny mimber of nine-pounders could
be discharged with ne more damage than blowing out
a few panes of glass already on the go, and making
a little work for the glaziers. If the Tower is too
far, Smithfield is but a quarter of a mile off. Bank
side, on the south bank of the river, opposite St.
is not 700 yards off. But terra firma is not in-
dispensable, and the cannon could be fired from hulks
or dockyard lighters moored in the middle of the
stream. Waterloo-bridge itself, the position and
great elevation of which would make up for its
greater distance than the other localities mentioned,
might with great propriety be converted into a bat-
tery for the occasion. St. Paul's, beyond all doubt,
is the right resting place for the great Duke. Whether
by the side of Nelson, where there happens to be
ample space, or in some distincter site, he should be
laid within our grandest temple, and where there
will be room for a suitable monument. Westminster
Abbey is now so crowded with statues of all sorts,

styles, ages, and sizes, that order and propriety have
become as impossible as in an old curiosity shop in
Wardour-street, or a statuary's yard in the New-
road. We trust that we shall never see the Duke's
last monument swamped in that motley marble
throng. St. Paul's is our Pantheon, our Valhalla,
our Chapel of the Invalides ; and when strangers ask
for the tomb of Wellington, we shall have in St.
Paul's an edifice, the state of which, if it be not all
that could be desired, will at least not promote a
smile. We shall never be able to say as much for
Westminster till it is cleared of its surplus marble po-
pulation. The alleged want of troops sufficient for so
lengthened a procession, if there be a particle of truth
in is, throws rather a serious light on the question of
national defences. Is it possible that with our nu-
merous railways we cannot concentrate in the metro-
polis, at six weeks' notic3—for the funeral need not
be earlier—enough men to keep Piccadilly, the Strand,
and from Temple-bar to St. Paul's, and give a mili-
tary aspect to a funeral procession ? Undoubtedly
there are enough in the country. The lines of Torres
Vedras extended, if we remember, eighteen miles, and
the Duke kept them against 60,000 men. From
Apsley-house to the west part of St. Paul's is not
more than two miles and a half. And now for the
Guards. There is about as much truth or sense in the
notion of-the Guards never assisting except at a Royal
funeral as in the celebrated speech, " The Tenth never
dance." The Guards performed the principal part in
the funerals both of Monk and of Marlborough, as our
readers may see for themselves in the accounts which
we have extracted from the cotemporary journals.
On the former occasion the streets from Somerset-
house to Westminster Abbey were lined by " the
Red and Blue Regiments of the Train Bands of Mid-
dlesex," the originals of the Horse Guards red and
blue now existing. At the head of the procession
marched " his Royal Highness the Duke of York's
Troop of Guards. " His Majesties Troop of
Guards marched next after thein, commanded by his
Grace the Duke of Monmouth ;" the word " troop,"
in both these cases, being equivalent to the " regi-
ment" of our days. In the next place marched
his Majesties regiment of Foot Guards, commanded
by the Right Honourable Colonel John Russell."
Then came the " Proceeding," in which, apparently
occupying a post of honour, occurs " Ensign John
Churchill, one day to be borne to the grave in similar
state. " And after them, next to the Proceeding,'
(which took this place
command, as having been the
General's
Then came the funeral
theby
h is
Majesty's regiment
own o
rf C g
csa trt e). 8 a
car, the mourners and their attendants. " Next
after the horse of honour or state, her Majes-
ties troop of Guards closed the rear of the Pro-
ceeding,place by particular order, ashavi
having been the defunct's own troop of
Guards." And are we to be told, after this, that hi
Grace's owe regiment, the Grenadier Guards, is no
only to be denied this precedence, but is to take no
which
his h aGdr thisae e
part at all in the funeral ? The idea is so utterly
preposterous that we are ashamed to mention it, and
we are quite sure that if every man of the Guards,
horse and foot, red and blue, is not at his post at the
funeral of England's greatest man, it will go very
hard with that branch of the service for the future.
The public feeling will not be satisfied unless every
service, every officer of State, every great institution
of the realm, every relic of ancient chivalry, takes its
due place and share in this national act. Stich an
occasion is not merely one of a century, for there is
always the thought that it may be the last. Whether
we hope that England may never again be exposed
to suoh dangers, or fear that she may not find
among her sons so powerful a champion, we may
equally doubt the recurrence of so grand an occasion.
We are often told, indeed, that the days of pageantry
are gone by. How can that be said when there is
not a single office, not a herald, not a form, not a
name, in the description of the " Proceeding" at the
funeral of the Duke of Albemarle which does not
still survive ? We have only
alluded to the ceremo-
nial at the funeral of the Duke of Marlborough. It
was on the precedent we have described. Though
conducted at the expense of the magnificent Duchess,
that did not prevent the attendance of the Guards.
The " order" begins thus Detachment of Horse
Grenadiers. The two troops (i. e., regiments) of
Grenadier Guards. The four troops of Horse Guards
according to their priority. The Coldstream regiment
of Foot Guards. A train of artillery," &C. The order
ends, " A hundred Horse Guards to close the pro-
cession." As the procession had to start from
Marlborough House, the direct way thence to West-
minster Abbey would not have left room for it; so it
entered St. James's-park through a gap in the garden
wall, went up Constitution-hill to Hyde-park-corner,
so through Piccadilly down St. James's-street, and,
passing the front of Marlborough-house, through
Pall mall, Charing-cross, and King-street to West-
minster Abbey. This circuit, found necessary for
the proper development of the procession, could not
be less then the distance from Apsley House to St.
Paul's. It is needless, however, to say that nothing
will be done or .decided in a hurry. The funeral
cannot take place, as we hear, for five or six weeks ;
and though a ceremonial of this melancholy sort
hanging over so long is not without inconvenience,
we would rather submit to the delay than that a great
national duty should be inadequately discharged.
CHRONICLE.—It is only, the common dictate of
nature that impels mankind in all times to honour
departed worth with funeral ceremonies. We are not
philosophic or self-confident enough to reason against
the general consent of all religions, ages, and degrees
of civilization. It is easy to discourse on the useless-
ness and the unpractical nature of public funerals...._
to demonstrate how unprofitable to the living are

heraldic pomp and processions, which certainly cannot
benefit the dead. It is undeniable that almshouses

may, in a sense, be more permanently beneficial to
sosaiety than statues or monuments. "In a sense,"
we say—but in a sense which we never find
consistently or logically carried out—in the
same sense in which all income or pro-
perty beyond what its possessor absolutely needs for
personal use might be confiscated for the good of the
poor. A public funeral can only be condemned upon
principles which would equally forbid the pur-
chase of a picture or a work of art. We de-
fend, therefore, the decision to honour the remains
of the Duke of Wellington with a public funeral,
both upon the natural fittingness and right of
the thing, and also for its practical tendencies.
A. public funeral is an exceptional thing, and the
Duke of Wellington was an exceptional man. The
" Iliad" ends with funeral celebrations, and such a
career as the Great Duke's demands an epic termi-
nation. The solemn drama of his life would halt
without it. Honoured and titled in life, it were in-
consistent that he should not receive the nation's last
tributed to exalted worth—
Ilia saltem accurnulem donis.
We can do no more ; but this is the very ground
upon which we do thus much. Perhaps we shall be
told that it is the man that dignifies the hearse—not
the hearse the man. A nobody, even though a duke,
acquires no honours or respect by being encased in a
sarcophagus of basalt ; whilst there are those who
would glorify plain deal boards. We know it. But
it is not because a man is above all honour that his
countrymen are released from the duty of showing
him any. Great deeds dignify more than titles; but
we have hardly yet arrived at that supersensual state
of society which can dispense with prizes and re-
wards. A public funeral is the only legitimate coin
plement of Strathfieldsaye and a dukedom. And
it relieves, while it expresses, the popular sentiment.
If we venerate, we mast express our reverence
in external actions. The late Sir Robert
Peel was a purist in the matter of posthu-
mous honours—he absolutely prohibited everything
like a public funeral. But the universal feeling has
proved too strong for personal taste—the individual
prejudice has been overruled—popular gratitude and
veneration are irrepressible—and our cities are be
coining studded with statues of the man who, by an-
ticipation, discouraged any outward recognition of
his worth. It is enough, then, to say that, since the
popular voice is in such matters irresistible—irresisti-
ble as the impulses of the heart, apart from the logic
of the head, always are--it is better to accept than to
repress the national sentiment, and to do, with becom-
ing solemnity, that whicb, whether we like it or not,
will be done irregularly and informally. The public
feeling will always find some mode of expression, and
it is the duty of the State to give it a fitting one. We
cordially hail, therefore, the formal resolution which
has been adopted by the Crown to honour the memory
of the Duke of Wellington with a public funeral. All
that the British people can do in this matter it ought to
do, and the country hen determined to do its best.
Were it nothing else, the Royal determination shows
a graceful sympathy with the unanimous wish of the
people. "Unanimous," we have said—yet we must,
p. rhaps, rtcall the word. It is hardly possible to
ex,.Pct that the clecisio:a will not meet with some
eav:le. Tres occasion is ton tempting for that prig-
I.:ism which topes philosophy at the expense of deny-
m m's st couseitution, and for that false
economy which cannot !iee that there are times when
prefuseness itee!l is the truest and wisest economy.
Mereever, there is so much in British funerals, as
usually conducted, whicai is absolutely revolting, that
we cannot be surprised sit sensible people being pre-
judiced against any magnified form of what, even in
its simplest aspect, is barbarous and repulsive. We
do not want our hero's funeral turned into an alle-
gorical
_Me with Fames and Victories, and tinsel tro-
phies, and muslin transparencies; nor do we desire
a display of the undertaker's vulgarity of
mountains of black feathers, with a velvet
packing-case, miscalled a hearse. We trust
that the arrangements about to be determined
on will be creditable to the advanced taste and sense
of propriety of the age. In such matters we ought to
have made some progress since the death of Nelson.
We want something higher at work than Mr. Dow-
biggin's chief upholsterer, or the costumier of a
minor theatre. We arts about to bury a Christian
and a Captain ; and although English processions are
a proverbial failure, the present occasion affords a
rare opportunity of not only retrieving our assthetie
character, but of devising a ceremonial which shall
tell on the hearts of its innumerable and sympa-
thizing spectators. The Army, the Court, the Se-
nate, the University—all claim the Duke of Wel-
lington as their head—all must be represented in the
procession ; and if the detestable black cloaks
and abominable hat-bands are dispensed with
—if every official person attends in his ceremonial
dress—something rich, imposing, and truthful may,
or rather must, be the result. British funerals are
ordinarily offensive, because they are got up in the
most vulgar and tasteless spirit, for the sole purpose
of making an undertaker's bill ; but they might be so
arranged as to form the most becoming and affecting
of ceremonials. We cannot doubt, however, that the
same spirit which ordered a national funeral for the
nation's greatest man will take care that it shall pre-
sent nothing repulsive either to artistic taste or to
Christian feeling. St. Paul's already possesses me-
morials of military heroes which make us blush for
our country ; but let us hope that the obsequies of
our Greatest Captain will be the beginning of a new
and better mode of bestowing public honours upon
the dead. But further, whatever arrangements may
be made, we claim for the British people their full
share in their last tribute to their hero. The funeral
which is announced is to be " public"—not a show
to be got up for the gratification of the privileged
holders of Lord Chamberlain's tickets—not a
display to be confined to the aristocratic quartier
but one in which peer and artisan, City and Court,
are alike to participate. A public funeral which
does not traverse the public haunts of men,
is a self-contradiction. A procession requires space;
and we trust that nothing grudging or partial, either
in the details of the ceremonial or in the spirit in
which the public are to be asked to share in it, will
mar that unanimity of sentiment which has so sig-
nally attended the nation's loss. The Duke of Wel-
lington, though born and fostered an aristocrat, was,
after all, the man of the people—raised to his great-
ness, and sustained in it, by the public voice. He was,
in the highest and truest sense, the most popular man
of his age ; and in all that remains of him the people
have the first right. Already his ashes are taken pos-
session of in the name of the English commonwealth
—the Duke of Wellington belongs no longer to his
own kindred—his country has received him to herself.
We have charged ourselves with a high commission—
let us see that we fulfil it honourably to him whom we
try to honour, and becomingly to ourselves ; and it
may he that, among the myriads who shall witness
the Great Duke's obsequies, their splendour may
kindle in some hearts the desire to emulate, if not the
deeds, yet the patriotism and the loyal fidelity to duty
I of the Duke of Wellington.
Cis

18

and the embarkation of the different parties at Green-
wich occupies' a oonsiderable time. At ten o'clock, the
company not having arrived to fill the barges, the River
Fencibles were obliged to proceed towards Greenwich.
The barges then, without attending to any particular
order, rowed down the river singly as soon, as they had
taken in their company. About twelve o clock all the
persons who were tt assist in the ceremony were assem-
bled at the governor's house. The body was then car-
ried from the saloon to the great hall, and placed on
board the state barge. The coffin was covered with a
velvet pall, adorned with escutcheons. There were four
barges connected with the funeral which were covered
with black cloth; the company in these were all
in mourning cloaks over their uniforms; all the com-
panies' barges followed. The procession moved much
faster than was apprehended, the barges being rowed by
picked men, and the whole arrived at Whitehall soon
after three o'clock. The corpse was afterwards removed
to the Admiralty, amidst a double line of troops. Minute
guns wore fired the whole time of the procession by
water, and the flags of all the vessels in the river were
lowered on the masts. Before break of day on Thursday
(9th) the most extensive military preparations were
made for the burial of this illustrious warrior. At ten
o'clock upwards of 160 carriages, of which 60 were
mourning coaches, had assembled in Hyde-park. In St.
James's-park were drawn up all the regiments of cavalry
and infantry quartered within 100 miles of London
which had served in the campaigns of Egypt, after the
victory of the Nile, and a detachment of flying artillery,
with 12 field-pieces and their ammunition, tumbrils, &o.
The following is the order of the procession from the
Admiralty to St. Paul's, which was headed by the Duke
of York, his aides-de-camp, and staff:—A detachment of
the 10th Light Dragoons, four companies of the 42d
Highlanders, the band of the old Buffs, playing " Rule
Britannia;" drums muffled, the 92d Regiment, in sections,
their colours honourably shattered in the campaign
in Egypt, which word was incribed upon them, borne in
the centre, and hang with crape; the remaining com-
panies of the 42d, preceded by their national pipes,
playing "The Dead March in Saul;" the 21st and 31st
Regiments, with their bands, playing as before; re-
mainder of the 10th Light Dragoons, trumpets sounding
at intervals a solemn dirge; 11th Dragoons, Scots Greys,
preceded by :ix trumpeters, sounding the " Dead
March;" detachment of Flying Artillery, with twelve
field pieces and tumbrils; six marshalmen on foot, to
clear the way; messenger of the College of Arms, in a
mourning coach, with a badge of the college on his left
shoulder, his staff tipped with silver, and furled with
sarsenet; six conductors in mourning cloaks, with black
staves headed with viscounts' coronets; 48 ensioncrs
from Greenwich Hospital. two and two, in mourning
cloaks, with badges of the deceased on their shoulders,
and black staves in their hands; 12 marines and 48 sea-
men of his Majesty's ship the Victory, two and two, in
their ordinary dress, with black neckerchiefs and stock-
tugs, and crape in their hats; wutermen of the deceased,
in black coats with their badges; drums and fifes; drum
major; trumpets; sergeant trumpeter; Rouge Cr Ax
Pursuivant of Arms (aluuo in a mourning coach), in
close mourning, with his tabourd over his cloak, black
silk scarf, hatband, and gloves; the standard borne in
front of a mourning coach, in which was a captain of the
royal navy, supported by two lieutenants in their full
uniform coats, with black cloth waistcoats, breeches, and
black stockings, and crape round their arms and hats;
trumpets; blue Mantle Pursuivant of Arms (alone in a
mourning coach), habited as Rouge Croix. The guidon
borne in front of a mourning coach, in which was a cap-
tain of the Royal Navy, supported by two lieutenants,
dressed as those who bore and supported the standard;
servants of the deceased, in mourning, in a mourning
coach; officers of his Majesty's wardrobe, in mourning
co-idles; gentlemen, esquires; deputation from the
Common Council of Landon; physicians of the deceased
in a mourning coach; divines in clerical habits; chap-
!sins of the deceased in clerical habits, and secretary of
the deceased in a mourning coach. Trumpets. Royal
Dragoon, Pursuivant of Arms (alone in a mourning
coach), habited in blue mantle. The banner of the de-
ceased as a Knight of the Bath, borne in front of a
mourning coach, in which were a captain of the Royal
Navy, supported by two lieutenants, dressed as those who
bore and supported the guidon. Officers who attended
the body while it lay in state at Greenwich, in mourn-
ing coaches. Masters in Chancery, and sergeants-at-
law, Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, Prime Ser-
geant. Judge of the Admiralty. Knight Marshal;
Knights of the Bath; Baronets. A gentleman usher
(in a mourning coach) carrying a carpet and a black
velvet cushion, whereon the trophies were to be de-
posited in the church. Comptroller, treasurer, and
steward of the household of the deceased in a mourn-
ing coach) in mourning cloaks, bearing white staves.
Next followed the carriages of the different degrees
of nobility, and great law officers, who attended
to show their respect to the memory of the de-
ceased, beginning with the younger sons of barons, and
ending with dukes. Duke of Cumberland in a coach
and six. Duke of Kent in a coach and six. Doke of
Clarence in a coach and six. His Royal Highness the
Prince of Wales in a coach and six, in which were his
Royal Highness's aides-de-camp. Five trumpeters,
sounding a solemn dirge. A herald (alone in a mourn-
ing coach) habited as the other officers of arms. The
great banner, borne in front of a mourning coach, in
which were a captain and two lieutenants, as with the
other banners. Gauntlet and spurs, helm and crest,
target and sword, surtout, each borne in front of a
mourning coach end four, in which were heralds, ha-
bited as before. A mourning coach, in which the co-
ronet of the deceased, on a black velvet cushion, was
borne by Clarencieux King of Arms, habited as before,
and attended by two gentlemen ushers. The six lieu-
tenants of the Victory, habited as before, bearing the
bannerolls in two mourning coaches. The six Admi-
rals, viz., Caldwell, Hamilton, Nugent, Bligh, Sir R.
Curtis, and Sir C. M. Pole, iu like habits, who were
to bear the canopy, in two mourning coaches. Four
admirals, via, Wlaileahod, Savage, Taylor, and Har-
vey, in like habits, to support the pall in a mourning
coach. The coffin, stripped of its velvet pall, and
placed on a funeral car, supported upon a plat-
form, covered with black cloth and festooned with velvet
richly fringed and decorated with escutcheons on each
side, between which was inscribed the words " Trafal-
gar" and " Bucentaur;" the car, modelled at the ends
in imitation of the hull of the Victory; its head towards
the horses was ornamented with a figure of Fame; the
stern carved and painted in the naval style, with the
word " Victory" in yellow raised letters on the lantern
over the poop; the coffin placed on the quarter deck,
with its head towards the stern, with the English Jack
pendant over the poop, and lowered half staff. There
was an awning over the whole, consisting of an elegant
canopy supported by four pillars in the form of palm trees,
and partly covered with black velvet; the corners and
sides were decorated with black ostrich feathers, and
festooned with black velvet richly fringed, immediately
above which, in the front, were inscribed in gold the
word " Nile" at one end; on one side the following
motto—" Hoste devicto roquievet;" behind the word
" Trafalgar," on the other side the motto—" Palmam
gat meruit &ran" The carriage was drawn by six
horses in elegant furniture. Then followed Garter
principal King of Arms (in a mourning coach),
habited as the other officers of arms, with his sceptre,
attended by two gentlemen ushers. The chief mourner,
Sir Peter Parker, in a long mourning cloak, with
his two supporters, being Admirals Lords Hood and
Radstock,land his train-bearer, the Hon. Captain Black-
wood, all in mourning cloaks over their full uniform
cloaks, black waistcoats, breeches, and stockings, crape
round their arms and hats. Six assistant mourners,
being admirals (in two mourning coaches), in mourning
cloaks as before. Norroy King of Arms (in a mourning
coach), habited as the other officers of arms. The banner
of emblems, in front of a mourning coach, in which were
a captain and two lieutenants of the Royal Navy, as
with other banners. Relations of the deceased, in
mourning coaches. Officers of the navy and army, ac-
cording to their respective ranks, the seniors nearest the
body; the whole in 50 mourning coaches. The private
chariot of the deceased lord, empty; the blinds drawn
up; the coachman and footman in deep mourning, with
bouquets of cypress. The whole moved on in solemn
pace through the Strand, to Temple Bar-gate, where the
Lord Mayor of London, with the corporation, waited to
receive the procession. On the arrival of the military
preceding the whole, his Lordship advanced and spoke
a few words to the Duke of York. As the procession
advanced within the City, the carriages of the Common
Council, as had been previously adjusted, fell
in before the physicians of the deceased ; the
aldermen and sheriffs before the Masters in
Chancery, and the Lord Mayor between the Prince of
Wales and the heralds at arms. In this order the proces-
sion entered the cathedral, which was filled at an early
hour with spectators of the first distinction. The High-
land regiments who preceded it entered the church, and
ranged themselves on the outer side of the passage. A
party of sailors closed the procession, bearing the thus
flags of Lord Nelson's ship the Victory. From the
lateness of the arrival of the corpse most of the service
was performed by torch-light. The order of the inter-
ment was as follows :—The body having been taken
from the funeral car, was borne into the church and
choir by eight seamen of the Victory, according to the
following order,. the body covered as before. The pall
supported by admirals, terse admirals on each side sup-
porting the canopy; three lieutenants on each side
bearing bannerolls. The chief mourner and his two
supporters were seated on chairs at the head of the
body, and the six assistant mourners and the four sup-
porters of the pall on stools on each side. The relations
of the deceased were also near them in the choir. The
officers of the navy and army who followed in the pro-
cession remained iu the body of the church. The carpet
and cushion (on which the trophies were afterwards to
be deposited) were laid by the gentleman usher,
who carried thorn, on a table near the grave,
and behind the place which was occupied by the
chief mourner, The coronet and cushion borne by
Clarencleux King of Arms was on the body, and the
canopy borne over it. At the conclusion of the service
in the choir a procession was made from thence to the
grave, with the banners and bannerolls as before ; the
officers of arms proceeding with the trophies, the body
borne and attended as before, the chief mourner and his
supporters, who placed themselves at the head of the
Krave, and the assistant mourners and the relations of
the deceased near them. The service at the interment
being over, Garter proclaimed the style ; and the comp-
troller, treasurer, and steward of the deceased breaking
their staves, gave the pieces to Garter, who threw them
into the grave. The interment being thus ended the
standard, banners, bannerolls, and trophies, were dep -
sited on 'the table behind the chief mourner; and the
procession, arranged by the officers of arms, returned.
A grand funeral canopy
of state, of black velvet, was
borne over the coffin by six admirals, supported by six
small pillars, covered with the same material and crowned
by six plumes of black ostrich feathers; the vellum were
fringed with black and decorated with devices
of fes-
toons and symbol* of his Lordship's victories, and his
arms, crest, and coronet, in gold. The canopy was
removed from over the body a little before it was
lowered, that the splendour of the ornaments of the