'I have an
idea,' he observed, with an upward glance, 'of training scarlet
runners across in the season, - making a arbour of it, - and
sometimes taking tea in the same, according to the song.'
I nodded approval.
'And here you repose and think?' said I.
'And think,' said he, 'of posters - walls - and hoardings.'
We were both silent, contemplating the vastness of the subject. I
remembered a surprising fancy of dear THOMAS HOOD'S, and wondered
whether this monarch ever sighed to repair to the great wall of
China, and stick bills all over it.
'And so,' said he, rousing himself, 'it's facts as you collect?'
'Facts,' said I.
'The facts of bill-sticking,' pursued His Majesty, in a benignant
manner, 'as known to myself, air as following. When my father was
Engineer, Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew's,
Holborn, he employed women to post bills for him. He employed
women to post bills at the time of the riots of London. He died at
the age of seventy-five year, and was buried by the murdered Eliza
Grimwood, over in the Waterloo Road.'
As this was somewhat in the nature of a royal speech, I listened
with deference and silently.
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