The Sun.
London, England, 1852-11-19 00:00:00

t! [PRICE SD.

FUNERAL
OF THE ,
DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

THE FUNERAL OVATION.
November the eighteenth will long be remembered as
one of the most remarkable "among the national anniversa-
ries. After all the busy preparations of the last fortnight,
nothing seemed to be fairly completed on the very eve of
the interment. Throughout the whole length of the route
to be taken by the procession, the streets were daily
thronged by multitudesof workmen engaged in erecting
seats, graduating back from the windows up to the ceilings
of the front apartments.

Apart from every other consideration, the obsequies
witnessed yesterday by so many thousands, pos-

sess the interest attached to an event the like

of which can never be witnessed by the present
generation. Scarcely, we might say, even in the next,
occurring after the lapse of another half century. In order
to appreciate that, it need only be remembered how much
has been requisite to build up a colossal reputation like

that of the Duke of Wellington. That reputation required
the wars of the Mahrattas, the wars against the Sultaun of
Seringapatam, the wars, in fine, waged by coalition

after coalition against the armies of the great Napoleon.
It resuscitated those years of troublous and sanguinary
conflict which followed almost immediately upon the out-
break of the first French Revolution. It needed for its
completion the development of the memorable struggle be-
tween reform and retrogression, between ultra-Liberality
, and ultra-Conservatism—the struggle superinduced by that
. elder one between despotism and democracy, which in its
first cry gave the key-note to the new civilisation. Another
warrior like that of Arthur Wellesley cannot, for all these
reasons, be regarded as barely possible within the lapse of
many years to come—so that it is nothing less than a grand
privilege denied to our posterity this which has been to-day
afforded to ourselves of offering the last tribute of respect
to the manes of the great soldier, the great citizen, and the
great statesman, Arthur Duke of Wellington. It was incum-
bent upon the authorities of the British empire therefore to
accord all the honours within the gift of the State to the
remains of the redoubtable conqueror of the Peninsula.
Frequently already the duty had devolved updn the
English Government of yielding evidence of the national
respect to the departed heroes of the United King-
dom. It was thus with reference to George Monk, the
Duke of Albemarle. It was thus in regard to John
Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough. It was thus
in the instance of Horatio Nelson, the sharer in the
gorgeous tomb now awarded to a greater than Albemarle
or Marlborough—to an equal of the immortal Nelson—to
the hero of Assaye, the conqueror of Spain and Portugal,
the victor of Waterloo—Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wel-
lington. Conscious of this—conscious of the • eleva-
tion of that grand renown which has to-day been
celebrated under the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral—
conscious that they were about to enter in an historic
grave, and worthy of partaking of the awful glory sur-
rounding the tomb of the vanquisher of two races at Tra-
falgar—the Parliament of the three Kingdoms has acted
throughout the preparation for these memorable obsequies
with all becoming promptitude and munificence. The
truth of this was rendered visible indeed at the first
glance this morning on entering the porch of the
metropolitan Cathedral.
Great and varied as were the feverish incidents that
attended the brilliant career of the mighty warrior
who has just been committed to his last resting-
place, it is possible that nothing which even he ever wit-
nessed could have surpassed the mournful splendour of the
last tribute of respect which England has at length be-
stowed upon the ashes of himself. Many a restless night
must he have passed in his days of life, either on the eve of
a terrible battle, or the opening of a momentous political
struggle ; but these can hardly come up to the excitement
that pervaded the metropolis during the last twenty-four
hours. It is indeed beyond our power to convey an adequate
idea of the spectacle which the streets of London presented yes-
terday from St. Paul's to Hyde-park-corner. The districts
embraced by that space we were familiar with throughout
the whole of 1851, but vast as were the attractions of the
world's fair at that period, they sink into the shade when
compared with the sublimity of to-day's proceedings.
Where do the people come from ? How are they kept in
order without the assistance of military force ? were
the questions asked by foreigners ; but, if he could
have been present with us to-day to see the order
and decorum observed by the myriads of British sub-
jects who lined the route from Apsley House to St. Paul's,
while the mortal remains of "the greatest man of a great
age" were being conveyed, with majestic solemnity, to a
laurelled tomb, he would have acknowledged that the
answer must be looked for in the glorious Constitution '
which Wellington defended and Englishmen enjoy.
We repeat, the activity displayed in our metropolis 1
last year on the occasion of the Great Exhibition, was
absolutely as nothing contrasted with that visible in
the present instance—more particularly along Ludgate-
hill, Fleet-street, the Strand, Pall-Mall, St.James's-street,
and Piccadilly. The excitement of Wednesday attained
its climax about midnight. In some places the temporary
structures erected for the use of chance spectators being
scarcely finished on the arrival of the funeral train
from the Horse Guards. In the public places, such
as Trafalgar-square, and around the pedestals of the
various monuments, boarding was rapidly knocked up,
and every available spot monopolized, as likely to afford
a glimpse of the great pageantry. Charges for seats rose con-
siderably as yesterday advanced, but fell off again as the
hour of the ceremony approached. It may even be affirmed
with truth, that such was the anxiety to obtain a view of
the proceedings that several of the more eager and deter-
mined sight-seers passed the night coolly (in two senses) by
perambulating the principal thoroughfares. Nor can it be
matter of surprise that ordinary arrangements were for once
neglected, in order that no opportunity might be missed of
beholding the last solemn testimony of popular gratitude
England would pay in her bearing the actual form of
the Duke of Wellington. Barricades of considerable
strength were raised not only along both sides of
the line allotted to the procession, but likewise at the
end of every street opening upon the central avenues of the
metropolis. In consequence of these, and other admirable
arrangements made by the police authorities, the utmost
attainable regularity was observed in the circulation of the
populace.
The night, however, was raw and wet—a nasty drizzling
rain falling from eve to morn—but this was not suffi-
cient to deter countless multitudes from rambling to and
fro on the north side of the Thames. From one end
of the line to the other, there was a ceaseless rattle of the
carpenter's hammer, and the men who were engaged in
erecting barriers, seats, or scaffoldings having to work
in the glare of huge flickering gas lights, the scene
upon the street occasionally partook somewhat of
the supernatural. The suburbs of London presented a
similar appearance. The roads leading towards the line of
procession were only passable one way. From Hampstead,
Islington, Highgate, Finchley, and the surrounding places,
one continual stream of persons were working their way
towards the Cathedral. What we have said of the north,
may be repeated of the south, from Deptford, Greenwich,
and Chatham. All poured forth their thousands to rvlbuem
the last tribute of a grateful nation to the great departed
warrior, Arthur, Duke of Wellington. As the short hours of
morning drew near, the crowd became more dense, while
the various metropolitan railways having run special trains
throughout the whole of the night, there was a constant
deafening roar of cab and omnibus traffic. The two bridges
nearest St. Paul's, namely, Waterloo and Blackfriars, were
also besieged with visitors. St. Paul's with its illuminated
windows looked grand in the extreme, as seen in the dis-
tance, from the latter bridge, and the toll-takers had conse-
quently much difficulty in persuading the loiterers to move on,
but there was an utter absence of anything like levity or
disorder, and people moved about to the different points
of view without the least difficulty or inconvenience.
Temple-bar was in a state of wild commotion all night long.
It was late before the workmen had put tho fun
touches to the chaste ornaments that now syn.°
wausndsctohmis-
venerable structure, but when the l:and for hours
plated, its toute ensemble was exceedi
and hours, people on foot stoodroziinglYupen it in earnest
*tilhger side were choked
admiration. The approaches
up the whole of the mornin on
the scene at the early
t gicturesquealthough it
hour just specified gas then burning not only
was quite dark, yetlrht most
ofP
hangings and decorations, but
exhibited to the
also displayed a lavigeownininibnerg of persons already seated in
houses. The decorations of
the windows of the
to .
appeared to be in excellent taste, and produced
the building itself was
a very artistic effect.
.The top of the gateway •
surmounted with massive funeral urns, and a highly orna-
mental
silvered cornice overtopped the arch. The stone-work
itself was concealed by gracefully-arranged drapery of black
velvet, broidered with silver-lace, and, on the whole, a
more neat or appropriate decoration has rarely been seen
Soon after three o'clock, those who had the good fortune to
enjoy the privilege of admission, began to take their seats
at the numerous standings along the line, and by six o'clock
those in the city and the lower part of the Strand were
entirely occupied. By this time, too, a long string of car-
riages had arrived for the internal ceremony, reaching from
the Cathedral to very near Waterloo-bridge; and, the mul-
titude being now tremendously increased, it was gratifying
to observe that large bodies of police were sent on duty to
regulate the movement of the vehicles that were freighted
either with the owners of seats on the route or the holders
of the Earl Marshal's card of admission to S 4. Paul's.
The weather fortunately at this hour gav sign Of hold