One<br > I consider it a mere commonplace of genteel manners that a<br > man who takes a whim to blow his brains out with a pistol<br > firing a one-ounce ball should do it in his own lodgings. To<br > perform the act in the residence of an amiable and titled lady<br > shows no consideration for the servants， and little respect for<br > a fine Aubusson carpet. But such was the opening of the<br > vexatious affair that took me， my groom Jagger and my<br > horrible little clerk， Master Maggsy， to the great Battle of<br > Waterloo in that fateful June of 1815. There we witnessed<br >the final cooking of that rascal Bonaparte s tripes for him，<br >and had sundry curious dealings with several of the Duke of<br >Wellington s troops; the infamous army， as he called it. I<br >don t know what they ll do to the French， he said， but， by<br >God， they frighten me. <br > So for the start of it you are to see me with one or two<br >military gentlemen， and several others of Philosophy and<br >learning， etc.， at the town house of Lady Dorothea Dash-<br >wood--Lady Dorothea Hookham as was--in Hanover<br >Square. It is the occasion of her weekly salon， my lady being<br >somewhat of the blue-stocking persuasion， and we are<br >gathered in the Adams drawing-room， discoursing over our<br >dishes of tea; a niminy-piminy beverage I can well do<br ><br >