The Greville Memoirs, Part 2 (of 3), Volume 2 (of 3) / A Journal of the Reign of Queen Victoria from 1837 to 1852

by Charles Greville

CHAPTER XV.

The Duke of Wellington on the Afghan War—Charles Buller—Lord Ellenborough's Extravagance—Assassination of Edward Drummond—Nomination of Sheriffs—Opening of the Session of Parliament—Lord Ellenborough's Position—Disclosure of Evidence on the Boundary Question—Debate on Lord Ellenborough's Proclamation—Lord Ellenborough Vindicated—Lord Brougham's Activity—Lord Palmerston attacks the American Treaty—Lord Althorp's Accession to Office in 1830—Death of John Allen—Death of the Duke of Sussex—Death of Mr. Arkwright—Death of Lady William Bentinck—Death of Lord Fitz Gerald—Lady W. Bentinck's Funeral—The Temple Church—Racing—State of the Country—The Privy Council Register—Ascot; the King of Hanover—Difficulties of the Government—A Tour on the Continent—The Rothschilds.

January 19th, 1843.—I went to Apsley House yesterday to see my brother,[53] and while I was in his room the Duke came in. He was looking remarkably well, strong, hearty, and of a good colour. He was in very good spirits and humour, and began talking about everything, but particularly about Lieut. Eyre's book, the recent Indian campaign, the blunders committed, and Ellenborough's strange behaviour. He said that Lord Auckland had been unfortunate in having lost successively all his commanding officers, first Sir Henry Fane, then Lord Keane, who, when he had done the job on which he was employed, had come home; then Sir Willoughby Cotton, who would have done well enough, for he had marched his men up very well, and why he came away, he never had understood. So at last the command devolved on Elphinstone, who was unfit, and the end was that there was not one head amongst them. 'I know,' he said, 'very well what they ought to have done, and how all these disasters might have been avoided, if they had acted as they should have done, in time; but if you ask me what they ought to have done, or what I should have done myself at a later period, about the middle of November, I could not give you any answer. I do not know what they could have done and I do not know what I should have done myself; I cannot tell you. What they ought to have done at first, was this: the moment Burnes was murdered, and the first symptom of an outbreak appeared, they should have occupied the Bala Hissar with 500 or 600 men, instantly taken military possession of Cabul, and of all the forts in the neighbourhood of the entrenchment, calculated the amount of stores and provision requisite, and set about their collection in Cabul itself; and if this had been promptly done they would have been able to maintain themselves without any difficulty, and none of these events would have occurred. But the great error they committed was in the breach of a fundamental rule universally established in our intercourse with the Native Powers, that no troops should be employed in the collection of the revenue. They sent Shah Soojah into the country with what they called his own army—in which there was not a single Afghan soldier, for it was collected in Hindostan, and officered by officers borrowed from the British Government—and these troops were employed in collecting tribute and revenue, and this produced all that animosity and hostility to us which were the causes of what afterwards happened.' He said very little about the original policy, but expressed his strong opinion of the neglect which had occasioned the partial disgrace inflicted on our rear-guard in the retreat. He said Pollock had taken all the necessary precautions with his division, crowning the heights which overlooked the defiles, and if the last corps had done the same thing, this would not have happened. He then went off about Ellenborough and his Proclamations, which he did not spare. My brother had just before shown me a letter which Lady Colchester, Ellenborough's sister, had written to the Duke, complaining of the attacks made upon her brother by the press, and asking him what could be done, with a great deal about Ellenborough's veneration for him. The Duke's answer was to this effect: that it had always been the lot of those who served their country and rendered great services to be maligned and assailed, as he had been; that it had happened to the Duke himself, and he knew no remedy for it but patience; that he had constantly written out to him expressing his approbation of the orders he had given; and when Parliament met, an opportunity would probably be afforded to the Ministers of expressing their sense of his Lordship's conduct. This letter was written not above a week ago; it was therefore not very consistent with the opinion he expressed to me of Ellenborough's recent proceedings, for he was undoubtedly acquainted with them all at the time he wrote it. I told him that there was but one sentiment of indignation and ridicule at all Lord Ellenborough had been saying and doing. He lifted up his hands and eyes, and admitted that this was only to be expected. I told him that a friend of mine had seen a letter from Ellenborough in which he gave an account of the review he was going to have, when he meant to arrange his army in the form of a star, with the artillery at the point of each ray, and a throne for himself in the centre. 'And he ought to sit upon it in a strait waistcoat,' said the Duke.

LORD ELLENBOROUGH'S PROCLAMATION.

He then talked of the Proclamations pretty much as everybody else does; he said that as soon as he had received that one about the Gates, he had perceived all the mischief it was likely to produce; that it would shock the religious feelings and prejudices of the people of this country; while in India it was the greatest imprudence to meddle with questions involving the religious differences of the Hindoos and Mahomedans; that if he chose to carry off the Gates, and send them back to the place from whence they had been taken, he might have done it without allusions calculated to offend the religious prejudices of any sect. He dwelt on the subject for a long time, and talked on various others, but there was nothing very remarkable; he praised Eyre's book exceedingly, and said it was evidently all true, and was not unfair towards others.

I afterwards saw Wharncliffe, and told him what had passed. I found there had not been any discussion in the Cabinet about the way of dealing with Ellenborough; and he imagined that the Duke was so great a protector and favourer of him that he would be all for defending him in Parliament, the mere notion of which, he told me, had already half killed FitzGerald with nervousness and apprehension, as the task must devolve more particularly on him. I told him I could not conceive that the Duke had any such intention from what he had said to me, and that he could not attempt it. If they proposed a vote of thanks to Ellenborough, I did not believe they would carry it in the House of Commons, whatever they might do in the Lords. Wharncliffe owned to me that they were by no means sure they should not receive a requisition from the Court of Directors to recall him. I told him they must recall him whether they received it or not.

ASSASSINATION OF EDWARD DRUMMOND.

January 24th.—Went to the Grove on Friday, returned yesterday; Lord Auckland, Emily Eden, John and Lady John Russell, Charles Buller, and Charles Villiers; pleasant enough. Charles Buller very clever, amusing, even witty; but the more I see of him the more I am struck with his besetting sin, that of turning everything into a joke, never being serious for five minutes out of the twenty-four hours, upon any subject; and to such a degree has he fallen into this dangerous habit, in spite too of the remonstrances and admonitions of his best friends, that when he is inclined to be serious, and to express opinions in earnest, nobody knows what he is at, nor whether he means what he says. He goes on as if the only purpose in life was to laugh and make others laugh. He perpetually seeks to discover and point out what is ridiculous or what can be made so in other people, and his talk is an incessant banter and sarcasm, certainly very lightly and amusingly mixed and dished up. John Russell is always agreeable, both from what he contributes himself and his hearty enjoyment of the contributions of others. We talked a good deal, of course, about Ellenborough and his proceedings. Auckland told us that he had been convinced he was mad from the moment of his landing, for he seemed to have worked himself up during the voyage to a pitch of excitement, which immediately broke forth. The captain of the ship he went in was so shocked at the violence he occasionally exhibited, and the strange things he said, that he on several occasions sent his youngsters away, that they might not hear him, and he was strongly impressed with the conviction that he was not in his right mind. He said to Auckland, 'that he should come Aurungzebe over them,' and repeatedly he used to say, 'what a pity it was he had not come to that country twenty years before, and what he should have made of it if he had.' This, too, spoken with perfect complacency to the man who had been governing it for seven years, and after the many eminent men who had preceded him! He told Auckland he intended to turn out the Royal Family from the Palace at Delhi and convert it into a residence for himself. Auckland suggested to him that the fallen representative of the Mogul Emperors had long occupied this vast habitation, which was rather the portion of a town than merely a palace; that there the family had increased till they amounted to nearly 2,000 souls, besides their innumerable followers and attendants, and it would not be a very easy or advisable process to disturb them. Ellenborough answered that it did not signify, out they must go, for he should certainly install himself in the Royal residence of Delhi. Since their departure from India, the letters they have received confirm the impression his conduct made. His talk is inflated with vanity and pride. He says he is not like an ordinary Governor of India, but a Minister, a President of the Board of Control, come there to exercise in person the authority with which he is invested.

It was just as I was starting for the Grove that I heard of the assassination of Edward Drummond,[54] one of the most unaccountable crimes that ever was committed, for he was as good and inoffensive a man as ever lived, who could have had no enemy, and who was not conspicuous enough to have become the object of hatred or vengeance to any class of persons, being merely the officer of Sir Robert Peel, and never saying or doing anything but in his name, or as directed by him. It is almost impossible that in his official capacity he can have offended, or even apparently injured, anybody, and as the man assigns no reason for what he has done, and does not appear in the slightest degree deranged, it quite baffles conjecture to account for the commission of such an enormity.

January 26th.—Poor Drummond died yesterday morning, and I never remember any event which excited more general sympathy and regret. He was informed the night before of his hopeless condition, which he heard with great composure, and he was sensible almost to the last. There never was a man who, according to every rule of probability, was safer from any chance of assassination. He was universally popular, much beloved and esteemed by numerous friends, and without an enemy in the world; of moderate but fair abilities, a cheerful, amiable disposition, and, entirely without vanity or ambition, he was content to play a respectable but subordinate part in life, which he did to the perfect satisfaction of all those with whom he was connected. The extreme strangeness of the event, and the absence of any apparent cause for the commission of such a crime, have given rise to various conjectures, the most prominent of which is the notion that he was taken for Peel. I utterly rejected this at first, because I thought the assassin could so easily have made himself acquainted with the person of Peel that it could not be true; but a circumstance of which I was reminded yesterday (for I had before heard it from Drummond himself, but forgotten it), has changed my opinion. When the Queen went to Scotland, Peel went with Lord Aberdeen, or in some other way, no matter how, but not in his own carriage. He sent Drummond in his carriage, alone. In Scotland Peel constantly travelled either with the Queen, or with Aberdeen, and Drummond continued to go about in his carriage. I well remember his telling me this, and laughing at the idea of his having been taken for a great man. It has been proved that this man was in Scotland at the time; and if he saw, as he probably did, Drummond in a carriage which was pointed out to him as Sir Robert Peel's, he may have very naturally concluded that the man in it was the Minister, and he may therefore have believed that he was acquainted with his person. For many days before the murder he was prowling about the purlieus of Downing Street, and the Duke of Buccleuch told me that the day he was expected in town, and when his servants were looking out for him, they observed this man, though it was a rainy day, loitering about near his gate, which is close to Peel's house. If therefore he saw, as he must have done, Drummond constantly passing between Peel's house and Downing Street, and recognised in him the same person he had seen in the carriage in Scotland, and whom he believed to be Peel, he would think himself so sure of his man as to make it unnecessary to ask any questions, and the very consciousness of his own intentions might make him afraid to do so. This appears to afford a probable solution of the mystery, but if it should turn out to be true, it still remains to discover what his motive was for attacking the life of Peel.

DRUMMOND MISTAKEN FOR PEEL.

January 29th.—The man who shot Drummond, it now appears, acknowledged that it was his intention to shoot Peel, and thought he had done so. He said so more than once. Graham, whom I sat by at dinner yesterday, told me that he considered it a very doubtful case, very doubtful what view the jury would take of the question of his insanity. He has certainly been under a sort of delusion that the Tories have persecuted him, but in no other respect is he mad. If the law as laid down by Chief Justice Mansfield in Bellingham's case, and as it was laid down in that of Lord Ferrers, prevails now, he will not escape; but unfortunately Denman (in ignorance probably of these dicta) laid down very different and very erroneous law in the case of Oxford, and though his authority is worthless when compared with the others alluded to, it is the most recent, and that is by no means unimportant. It will be a very serious thing if he escapes, and Graham agreed with me, that if this happens sooner or later some dreadful catastrophe will occur. Some man or other will be sacrificed of much greater consequence than poor Drummond. It would be a great evil too, as well as a great absurdity, that the law on such an important question should be decided by such a man as Denman, who, though very honest and respectable, has not the slightest authority or weight as a lawyer. There never was in all probability a Chief Justice of the King's Bench held in such low estimation. It is one of the greatest evils of the way in which political influences work in this country, that we have never any security for having the ablest and fittest men promoted to the judicial office. We have seen in this century Erskine, Brougham, and now Lyndhurst, Chancellors; for the latter is now not much more competent than the other two were; and we have a man at the head of the Common Law with hardly a smattering of law in his head, and not looked up to by a single man in the profession.

We had our Sheriffs' dinner last night at Lord Wharncliffe's, and, what does not often happen, a great dispute about one nomination. Three men were named for Bucks, none of whom made excuses, but the Duke of Buckingham wrote a private letter to the Lord President, stating that the first two were unfit, and the first a mere grazier, who had been put on the list by the Lord Lieutenant (Carrington) and his lawyer as a mere job; the third man was unobjectionable. Wharncliffe and Lyndhurst proposed to pass over the two first, as the Duke suggested, and take the third. Peel, Graham, and Stanley remonstrated, and said that it was improper and irregular to pass over a man whose name was given in the usual way, and who made no objection to serve, on account of the interference of a person who had no right or business to interfere. It appeared too that the Duke had made the same objection to the Judge (Alderson), who had nevertheless given in, or left on the roll, the name of the gentleman. After a great deal of discussion it was resolved to pay no attention to the Duke's letter, and to appoint the first on the list, very much to my satisfaction, because this was the proper and the regular course, and I was glad to see the Duke of Buckingham treated as he ought to be. He is resolved, as he is not Lord Lieutenant in title, to make himself so in reality. Under Lyndhurst's administration of the Great Seal, he has succeeded as far as the magistracy is concerned, and he tries to do the same with respect to every other department. I was glad to hear Peel treat his interference so properly as he did.

OPENING OF PARLIAMENT.

February 7th.—The Parliament opened last week tamely enough. The Speech was like all other speeches, saying nothing, and the Opposition had already resolved not to propose an amendment. The Duke of Wellington spoke with extraordinary vigour, and surprised everybody. He is certainly a much better man in all respects this year than he was two years ago, mind and body more firm. He boldly announced his intention to defend Ellenborough against all assailants, and declared that he approved of every act he had done. Auckland spoke remarkably well, in a very gentlemanlike and creditable style, and succeeded in putting himself well with the House without going at all into his case. At present everything promises an uneventful session. There will of course be a certain amount of skirmishing and a vast deal of talking, but it is very unlikely that there will be anything seriously to embarrass the Government.

February 9th.—Wharncliffe told me the day after the Speech that he thought they should have no trouble about anything but about Ellenborough, whose case would embarrass them, and he expected the vote of thanks to him would be contested. He added, however, that he expected Ellenborough would come home. 'Why?' I asked. 'Because he would not think that they supported him sufficiently.' 'What more could they say or do than they had done?' 'Yes,' he said, but he would not be satisfied, nor think they supported him as he had a right to expect, and though they should not recall him, he thought it exceedingly likely he would come away in the summer. From this I inferred that, while they took up the cudgels for him in public, privately they had sent him a reprimand, and told him what all the world thought of his conduct here. On consideration, I think they could not help supporting him, unless they could find serious fault with any of his acts, and of them they highly approve, except indeed the Gates of Somnauth, which is an act, as it has proved, of no small consequence, for it has done just what the Duke of Wellington apprehended, exasperated the Mahomedan population. They were placed in a very difficult position, and perhaps the best thing they could do was to defend him and reprove him. But whether they have done this latter as strongly as they ought or not, I have no idea that he will resign and come home. Melbourne says they were quite right to defend him as they did. I saw yesterday the copy of a long letter which the Duke has written to him, in which he rather hints than expresses his own disapprobation, but leaves him to infer it, when he tells him how his Proclamations will be assailed here, and earnestly begs him to be extremely cautious as to what he says and writes for the future. He does not mince the matter with respect to Pollock, of whose proceedings he highly disapproves, and he says that he thinks they shall have much greater difficulty in proposing the vote of thanks to him than to Ellenborough, on account of the atrocities he perpetrated and permitted, and which were done against the advice and opinion of Nott. He mentions especially the storming of Istalif and the destruction at Cabul. With regard to this latter, he says he ought to have known that no such havoc could be made without every kind of disorder and outrage being committed by the troops, and that if Pollock chose to order such a thing to be done, he ought to have attended with one half of his army, in order to keep the other half within the bounds of discipline. He was also very angry with them for not having taken all the necessary precautions to prevent the insult that was offered to the rear-guard on its retreat. He entered into great details about various matters of Indian policy, and he alluded to the probability of the Governor-General's having very soon to counteract some French intrigue or other, for he said that the French Government were now busily employed in attacking our influence and undermining our interests in every quarter of the globe when they could find the means of doing so; that they despatched agents for this purpose (of various descriptions) in every direction, and he had no doubt Ellenborough would before long hear of some French agent in the regions about the Indus, probably attempting to establish some relations with the Sikh Government. He expressed some suspicion (I fancy without any cause) of General Ventura, and alluded to his having recently seen Louis Philippe at Paris. When he talked of the necessity of Ellenborough's caution in his public documents and private talk, he inveighed very bitterly against the free Press of India, and said, with an exaggeration to which he has been latterly rather prone, that this Press had produced a tyranny more insupportable than the Spanish Inquisition in its worst times. It was, on the whole, a remarkable letter, though not quite so good as he would have written in his best days.

RATIFICATION OF THE AMERICAN TREATY.

A great sensation has been made here by the publication of the proceedings in the secret session of the Senate at Washington, when the Treaty was ratified. This brought out the evidence of Jared Sparks, who told them of Franklin's letter to Vergennes, and of the existence of the map he had marked, with a boundary line corresponding precisely with our claim. People cry out lustily against Webster,[55] for having taken us in, but I do not think with much reason. Lord Ashburton told me it was very fortunate that this map and letter did not turn up in the course of his negotiation, for if they had, there would have been no Treaty at all, and eventually a scramble, a scuffle, and probably a war. Nothing, he said, would ever have induced the Americans to accept our line, and admit our claim; and with this evidence in our favour, it would have been impossible for us to have conceded what we did, or anything like it. He never would have done so, and the matter must have remained unsettled; and after all, he said, it was a dispute de lanâ caprinâ, for the whole territory we were wrangling about was worth nothing, so that it is just as well the discovery was not made by us. At the same time, our successive Governments are much to blame in not having ransacked the archives at Paris, for they could certainly have done for a public object what Jared Sparks did for a private one, and a little trouble would have put them in possession of whatever that repository contained.

February 12th.—The discussion in the House of Commons the other night on Vernon Smith's motion was very damaging to Ellenborough. Peel made a very clever speech, in which he said all that could be said for him; but no wonder that public opinion is so strong and unanimous, when Henry Baring, Lord of the Treasury and whipper-in, wrote to me: 'I was in the House of Commons listening to the best speech Peel ever made with the worst cause.' Wharncliffe told me the next morning that he did not think he would stay in India, that he already thought he was not sufficiently supported, and when he received the letter which Government had written to him, he would of course think so still more, but that it was not his Proclamations or the nonsense about the Gates of Somnauth which made the most serious part of the case, but that which related to the Ameer of Scinde, to which John Russell alluded in his speech. The Directors are extremely disgusted with him, though they will not do anything hostile to the Government; but with such a general impression as there is on the public mind, with the opinion of the Government itself, and the universal feeling in India, it is difficult to see how he can remain.

VINDICATION OF LORD ELLENBOROUGH.

February 17th.—Since the Blue Book with all the Indian papers has appeared, there has been a considerable reaction in Ellenborough's favour. I have been at the trouble of mastering it, because I desired to know the truth and see that justice was done, and it is impossible to trust to the partial extracts and comments which appear in the newspapers on either side. I believe the opinion which I have formed is that which has been generally arrived at by those who have taken the trouble to read the papers in an impartial spirit. I think his case is completely made out (not of course including the last Proclamations). His despatches are very able, and exhibit great caution, industry, and discretion; his views seem to have been very sound, and he took a comprehensive survey of the whole state of India, and of the dangers and difficulties by which he was surrounded. The various objects which he had to accomplish were arranged in his mind in a due and very proper subordination to each other, and his measures for their accomplishment seem to have been the most judicious that he could have adopted. All the charges with which he has been so pertinaciously and violently assailed for many months past, such as cowardice, meanly retiring from the contest, ordering troops to withdraw against the wishes and advice of the generals, indifference to the fate of prisoners, fall to the ground at once. There is not a shadow of a case against him on any of these points. I can't comprehend why the Government allowed such attacks to go unanswered in any way for such a length of time. The impression to his disadvantage was made, and it is always difficult to turn the public mind when once it has received a bias, no matter what. Wharncliffe told me that the Government were greatly alarmed when they received his despatches announcing his resolution to withdraw at the earliest moment; that they doubted the correctness of his decision, and represented to him how loudly the people of this country and the press were clamouring for vengeance and the recovery of the prisoners; but the Duke of Wellington alone maintained all along that Ellenborough was right.

March 19th.—For a month past I have been laid up with a painful and tiresome fit of the gout, which has left me neither spirits nor energy to write, and I have had nothing to say of the slightest importance if I had been possessed of either. Nothing can have been more dull than the march of public affairs. The Whigs made a great mistake in having a second debate about Ellenborough in both Houses. In the Lords, the Government had much the best of it, and the Duke of Wellington spoke marvellously well. Nothing is more extraordinary than the complete restoration of that vigour of mind which for the last two or three years was visibly impaired. His speeches this Session have been as good, if not better than any he ever made. In the House of Commons the Opposition had the best of the speaking, and Macaulay in particular distinguished himself. Auckland has emerged from this scuffle very well. He is considered by people of all parties to have taken a very temperate, dignified, and becoming part in the discussions, and he has been treated with uniform respect and forbearance. There was a meeting at John Russell's at the beginning of the Session, to determine whether the vote of thanks to Ellenborough should be opposed or not. It was attended by the most conspicuous of the Opposition of both Houses, and they resolved, with only two dissentients (Minto and Clanricarde), that the vote should not be opposed. Auckland took no part, of course, but he entirely concurred. His sister, Emily Eden, however, who has great influence over him, and who is a very clever but wrongheaded woman, was furious, and evinced great indignation against all their Whig friends, especially Auckland himself, for being so prudent and moderate, and for not attacking Ellenborough with all the violence which she felt and expressed.

If it were not for Brougham, who keeps enlivening the world from time to time with his speeches and correspondence and quarrels with one person or another, the political dullness and stagnation would be complete. This singular being is in an incessant state of morbid activity, never silent, never quiet; the âme damnée of Lyndhurst, he grossly and incessantly flatters the Duke, and calls Peel his 'right honourable friend;' he hates his 'noble friends' and former colleagues with an intensity which bursts out on every occasion when he can contrive to vilify or assail them. He began the campaign with his squabble with M. de Tocqueville, which he had the best of, and this was eventually made up and civil messages were exchanged through the mediation of Reeve.[56] Next came his comical reconciliatory intercourse with the Queen. He has been for a long time by way of being in a sort of disgrace. He always has spoken disrespectfully or disparagingly of the Court and of 'Albertine,' and he has said uncivil things in sundry pamphlets. He behaved very ill one night when he dined at the Palace, and has never been to Court nor invited since. The other day the Queen said to the Chancellor, 'Why does Lord Brougham never come to Court?' This he repeated to Brougham, who considered it an overture, and by way of meeting it, he sent a copy of one of his books to the Queen, and another to Prince Albert. He received acknowledgements from both, and the Queen thanked him by an autograph letter. This was deemed a singular honour, and made a great sensation, and it was thought the more curious as he had just before made a most virulent speech, in which he had talked of 'vipers' in a way not to be mistaken, and which was levelled at her former Minister, and his friend, Lord Palmerston. The next thing was his squabble with Lord Lynedoch, who, though very near a hundred and stone blind, called him to account for saying something offensive about him in one of his speeches. On this, heaps of correspondence and many interviews took place between him and William Russell on the part of old Lynedoch, and he promised an explanation in the House of Lords, but they never could get him to make it, and at last Lord Lynedoch put something himself in the 'Morning Chronicle,' not very intelligible. His last appearance in public is in the shape of a correspondence with an Anti-Corn-Law Leaguer and Quaker of the name of Bright, which is long and not very intelligible either, but it is amusing inasmuch as it exhibits the slyness of the Quaker, who contrives to baffle his angry 'friend' by a good deal of cunning, and rather disingenuous verbiage.

LORD BROUGHAM AND JOHN BRIGHT.

Brighton, April 5th.—The gout which tormented me a month ago continued, and is only now going off. I went to Winchester for two days, and have been here three; sent by the doctors. I have had all this time an invincible repugnance to writing anything in the way of journal, and I now take up my pen for little else than to enter the fact of having nothing of the slightest interest to say. I know nothing of politics, and believe there is nothing to know. Palmerston delivered his anti-Ashburton philippic a fortnight ago, in a speech of three hours and a half duration, which was universally allowed to be most able. It certainly raised his reputation as an orator, but his friends would have much preferred his having let it alone. The immediate consequence was, that Hume in one House, and Brougham in the other, gave notices of motions for votes of thanks to Lord Ashburton, much to the annoyance of everybody. Clarendon got me to make a communication to the Duke of Wellington, through Arbuthnot, to the effect that they (Lord Lansdowne and himself) were very anxious not to attack Ashburton and his Treaty, and if they were not compelled to do so, by the language of the Government, they would not. Arbuthnot spoke to the Duke, and wrote me word that he had no desire to say anything to provoke a discussion, and that he regretted the motion altogether, which had been brought forward without any concert with the Government.

In the course of conversation with Arbuthnot the other day on various matters, he told me something about Lord Spencer's taking office in '30, which I thought rather curious. Lord Spencer told it him himself. When Lord Grey was sent for by King William to form an administration, he went to Althorp and asked him what place he would have. Althorp said he would not have any. Lord Grey said, 'If you won't take office with me, I will not undertake to form the Government, but will give it up.' 'If that's the case,' said the other, 'I must; but if I do take office, I will be Chancellor of the Exchequer and lead the House of Commons.' 'Lead the House of Commons?' said Lord Grey; 'but you know you can't speak!' 'I know that,' he said, 'but I know I can be of more use to you in that capacity than in any other, and I will either be that or nothing.' He became the very best leader of the House of Commons that any party ever had. Peel said that he never failed on every question to say a few words entirely to the point, and no argument open to reply escaped him. The whole House liked him, his own party followed him with devoted attachment. This was a curious piece of confidence and self-reliance in a very modest man. There is an anecdote of him, exemplifying the reliance placed in his word and on his character, which has often been told, and may probably be recorded elsewhere. I forget the particulars of the story, but the gist of it is this. During the discussion of some Bill, a particular clause was objected to, and by his own friends. Althorp said that he knew when the Bill was framed, very cogent reasons were produced in favour of this clause, but to say the truth he could not at the moment recollect what they were. He invited them to waive these objections in deference to these excellent but unknown reasons, and they did so at his request. It would be long enough before Canning or Peel would have obtained such a mark of confidence from their supporters.

LORD ALTHORP'S LEADERSHIP.

Good Friday, April 14th.—Came back from Brighton on Sunday evening. The same night John Allen died, after a week's illness, much regretted by all the friends of Holland House. He was seventy-two years old, and had lived for forty years at Holland House, more exclusively devoted to literary pursuits and abdicating his independent existence more entirely than any man ever did. It is rather remarkable that no great work ever was produced by him; but perhaps his social habits, and still more the personal exigencies of Lady Holland, are sufficient to account for this. He was originally recommended to Lord Holland as a physician, being at that time a distinguished member of that remarkable literary circle at Edinburgh which contained Brougham, Horner, Jeffrey, and Sydney Smith, who revered Dugald Stewart as their master, and who originated the 'Edinburgh Review.' Allen does not seem to have been considered for any length of time as belonging to Holland House in a medical capacity. He soon was established there permanently as a friend, and looked upon (as he was) as an immense literary acquisition. From that time he became an essential and remarkable ingredient of the great Holland House establishment, the like of which we shall never see again. Allen became one of the family, was in all their confidence, and indispensable to both Lord and Lady Holland. Lord Holland treated him with uniform consideration, affection, and amenity; she worried, bullied, flattered, and cajoled him by turns. He was a mixture of pride, humility, and independence; he was disinterested, warm-hearted, and choleric, very liberal in his political, still more in his religious opinions, in fact, a universal sceptic. He used for a long time in derision to be called 'Lady Holland's Atheist,' and in point of fact I do not know whether he believed in the existence of a First Cause, or whether, like Dupuis, he regarded the world as l'univers de Dieu. Though not, I think, feeling quite certain on the point, he was inclined to believe that the history of Jesus Christ was altogether fabulous or mythical, and that no such man had ever existed. He told me he could not get over the total silence of Josephus as to the existence and history of Christ. It was not, however, the custom at Holland House to discuss religious subjects, except rarely and incidentally. Everybody knew that the House was sceptical, none of them ever thought of going to church, and they went on as if there was no such thing as religion. But there was no danger of the most devout person being shocked or offended by any unseemly controversy, by any mockery, or insult offered to their feelings and convictions. Amongst the innumerable friends and habitual guests of the House were many clergymen, very sincere and orthodox, and many persons of both sexes entertaining avowedly the strongest religious opinions, amongst them Miss Fox, Lord Holland's sister, and his daughter, Lady Lilford. Allen's learning and still more his general information were prodigious, and as he lived amongst books, the stock was continually increasing. He was the oracle of Holland House on all literary subjects, and in every discussion some reference was sure to be made to Allen for information, upon which he never was at fault. He was not accustomed to take much part in general conversation, but was always ready to converse with anybody who sought him, and when warmed up would often argue away with great vigour and animation, and sometimes with no little excitement. After Lord Holland's death, which he felt with an intensity of grief that showed the warmth of his affections, he devoted himself entirely to Lady Holland, and never left her for a moment. His loss is, therefore, to her quite irreparable. He was for twenty-two years Master of Dulwich College, but he never was allowed to live there, or to absent himself from Holland House, except for the few hours in each week when his attendance at Dulwich was indispensable. Allen was engaged in writing a review of Horner's correspondence when he died, and he had promised to write one on the Bedford papers, which John Russell is now publishing, and in which he was to have vindicated John, Duke of Bedford, from the malice of Junius, a pious duty which his great-grandson seems to consider as peculiarly incumbent on him. In no respect is the loss of Allen more important, than with reference to the Holland House papers, the collection of Lord Holland and Mr. Fox, probably the most curious and interesting mass of manuscripts, literary and political, which exists anywhere. They were in Allen's hands, and being in Lady Holland's power, and subject to her caprice, nobody can say what will become of them.

DEATH OF JOHN ALLEN.

April 23rd.—The Duke of Sussex died yesterday, and his memory has been very handsomely treated by the press of different shades of politics. He placed the Court in great embarrassment, by leaving directions that he should be buried at the Cemetery in the Harrow Road; and there was a grand consultation yesterday, whether this arrangement should be carried into effect, or whether the Queen should take on herself to have him buried with the rest of the Royal Family at Windsor.

May 7th.—Went to Newmarket for the benefit of my health, and to get rid of gout by change of air, and succeeded. Came back on Friday. I have serious thoughts of giving up this journal altogether, and yet I am reluctant to do so, for it has been for many years an occasional and sometimes a constant and brisk amusement to me, but I feel that it is neither one thing nor another, and not worth the trouble of continuing. I have no inclination, like some diarists, to put down day by day all the trifles they see, hear, or do, a great mass of useless and uninteresting matter, into which some few things here and there creep that are just worth preserving, and I really am so ignorant of the events and history of the time, and so little in communication with public men of any party, that I can give no account of that under-current which escapes general observation, but which so often throws an eventual light upon contemporary history, and corrects many otherwise unavoidable errors. It is very true that what I call trifles are often read with curiosity and avidity a hundred years later, even though the writer may be a very commonplace, ordinary person like myself, and this may be the case although his manuscript should contain nothing very recondite or important. But it is a record and a picture of manners, customs, and fashions which are perpetually changing, and as establishing points of comparison and exhibiting contrasts and dissimilarities it may be curious and amusing. Still, though I am aware of this, I am reluctant to spoil a quantity of paper with more trash, which, whatever accident may make it, or what value it may possibly acquire by age, is too trivial now to be set down without a feeling of mixed shame and disgust. In the meantime, however, as I have got my pen in my hand, I will scribble down a few things that I have picked up, and have not yet forgotten.

It is unnecessary to say that the discussion about the Duke of Sussex's funeral ended by his being buried with Royal honours at Kensal Green. It all went off very decently and in an orderly manner. Peel and the Duke, in both Houses, spoke of him very properly and feelingly. He seems to have been a kind-hearted man, and was beloved by his household. On his death-bed he caused all his servants to be introduced to his room, took leave of them all, and shook hands with some.

DEATH OF LADY WILLIAM BENTINCK.

About the same time old Arkwright died at the age of eighty-seven. The world had long been looking for his death, with great curiosity to know what he was worth. It was generally reported that his property exceeded seven millions sterling, but it now turns out to have been much less than that. He seems to have made a just, wise, and considerate will. I never saw him, but he was no doubt a very able man, as his father was before him.

Death, which has been so busy this year, and striking so indiscriminately, took off a person of a very different description on Sunday last. On that day, after a protracted and painful illness, my uncle's widow, Lady William Bentinck, was released from her sufferings.[57] A more amiable and excellent woman never existed in the world. She was overflowing with affections, sympathies, and kindness, not only perfectly unselfish, but with a scrupulous fear, carried to exaggeration, of trespassing upon the ease or convenience of others. Though she had passed all her life in the world, been placed in great situations, and had mingled habitually and familiarly with eminent people, she never was the least elated or spoiled by her prosperity. Her mind was pure, simple, natural, and humble. She was not merely charitable, but was charity itself, not only in relieving and assisting the necessitous, but in always putting the most indulgent constructions on the motives and conduct of others, in a childlike simplicity, in believing the best of everybody, and an incredulity of evil report, which proceeded from a mind itself incapable of doing wrong. To parody part of a couplet of Dryden—

...innocent within, She thought no evil, for she knew no sin.

Hers was one of those rare dispositions which nature had made of its very best materials. She was gentle and cheerful, and without being clever, was one of those people whom everybody likes, and whose society was universally agreeable, from a certain undefinable charm of sympathy and benevolence which breathed in her, and which was more potent, attractive, and attaching than great talents or extensive information, to neither of which she had any pretension. With the death of her husband all her happiness was clouded, never to admit of sunshine again, and she passed two years of mild and moderated grief with alternations of partial ease and severe bodily pain, but nothing ever disturbed the serenity of her temper; her uncomplaining gentleness, her warm and considerate affections, and her unaffected piety, continued to the last, manifesting themselves in a thousand touching instances, and inspiring the deepest feelings of compassion, respect, and attachment among the small circle of friends and relations who had the grief of witnessing the last distressing weeks of her illness, and the severe pains from which, though courageously endured, she earnestly desired to be released. At length her prayers were heard, and on Sunday, the 30th of April, having been vouchsafed 'patience under her sufferings,' she obtained 'a happy issue out of all her afflictions.'

May 14th.—Lord FitzGerald died on Friday morning,[58] 12th inst., suddenly, inasmuch as he was at the Cabinet on Tuesday; but having been long in a very bad state of health, he never ought to have taken office, for his constitution was unequal to its anxieties and fatigues, and he was too nervous, excitable, and susceptible for the wear and tear of political life. He did not contemplate, when he accepted Ellenborough's place, that his predecessor would render it one of the most troublesome, embarrassing, and important in the Government, and accordingly nothing could exceed FitzGerald's annoyance at finding himself in such a cauldron of boiling water as that into which Ellenborough with his Proclamations had plunged him. I remember that Wharncliffe at the beginning of the session said to me in joke, 'Ellenborough will be the death of FitzGerald,' and this turned out in earnest to be very near the truth. There is no doubt that his constant nervous apprehension and unceasing anxiety materially contributed to undermine his constitution and occasion his death. He is a great loss in all ways, and few men could be more generally regretted. He was clever, well-informed, and agreeable, fond of society, living on good terms with people of all parties, and universally popular. He was liberal in his opinions, honourable, fair, and conciliatory, and personally on such good terms with his political opponents, and so much respected and esteemed for his candour, sincerity, and integrity, that his death is a public misfortune. He began public life with Peel, having been appointed to an office in Ireland when Peel was made Secretary in the Irish Administration of the Duke of Richmond. They continued intimate friends ever after, and FitzGerald was a faithful adherent of Peel's during the whole of his political career. His greatest fault was a disposition to despond, and to look at affairs in the gloomiest point of view. In history he will be for ever associated with that famous Clare election when O'Connell turned him out and got himself returned, that great stroke which led immediately to Catholic emancipation.

DEATH OF LORD FITZGERALD.

May 16th.—I attended Lady William Bentinck's funeral this morning, which was conducted in the plainest manner possible, without any crowd or any show, just as all funerals should be in my opinion, for of all disgusting exhibitions the most so to me is the hired pomp of a costly funeral with all the business-like bustle of the undertaker and his men. This good woman was consigned to the grave in a manner suitable to the simplicity of her character, without a particle of ostentation, and decently and reverently attended by a few relations and intimate friends.

Went on Sunday to the Temple Church. Most beautiful to see, though perhaps too elaborately decorated. The service very well done, fine choir. Benson preached on justification by faith, not a good sermon, though a fine preacher. I listened attentively, but found it all waste of attention. He ended by a hit at the Puseyites (as he often rejoices to do), and an extract from one of the Homilies, which was the best part of his sermon. Brougham was there and brought Peel with him.

June 6th.—Nothing written for a long time, and for the old reason, the Derby and the race-course.... I have been very slightly concerned in this great speculation, but larger sums have been wagered on it than ever were heard of before. George Bentinck backed a horse of his called Gaper (and not a good one), to win about 120,000l. On the morning of the race the people came to hedge with him, when he laid the odds against him to 7,000l.; 47,000 to 7,000, I believe, in all. He had three bets with Kelburne[59] of unexampled amount. He laid Kelburne 13,000 to 7,000 on Cotherstone (the winner) against the British Yeoman, and Kelburne laid him 16,000 to 2,000 against Gaper. The result I believe was, to these two noble lords, that George Bentinck won about 9,000l. and the other lost 6,000l. or 7,000l. I have never much inclination to record racing details, though these particulars may not be unamusing or uninteresting many years hence. George Bentinck may eschew racing, and be found in his latter days addicted to some very different pursuit, and it may appear as strange to hear of his thousands lost and won, as it is to read of Wilberforce's gaming at the fashionable clubs, or to be told of the mild and respectable Tom Grenville heading the mob in the demolition of the Admiralty windows in the Keppel riots. Or times may change, and the value of money, or the usages and habits of the world. These sums may appear contemptibly small or alarmingly large. After all, when the letters and diaries with which the press now teems make their appearance, we always read with more or less interest the familiar details of the vices and follies, the amusements and pursuits of our forefathers; even their winnings and losings are attractive; so that if I chose to tell more stories of the turf, somebody would be found to read them in times remote; but I always feel so ashamed of the occupation, and a sort of consciousness of degradation and of deterioration from it, that my mind abhors the idea of writing about it; in fact, I often wonder at my own sentiments or sensations, and my own conduct about the business and the diversion of racing. It gives me at least as much of pain as pleasure, and yet so strong is the habit, such a lingering, lurking pleasure do I find in it, such a frequent stimulus does it apply to my general indifference and apathy, that I cannot give it entirely up. One effect of that sort of active concern with the turf, which is unavoidable during the spring campaign, is an almost complete suspension of attention to political matters, and to what is passing in the world: and as I have learnt nothing but what everybody else knows, I have not thought it worth while to waste pen and ink in making my own observations on passing events. I have been too idle and too busy for that. If I had been used to write in the common diarial form, I should have put down something of this sort: On Tuesday in Epsom week I went to Bingham Baring's at Addiscombe, with the Clanricardes, Damers, Ben Stanley, Levesons, Poodle Byng; very agreeable people, but the women brimful of ill-nature. Clanricarde and his wife excellent members of society; both of them extremely clever, quick, light in hand.

STATE OF THE COUNTRY.

The King of Hanover arrived on Friday, too late for the Royal christening, and all the world is asking why he did not arrive in time, or why they did not wait for him. The political world is all out of joint. Peel is become very unpopular. Ireland is in a flame. The whole country is full of distress, disquiet, and alarm. Religious feuds are rife. The Church and the Puseyites are at loggerheads here, and the Church and the Seceders in Scotland; and everybody says it is all very alarming, and God knows what will happen, and everybody goes on just the same, and nobody cares except those who can't get bread to eat. Somehow or other, it does seem very strange, that after thirty years of peace, a thing unprecedented, during which time all the elements of public prosperity have been in full activity and had ample scope, while we have been reforming and improving, and fancying that we have been getting wiser and better, we find ourselves to all appearance in as bad a condition, with as much difficulty for the present, and as much alarm for the future, as we have often been in. This is a great problem, which I cannot pretend to solve, and which it would task most men's philosophy satisfactorily to explain.

THE PRIVY COUNCIL REGISTERS.

June 7th.—I forget if I have ever touched upon my squabble with the British Museum about one of our Council Books, and it is too much trouble to look back and see whether I have or not. Until I came into office very little attention had been paid to the old Council Registers, and though they are replete with curious matter, interesting to the historian, the antiquary, and persons engaged in almost every sort of literature, they were nearly inaccessible in consequence of the deficiency of indexes, or the very incomplete and imperfect character of those which there are. I therefore resolved to set about the great work of indexing these books, which I may call great, because it involves great labour and great expense, and because the utility and convenience of it are already found to be very great. I first employed a certain William Augustus Miles, who pretended to be a natural son of one of the Royal Family, I forget which, and who turned out a scamp and vagabond, and who cheated me. This man got into prison, and I lost sight of him. I then, by the advice of Amyot, employed Mr. Lemon, son of old Lemon of the State Paper Office, a very excellent and competent man, who has been at work on these indexes for several years; he is very intelligent, industrious, and well-informed, and has done his work in a very satisfactory way. It occurred to me in the progress of this design to ascertain whether any of the lost books could be found and recovered, and I learned that there was one in the State Paper Office, and another in the British Museum.[60] I wrote a letter to the Secretary of State, requesting he would order the book in the State Paper Office to be given up to the Clerk of the Council, with which request he immediately complied. On one or two occasions, when I went to the Museum, I told Sir Henry Ellis that I meant to have back that book, but which, I dare say, he regarded as a joke. However, at last I resolved to apply for it formally, and I wrote a letter to the Secretary, Mr. Forshall, in the name of the Lord President, demanding the book. I received no answer whatever; so, after the lapse of some weeks, I complained of having received none. Mr. Forshall then wrote to say the matter was under the consideration of the Trustees, and I should have an answer. At the expiration of three months I got a long letter (which I now hear the Trustees and their Secretary think a very fine production), setting forth all sorts of very poor reasons involved in a prodigious verbiage, why we should not insist on having our book, and why they should retain possession of it. To this I responded that the President of the Council considered that he had no option in the matter, that he was bound to insist on the restitution of the lost books of the Council, wherever he could find them, and that he was very sorry he could not comply with the request of the Trustees that he would desist from his claim. There the matter stands at the present moment. When I found that the Trustees were resolved to resist our demand, I asked the Attorney-General, whether we had or had not a right to enforce it; and he said most undoubtedly we had, that it was impossible for the British Museum to resist it, and that he, who was ex officio a Trustee, should tell them so. These matters are always settled by a few active persons who take the lead and the trouble, and I fancy Hallam, William Hamilton, and one or two more, are the men who are fighting this battle. I wrote to Hamilton, begging him to mediate, and get the matter amicably settled; and he sent me a very absurd answer, the gist of which was that as we had done without this book for two hundred years we might do without it still, and that we had better send the rest of our books to the British Museum, instead of requiring the restoration of this one. The other night I spoke to Lord Ashburton, who is a very active Trustee, and though I found he had been fully consenting to Forshall's letter, and to the purpose of retaining the book, I believe I satisfied him that it ought to be given up.

June 14th.—Yesterday at Ascot. A melancholy sight indeed, torrents of rain, no company; the Court had announced its intention not to be present, which was a heavy discouragement, and the miserable weather put a finishing stroke to the prosperity of the meeting. The determination of the Queen and Prince not to go is attributed by some to their dislike of all racing, and by others to the presence of the King of Hanover, who would have obliged her, if she had had the usual party at Windsor, to invite him there. Probably there is a mixture of both reasons in the matter. The King of Hanover must be rather astonished to find himself received as he has been here. Although supposed to be extremely unpopular, he is feasted, invited, and visited by all manner of men. Everybody seems to think it necessary to treat him with dinners and balls, and he is become the lion of the season with this foolish, inconsistent world.

The war between us and the British Museum still goes on. On Saturday I got Lord Wharncliffe to go there in person and demand the book, which he did in full conclave of the Trustees. I had drawn up a paper, which he caused to be read there, and gave it to the Archbishop. After the Lord President had departed they discussed the matter, and came to a resolution that they had not the power to give up the book, and this they communicated to me in an official letter yesterday.

AFFAIRS OF AFGHANISTAN AND SCINDE.

June 15th.—Yesterday we sent a case to the Attorney-General for him and the Solicitor to report on about the Council book.

On Saturday I am going abroad, partly for health and partly in search of amusement, and to get away from the London season. Lord Wharncliffe said to me yesterday, 'You are going away, and I shall not see you for some time. You leave us in a strange state, with many difficulties around us. Our friends are angry because we don't do more and come down to Parliament about Ireland, but we have no case to act upon. What can we do about O'Connell? He may go great lengths, and at some of these meetings may expose himself to a prosecution, but when would you find an Irish jury to convict him?' All this is true enough; the question of Ireland is very difficult, but the Government have done all they can do; they take precautions and are in readiness if anything happens. Lord Wharncliffe said that the dismissal of the Repeal magistrates had been done in concert with the Government here, but that Sugden[61] had done the mischief by writing such a foolish letter. Then he is very uneasy about Scinde, on which I must say that he told me, before Parliament met, that he was not afraid of the Afghanistan part of Ellenborough's conduct, but that he was afraid of the Scindian part, and he has proved in the right. He says that, though it is rendered palateable by the brilliant victories Napier has gained, the conduct of both Napier and Ellenborough has been to the last degree arbitrary and tyrannical, and such as nothing can justify. Add to these things the distress in this country, the Corn Law quarrels, and the religious dissensions both in Scotland and in England, and the cauldron is surely bubbling and fizzing as merrily as need be; yet we shall scramble through all these difficulties, as we have done so many before pejora passi.

Liège, Monday, June 19th.—I set off at eleven o'clock, on Saturday morning, from London Bridge, by the 'Earl of Liverpool' steamer, which was loaded with passengers and machinery, and a slow bad boat, so that we were seventeen and a half hours crossing over. The weather was fine, and it was pleasant enough going down the river. All the people were very merry and very hungry during this part of the voyage, but most of them very sad and very sick when they got out to sea. It was ludicrous to see the disappearance of their hilarity and to contrast it with their woebegone faces when they were heaved about in the Channel. Having secured what is called the state cabin (a box with two beds in it, one over the other), I turned in and slept very comfortably. On each side of this apartment were the men's and the women's rooms, and as the doors of both were left open for air, I saw them, all lying huddled together, in every variety of attitude and costume, as thick as plums in a box, without any appearance of motion or life. It was a foggy, misty night, but suddenly at break of day the fog was drawn up like a curtain, and we ran into Ostend harbour on a fine morning at half-past four o'clock. The people at the Custom House were very civil and expeditious, and we found a tolerable hotel, though not so good as it ought to be for such a place as Ostend, which is now become a flourishing town on account of the great number of people who flock to it as a bathing-place, not only from Belgium, but Germany. The sands are excellent, and there is a magnificent promenade overlooking the sea, half a mile long. We started at eleven o'clock on the railroad and came to Liège. The carriages and arrangements are superior to ours, and much cheaper as to fare, but very dear in the article of luggage. For example, my fare was fifteen francs, and the charge for my baggage was fourteen.

Cologne.—I was obliged to leave off, to set out in a hired carriage, which took us to Aix-la-Chapelle in six and a half hours. I saw nothing at Liège but the vast building which was once the palace of the Prince Bishop, and must have been exceedingly grand. It reminded me of Venice with its superb colonnade and richly carved pillars. The road is extremely pretty (by Chaude Fontaine) from Liège to Aix, and exhibits every appearance of prosperity. It keeps almost constantly in sight of the new railroad—a stupendous work—making its way along a country which is all hill, valley, and stream. The difficulty, the labour, and the cost must all be enormous; vast tunnels and magnificent viaducts present themselves at every turn, and I doubt if there is a similar work in any part of Europe to be compared with this. We only stopped to dine at Aix-la-Chapelle, and while dinner was getting ready I walked up to look at the Hôtel de Ville and the outside of the Cathedral, and in the evening we came on to this place, where we arrived just as it was dark. On the whole, my expedition has answered perfectly as far as it has gone. The weather has been delightful, the travelling neither tedious nor disagreeable, no difficulties nor discomforts, and though I have not seen much, I have been well amused with the aspect of the country through which I have passed, and with the glimpses of the curious old towns.

COLOGNE CATHEDRAL.

Coblentz, June 20th.—This morning went to see the Cathedral at Cologne, which it is useless to describe. I was greatly struck with its grandeur, but do not like the quantity of painting and gilding which deface the choir, nor do I think the frescoes which are now being painted on the walls suitable to a Gothic church. They are doing a great deal, but it is out of the question to think of finishing such a building.[62] Afterwards to two or three churches, all of which were tawdry, service going on in all of them, and some were very full. Set off at half-past ten in the steamboat. The morning was grey and cold, and it soon began to rain heavily, but by the time we reached Bonn, where the beauties of the Rhine open, it became fine, and the day continued to improve, only with occasional showers, till in the afternoon the weather was beautiful. Certainly nothing can be more agreeable than this voyage on the Rhine. The boats spacious and comfortable, an excellent dinner very cheap, and the people very civil and obliging. With regard to the scenery, I was disappointed in particular spots, but very well pleased on the whole. The beauties of the Rhine are not near so striking as I fancied they were; the scenery of the Wye is infinitely finer; in fact, there is not a single object of grandeur, but it is all excessively pretty; the river itself is noble, and the constant succession of towns, villages, palaces, ruins, and the various objects which the Rhine presents, renders the voyage very interesting and enjoyable. The approach to Coblentz is beautiful, and it was set off by all the effulgence of a magnificent sunset. The inns here are so crowded that it was with the greatest difficulty we found apartments in the largest of them. On the whole I am delighted with the expedition and with all I have seen, though the banks of the Rhine are not to be compared to the scenery of Monmouthshire or North Wales. 'The castled Crag of Drachenfels' is not so striking a ruin as the castle of Dinas Bran; Dover Castle is much more imposing than Ehrenbreitstein; but then there is the Rhine instead of the Wye—the grandest of rivers instead of a slimy streamlet. It is an intolerable bore not being able to speak German, for though waiters and innkeepers speak French and English almost universally, the mass of the people only speak German, and one feels miserably stupid and helpless at hearing a language clattering around one in every direction without being able to comprehend a word of it. I am much struck with the gaiety of the people and a certain style of joyous familiarity they have among one another; all the people on board the steamer (belonging to it), from the man in authority down to the cabin boy, seeming so free and easy with each other, and though very civil and particularly obliging, they have a certain air more of independence than familiarity with the passengers.

Frankfort, June 23rd.—I left Coblentz by the ten o'clock steamer on Wednesday morning. The scenery from thence to Bingen is by far the finest and certainly very beautiful and interesting, not that there is anything on either bank so grand or romantic as in Italy, Switzerland, or Wales, but altogether it is very charming, and the attention is never allowed to flag. The Rhine is noble, and its turnings and windings exhibit a perpetual variety of prospect, the same objects being presented in so many different aspects. It would be ridiculous to attempt to describe what has been already described by a hundred tourists and artists. A man in the steamboat, who was evidently concocting a journal, very sensibly copied out what he wanted to describe from Murray's handbook; probably he could not do better.

MAYENCE.

The Princes of Prussia have caused two of the ruined castles on the left bank to be repaired, and have made residences of them; but the destroyers of castles have done more for the picturesque than the restorers, for the ruins are out of all comparison more romantic objects than the perfect buildings. The amazing solidity with which they are built is proved by the facility with which they have been restored, besides which there is one that has continued perfect, and another which was allowed to go to decay only a few years ago, when the roof was taken off to save the expense of keeping it in repair.

We reached Mayence about nine o'clock. The next morning early I sallied forth, as usual, and poked about the town. I went into the cathedral, where there are a vast number of monuments, not very remarkable, of the Archbishops of Mayence—great men in their time. There was one tomb with which I was struck. It represents in the upper part the whole history of Christ, or at least, of His sufferings and death, in bas-relief, and underneath He is lying in His tomb, with figures at the head, the feet, and on one side, all as large as life, and by no means ill-done. A bronze statue of Gutenberg (for whom the invention of printing is claimed) was raised a few years ago by the town of Mayence; a fine figure enough, but they have inscribed upon the pedestal four of the most execrable Latin lines that ever were written, and if these are the best verses Mayence can produce, poets must be scarce in the town. If Gutenberg could come to life again he would be ashamed to see his types employed in recording such poetry as they have written in his praise. At eleven o'clock the railroad brought me in an hour to this place. This is an extremely pretty town; gay and prosperous in appearance, the streets are so wide, houses so handsome, and shops so smart. I soon found Francis Molyneux, with whom I dined. Mr. Koch, the Consul and banker, gave me a card which admitted me to a club, and I amused myself very well, looking about the town and gardens, and in the Bohemian glass shop. This morning I consulted Dr. Kop, a physician who lives at Hanau, and has a reputation in the country, about the waters. He advised me not to go to Wiesbaden, which he said was too strong for such a case as mine, but to drink the waters of Wildbad in Würtemberg. I had, however, already pretty well made up my mind not to drink any waters at present, but merely to hear what the medical authorities said on the subject, and reserve them for a future occasion.

Frankfort, June 24th.—Walked about the town, and went into the shops, where I cannot resist buying prints, Bohemian glass, and the deer's-horn things. Went to Mr. Bethmann's garden to see Dannecker's Ariadne, which is one of the great sights of this place. We (Francis Molyneux and I) found a French family, father, mother, and extremely pretty young daughter about sixteen, wanting to get in, and not able to make themselves understood, not speaking German. Francis Molyneux got the custos to come, and we entered. The first salle is furnished with a number of casts of gladiators and Apollos, which, however, so terrified the young innocent, who, it seems, has not been long out of a convent, that she started back, and nothing could get her into the museum. We passed on to the sanctum in which the Ariadne is placed, and the father went off to try and get his girl to pass through these formidable statues, but all in vain. I was amused with the naïveté with which he said, shrugging up his shoulders, 'Non, ma fille ne veut pas venir. Le fait est qu'elle n'a jamais rien vu de pareil.' The Ariadne statue is fine, the attitude easy and graceful, but the face is deficient in expression, and it has an impudent look.

FRANKFORT.

At three o'clock I got on the railroad, and went over to Mayence, to hear the military bands, which play every Friday. This is a great lounge, attended by all the people of the town, and many from Frankfort and Wiesbaden. I was delighted. The music is really magnificent. It was an Austrian band, about sixty or seventy in number, admirably conducted. The garden in which they play, just beyond the fortifications of the town, is very pretty, and the people sit at tables drinking chocolate or eating ice; the men mostly walking about and almost all smoking. There I fell in with Lord Westmoreland and Frederick FitzClarence from Wiesbaden, and we dined together afterwards, and at half-past eight returned home by railroad. This morning I have been wandering about and exploring. It is a fine town, and remarkable for the frequent intermixture of handsome modern houses with buildings of a very antique but generally decayed appearance; the place has a great look of well-doing, and one sees no beggars, and no miserable objects. I understand that there is a good system of relief for the poor, and no pauperism of the miserable and degraded character that shocks one so in England. Frankfort is not very gay or amusing. There is very little society; the rich people here live very quietly, and only display their wealth in occasional banquets, which are splendid, but long and tiresome. The old mother of the Rothschilds, the grandmother of the present generation, is here, living in the Jews' quarter in the old home of the family, which she will not be persuaded to quit. It is miserable-looking on the outside, but is said to be very different within. The old woman, who is ninety-four years old, drives about and goes constantly to the opera or play. The greatest man of the place is Count Münch-Bellinghausen, who has been for many years President of the Diet, and who, some think, will be one day Metternich's successor.

Wiesbaden, Monday, June 26th.—I dined with Strangways,[63] on Saturday; drove after dinner round the town and into the forest. Yesterday afternoon came here by railroad, very ugly country, but very pretty town. The weather was very fine, and a gayer sight I never saw than the crowd of people—eating, drinking, smoking, walking, listening to the band in the garden in front of the gambling palace (for such it is). I dined with Lord and Lady Frederick FitzClarence and Lord Westmoreland, and went to the Casino, or whatever they call it, in the evening. There play was going on (with crowds at the tables), as it does from morning till night, but the stakes appeared to be very small. The Grand Duke is residing here, and I saw his equipages returning from taking him and his suite to the theatre, evidently intended for an imitation of an English turn-out, but very poor and ridiculous. He is the richest of all the small German Sovereigns, and has got a very pretty territory. It is impossible not to be struck with the great appearance of ease and comfort in all these parts. I have seen no beggars, or hardly any, no miserable objects or wretched hovels. I asked Garg, the Master of the Hôtel de Russie at Frankfort, and a very intelligent man, and he told me the town was not so flourishing as it had been before they joined the Prussian League. However, all these places thrive without doubt by the immense number of travellers, especially English, who come to them. The inns are everywhere very superior to ours. Instead of the dirty, vulgar, noisy houses that most of our inns and hotels are, they are generally great and fine establishments, very clean, very well furnished, the service much better performed and incomparably cheaper. The town of Frankfort is divided between Protestants and Catholics, but the only religious squabbles or dissensions seem to have arisen among the English residents and the English clergyman. The dispute began about the management of the funds. A feud arose, two parties were formed, duels were fought, every sort of violence exhibited, volumes written on either side, and no end of trouble given to the legation here and the Foreign Office at home.

Wiesbaden, Wednesday, June 28th.—Lord Westmoreland agreed to go with me to Baden-Baden, if I would wait a day or two, so I agreed to do so. We went to the play on Monday evening, and found an extremely pretty theatre; a Mdlle. Herz, or some such name, the best actress at Berlin, appeared; the house was very thin. She reminded me of Rachel, and I should think she must be a very good actress, but as I did not understand a word, I can't pronounce confidently on her merits. I only know that her voice is sweet and expressive, her action graceful, her manner excellent; she is rather good-looking, and though I did not comprehend what was said, I got sufficiently interested in the action of the piece to sit out five acts without fatigue, which I have often not been able to do at pieces I do understand. Yesterday in the morning I followed a long walk through the garden, and through shrubberies and fields, to a village and ruined castle, about a mile and a half or two miles off. After breakfast went with Westmoreland and his son, and G. Berkeley, to the Duke's hunting-place at the top of a hill three miles off. A tolerable house, fitted up with memorials of the chase, and all over stags' horns. A grand view from it of the Rhine, and all the country as far as Darmstadt. Two magnificent bronze stags at the entrance.

THE MOTHER OF THE ROTHSCHILDS.

Mannheim, June 29th.—I went to Frankfort yesterday; went to see the Jews' street, the most curious part of the town. It is very narrow, the houses all of great antiquity, and not one new or modern in the whole street. This street exhibits a perfect specimen of a town of the fifteenth or sixteenth century. The houses are very lofty, a good deal ornamented, but they look dark and dirty, and as if their interior had undergone as little alteration as the exterior. Strange figures were loitering about the street, standing in the doorways or looking out of the windows. There was a man who might have presented himself on the stage in the character of Shylock, with the gaberdine and the beard; and old crones of the most miserable and squalid, but strange aspect. We had the good luck to see the old mother of the Rothschilds, and a curious contrast she presented. The house she inhabits appears not a bit better than any of the others; it is the same dark and decayed mansion. In this narrow gloomy street, and before this wretched tenement, a smart calèche was standing, fitted up with blue silk, and a footman in blue livery was at the door. Presently the door opened, and the old woman was seen descending a dark, narrow staircase, supported by her grand-daughter, the Baroness Charles Rothschild, whose carriage was also in waiting at the end of the street. Two footmen and some maids were in attendance to help the old lady into the carriage, and a number of the inhabitants collected opposite to see her get in. A more curious and striking contrast I never saw than the dress of the ladies, both the old and the young one, and their equipages and liveries, with the dilapidated locality in which the old woman persists in remaining. The family allow her 4,000l. a year, and they say she never in her life has been out of Frankfort, and never inhabited any other house than this, in which she is resolved to die. The street was formerly closed at both ends, and the Jews were confined to that quarter. The French took away the gates and they have never been replaced. The Jews now live in any part of the town they please. The Rothschilds, of whom there are several residing at Frankfort, are said to do a great deal of good both to Christians and Jews. There was very near being an émeute the other day, in consequence of the high price of corn; the poor people are starving, and can't buy bread at the price it now fetches. The Government is obliged to assist them; to buy wheat or bread, and sell it to the people at half-price.

I left Frankfort at half-past eleven, and got to Mayence just in time to dine at the table-d'hôte at the Hôtel d'Angleterre: one long table, half of which was occupied by the Austrian officers, who kept up an incessant fire of talk; the other half by casual visitors, not one of whom said a word. The jabber of the military men sounded strangely in my ears, and as the formidable gutturals jostled each other, I fancied it must have been very like the confusion of Babel, when every man began to speak in a different tongue. The oddest part of the dinner business was the master of the hotel sitting down to table with us, with an air of perfect, but not impudent familiarity; and at the same time acting the part of host by constantly getting up from his seat, going to inspect the dishes, and occasionally serving some of them himself. At half-past two the steamboat arrived, I went on board, and got here at half-past eight. The Rhine is very uninteresting in this part of its course, the banks flat, and the river often very narrow. The only town of any importance we passed was Worms, which is interesting from the historical recollections associated with it; but it has miserably fallen from the days when Charles V. and Luther met within its walls, while all Germany, in the highest state of excitement, was watching the progress of the conflict that was producing such mighty results. It is amusing, on board the steamer, to stop and exchange passengers, and we gave up some odds and ends of people at Worms, and got a whole school in return, some twenty specimens of the rising youth of Germany, and not bad ones on the whole—stout, active, intelligent-looking boys, with caps on their heads, very long hair, and satchels on their backs.

HEIDELBERG.

Baden-Baden, July 2nd.—I set off from Mannheim by railroad on Friday morning about ten, and got to Heidelberg in an hour. It began to rain as soon as we started, and poured torrents almost the whole day. I sat very disconsolately in my inn, hearing the rain pattering down, till a momentary cessation took place, of which I instantly availed myself, and set forth to the Castle. I went all over the ruins under the usual guidance, and then made the tour of the adjoining grounds, but the rain again fell in torrents and the opposite hills and surrounding country were immersed in dense masses of vapour. After braving the rain for some time, I descended, but had hardly got down before it cleared up, on which I crossed the bridge, and strolled down the road on the banks of the Neckar, and thence had a variety of views of the Castle from different points as well as of the course of the river, which is very pretty. Yesterday morning it was fine, so I went early up to the Castle, and wandered about for an hour or two in all directions. The statues of the Electors in the building in the inner court, the facade of which is nearly perfect, are very curious, and it is surprising how some of them have resisted such rude assaults of time and weather as they must have been exposed to. The town is swarming with students, wild-looking creatures, with long hair, open collars, and every variety of beard in cut, colour, and length. Their practice of duelling, though forbidden, still goes on, but the combats don't seem to be very dangerous, as the first wound or scratch decides it. They told me that serious mischief rarely occurred. I went to see nothing but the Castle. The library is, I believe, fine and curious, but it is mere waste of time to look at the outside of books, or hear their titles enumerated.

At eleven o'clock the railroad took me to Carlsruhe, where I was obliged to hire a carriage to bring me here. Nothing could exceed the indignation of my servant at seeing the deplorable old rattle-trap which was produced for my use. It seemed to be dropping to pieces, and could not have been cleaned, within or without, for many years. Such as it was, I was forced to take it, and at the next stage I was shifted into another of precisely the same description. At Rastadt, the last stage, Thomas implored me to demand a more presentable vehicle, and piteously remonstrated on the disgrace it would be to make my entry into Baden in such an equipage. The Fates, however, had decreed that this disgrace should befall me, for there was no carriage better or worse to be had in Rastadt, and I was obliged to come on with the same, horse and all; and, to fill the cup to overflowing, I arrived at the hotel door in presence of a numerous assemblage of smart people who were just going to dinner at the table-d'hôte. The figure I must have cut was certainly not brilliant, but I could not help being amused at it, and especially at the despair of my faithful valet, who felt much more for my dignity than I did myself. There was no room whatever at the hotel I stopped at, so I went to look for a lodging elsewhere, and addressed myself to the Hôtel de l'Europe, a grand-looking establishment. I asked if they had rooms, and they said yes; but I suppose my appearance was not prepossessing (what would they have thought if they had seen my carriage?) for they took me to some miserable looking apartments in an adjoining outhouse. I rejected these with indignation, and said I would look elsewhere, when they ran after me, and offered me others; but I said, as they had not chosen to do so at first, I would have nothing to say to them, and I went on to the Hôtel de Russie, where I got very good rooms. In the evening I went to the promenade and the gaming rooms, which are as fine as the saloons in any palace I know of, and splendidly fitted up, but the amount of play, which is to defray the expense, seemed to me very small. It is, however, a very bad season, the long continuance of bad weather having diminished the number of visitors. I did not see one individual I knew, except a Colonel O'Meara whom I had known a little in England, and who volunteered to be my cicerone, and was very civil and obliging. This morning I walked before breakfast through a delightful shady avenue to a village about a mile and a half off, stopping to drink some water at a famous spring; then came home and wrote my letters, and started to walk up to the old Castle, which, after losing my way just outside the town, I successfully accomplished, and a most glorious view it is from the top. I certainly have never seen a more lovely landscape, and am rejoiced to have seen it, to feed my memory with for the future.

LIFE AT GERMAN BATHS.

July 3rd.—Dining at the table-d'hôte with just half a dozen people whom I don't know, with whom I have no conversation or communication, and not knowing whether they are French, Russians, or what, is a bore. I have done this twice, but will have no more of it. After dinner yesterday went to the usual place of resort, which, being Sunday, was crowded with people. There was a concert in the great room, and the whole thing was gay and amusing. It is totally unlike anything that can be seen in England, or I suppose anywhere but at some of these Baths. The society is extremely promiscuous, and completely democratic in its character, nevertheless perfectly respectable in appearance and behaviour. The locality is charming, the open booths round the garden exhibiting every variety of merchandise, and the numerous tables in the open air round which little parties are sitting, talking, drinking, eating, and smoking, while others are parading up and down, present a scene of remarkable gaiety, and when the concert began all the world flocked into the magnificent rooms, where everybody ranges about from high to low without paying anything. The early hour admits of children being there, and the little wretches are scampering about in great numbers. All the time the rouge-et-noir and roulette are going on, with crowds round the tables, but not much money staked. I found at last some people I knew, the two Hannah Colmans (the youngest now Madame de Porbeck and wife to a Baden officer), Mrs. Herbert with Sir Francis Vincent and her daughter Lady Vincent. It is wonderful how glad one is to see anybody in such a solitude of unknown faces, and how people who scarcely ever notice each other at home strike up a sudden but brief intimacy under circumstances productive of a momentary attraction. Sometimes these accidental associations lead to permanent intimacies, and sometimes one discovers in a moment that people whom one has been acquainted with all one's life, without knowing anything of them, are full of merits of which one had no sort of notion.

July 4th.—Madame de Porbeck, who is gay, good-natured, and agreeable, proposed to me to go to Eberstein Castle, one of the most celebrated excursions from hence, which I gladly accepted, and we went after dinner. I have no talent for description of scenery, and, if I had, it would be superfluous, to describe these noted spots. Suffice to say that I never was so enchanted in my life as with this Castle and the panorama it commands. I cannot figure to myself anything more lovely, and it wants nothing to make it perfect. There is a mixture of everything that can interest, astonish, and delight; the magnificent pine forests, feathering up the sides of the mountains; the vast chaos of hills cast into every variety of form; the river winding, rushing, sparkling, and murmuring in its course; the innumerable villages with which the banks are studded; the patches of cultivation striping the hill-sides, so curiously subdivided, diversified between corn-fields, potatoes, and vineyards, looking so minute in the vast space; the bridges; the curling smoke; the moving objects, like Lilliputians, in the distance; the sounds and the smells wafted by the air—altogether make a combination which affords inexpressible pleasure. Above all, I must not forget the lights and shadows, and the glorious effects of the setting sun in the calm and clear evening. The afternoon is the time for visiting such spots as these, when the noonday heats are past, and the blaze of the sun is softened and harmonised into a milder but a clearer light; and as the shadows lengthen and produce constant variety of shape, and draw fresh outlines on the opposite hills and in the valleys, and colours bright and changing like those of a rainbow dye the whole horizon, lighting up the course of the Rhine, and painting with purple hues the mountains of the Vosges, I looked and thought that nothing on earth could surpass this in beauty, and I thanked God for the faculty of enjoying it so much as I do. We went over the Castle, from which the views are charming. It is perched like an eagle's nest on the top of a conical hill; it was once a fortress of a feudal lord, and is now a small hunting-lodge, the new part curiously grafted on the old, and the interior prettily and comfortably arranged, but with hardly any accommodation. The Grand Duke comes here sometimes for a little while to shoot in the forest. The road up to it is like the Simplon, and has been recently made by the town. As we descended, we overtook some of the huge pines, which looked as if they were hewn 'to be the mast of some great ammiral.' They are put upon wheels at a great distance from each other, and drawn by oxen, and the way in which they contrive to get them round the turnings is really wonderful. We came on one at the turn, and it so completely barred the way, and seemed itself at such a fix, that I thought no one would have been able to pass; but by shifting, and moving, and dragging, between the men and the oxen, they managed it, I can hardly tell how. These are the vast pines that are floated down the Rhine; but those that we fell in with are used for domestic purposes.

THE CASTLE OF EBERSTEIN.

July 5th.—Yesterday went to dine at Gersbach, a small village just below the Castle of Eberstein. Went by the circuitous but flat road that leads through the valley of the Murg; but the beauties of the valley only begin at Gersbach itself, so that there was not much good got by taking this broiling roundabout route. There we met a party of people I never saw before, and after dinner we sat by the side of the river enjoying the fine weather and fine scenery in luxurious repose. Returned by a new and beautiful road over the mountain. My companion in the carriage, Mr. de Porbeck, an officer in the Baden army, a well-conditioned and intelligent man, gave me some scraps of information about what may be called German politics, some of which I was not prepared for. I asked him about the Chambers of his Grand-Duchy, and he told me they exercised a very real and effectual control over the finances and internal administration generally; that they sat long, debated a good deal, and there are some men of great ability and very good speakers in them. The particulars of the discussions of a Baden Parliament are not very interesting, but he told me that there is a great and growing desire on the part of the smaller States to form one nation with one or other of the great Powers, and that before long they would all be thus absorbed by their own desire. I said surely none of them could desire to belong to Austria. He said this feeling was more prevalent in the north, and he thought eventually all the Rhenish and Protestant States, Baden, Nassau, Würtemberg, Saxony, would be united to Prussia; that the first war which broke out would produce this revolution; that the fate of the Catholic parts of Germany might be different: that Bavaria might survive and possibly unite other provinces to herself. But as to Austria, he was convinced that the death of Metternich would be the signal for a great movement in that country; that everything was preparing for it, and that event would bring the projects which were spreading more and more every day to maturity. While this desire to make Germany a nation, or to merge the petty independencies in one or two great German Powers, is, according to him, becoming strong and general, there is also a great wish to have colonies and a navy, all of which he deems feasible, and says Prussia is already beginning to build ships of war. Whether there is truth in all this, or these are my friend's reveries, I know not; but as I had never before heard of such aspirations, I was struck by what he told me. We had a great deal of talk besides, about the condition of the people, and he expressed with some pride his satisfaction that while they had nothing of the grandeur of English opulence to boast of, they had not the afflicting spectacle of English misery and destitution. The subdivision of land (the effects of which I saw in the minute stripes of cultivated land on the hill-sides) caused all the agricultural population—much the greatest part of Baden—to be removed above want, and he assured me that the whole of the people are tolerably educated. No soldier, for instance, is allowed to enlist without being able to read and write. I remarked that on Sunday, though all the shops were shut in the town, labour was going on in the fields—that is, haymaking; I won't answer for any other. There is certainly a degree of social equality which is very foreign to our habits, and yet it is not subversive of the respect which is due from persons in one station to those in another. To me it has nothing offensive. I see it as a trait of national character and manners. At the table-d'hôte here the master of the hotel did not sit down as at Mayence, but he conversed with the guests. Both he and all the waiters, who are very obliging and attentive, talk to me continually when I go out or come in. There is something of independence mixed with kindness in their way of doing these things, which quite reconciles me to what anybody, thoroughly imbued with English customs and prejudices, would probably be affronted or provoked at. As far as I can ascertain, nothing can go on more harmoniously than the Catholics and Protestants do here. Two-thirds of the people are Catholics, the reigning family Protestants; clergy of both persuasions paid by the State, education in common, and the schools open to teachers who give separate religious instruction. Go where one will, it seems to me that one finds a more satisfactory and harmonious state of things with regard to religion than in England. There is more intolerance, bigotry, obstinacy, and déraison at home than in all the world besides. In what I have written here I am well aware that there is very little but the merest superficial view of the condition of the country, picked up in one or two casual conversations, and I value it at no more than it is worth. With regard to what De Porbeck told me of the German movement, it is not to be suspected as proceeding from an enemy of the Court, for he is on very good terms with the Royal Family, and appears to be something of a favourite.

CONDITION OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE.

July 7th.—On Wednesday evening we drove up an avenue of poplars to a Gasthaus, whence there is a view over the whole country through which the Rhine runs, bounded by the Vosges. There we saw the sunset, lighting up the Rhine till it shone like silver along its devious course, and the mountains and sky were bathed in tints of yellow and afterwards of purple, presenting a picture such as Claude delighted to paint. Last night to the old Castle and to the rocks above it, and afterwards to the Conversation-house garden to enjoy the cool air. The life here is the most idly luxurious I ever led, but however enjoyable, and much as I delight in the scenery, I begin already to feel that it would not do for long. It seems here as if everybody was enjoying one vast holiday, and had nothing to do but to amuse themselves. I get up between six and seven, walk for a couple of hours—yesterday to the top of the hill to see the view; this morning along the new road and back—then go into a cold bath, and dress, breakfast, and read and write for about two hours; go to the Club to read the newspapers, make visits and stroll about till dinner, dine at some of the tables-d'hôte or in my own room at something between four and five, then drive wherever I fancy to go, returning home when the sun is gone down and the moon and the stars are out, and repair to the garden. Then I sit with any friends I find at a little round table, in the cool of a delicious evening, eating ice and drinking what I please, a band of music playing, and the odours of new-mown hay, orange trees, limes, and roses, wafted on every gale. It is true that with these sweets the fumes of tobacco are very often mingled, for almost all the men smoke. There are crowds of men and women doing the same thing that I do, some repairing to the newspaper-room, some flirting with the young lady who superintends it. Every now and then one saunters into the magnificent rooms where the eternal play goes on, and the monotonous voice of the croupier, 'Le jeu, est-il fait?'—'Messieurs, faites vos jeux,' wearies the ear. These creatures sit hour after hour, peddling with their florin stakes, and assiduously making cards with pins, till between ten and eleven the gardens are gradually deserted, and at eleven a kind of curfew tolls the knell of day departed and gambling ends. A bell rings, which is the signal for general dispersion and the closing of houses of resort. The lights in the rooms are extinguished, and the weary croupiers retire. The police drive people even out of the hotels, and long before midnight no sound is heard in Baden but the waters of the river gurgling over their pebbled bed.

LADY ALDBOROUGH.

Baden, July 9th.—On Friday dined with Lady Aldborough and Mrs. Murchison, wife of the geologist, at an hotel table-d'hôte, where Lady A.'s screaming and strange gestures alarmed me for the effect they would produce on the company, and lest she should come out with some of those extraordinary things which she does not scruple to say to almost everybody she talks to. She is eighty-seven years old, still vigorous, and has all her wits about her, only her memory is gone, for she tells a story, and, forgetting she has told it, begins it again almost directly after. I remarked that all the women who dined with us ate almost everything with their knives, which was very disagreeable to see. A boy was stuck up on a chair who gave us several recitations in German, and then came round to lay us under contribution, though it was hard upon me to be forced to pay for hearing what I did not understand, and what only interrupted my conversation with my neighbour. Yesterday, Westmoreland, his son and I, went to see the New Castle, which the Grand Duke is repairing and fitting up. He has given the Grand Duchess Stéphanie, to whom it belonged for her life, a house in the town in exchange for it, and he is going to make it a residence for himself, and very handsome and agreeable it will be. The dungeons are curious and exhibit in perfection the local details of feudal tyranny and oppression. There are the long passages and dark chambers, the thick walls and stone doors, the shaft down which the wretches were lowered, the hall in which they were judged, and the well or oubliette into which by a trap-door they were precipitated, never to be heard of more. After seeing the Castle, we drove to La Favorite, a very curious place. It is not quite deserted, for the present Grand Duchess occasionally takes up her abode there. The house is, however, exactly in the state in which it was left by the Margravine Sybilla, who built it. Everything is faded, but nothing altered, and it exhibits a perfect specimen of a residence of the great people of that period, about 120 years ago. It is curiously but richly adorned with gilding, painting, glass, mosaic, and inlaid marble, all the furniture of silk or velvet, and an immense collection of portraits in miniature, half a hundred at least of Sybilla herself, and her husband, the Margrave Louis, in every variety of costume, some the most grotesque possible, besides those of curious worthies, let into the mirrors on the walls. Downstairs there is a quantity of Venetian and Bohemian glass, exceedingly fine, and a strange dinner service of delft, very well done, in which there are turkeys, woodcocks, bones, asparagus, cabbages, &c., the dishes representing the animals or the vegetables which are to be served up in them. The most extraordinary thing is the chapel which the old Margravine built in the garden in the days of her penitence, to which she used to retire during Lent, lying on a mat, lacerating herself with a scourge, wearing iron spikes under her clothes, and dining with three wooden figures (of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and St. John), who continue to sit at the table, though they have no longer any meat served up to them as they used to have. The whole place is so exactly as it was, that anybody who chose to go and live there would be in a condition to assume her state or her austerities, as they might feel inclined. A part of the road along which we passed was strewn with grass, with boughs of trees planted on each side, and arches raised of flowers and moss. This was in honour of the Bishop, who is going about confirming the people. He seems to be received with great marks of reverence and joy, and I have never been in any country where I have seen so many crucifixes, figures of the Saviour, or the Virgin, or other members of the hierarchy of Heaven. The Bishop made his entry into Baden a few days ago, preceded by a band of music, and detachments of the National Guard both infantry and cavalry, by whom he was escorted to the Convent at Lichtenthal, where he took up his abode. He arrived in a wretched berline with four post-horses, and attended by two still more miserable vehicles in which his clerical attendants were seated. The convent—which is said to be very rich, and where there are still eighteen nuns, who educate girls—was gaily decorated with flowers and fanciful emblems to receive him. The churches all seem well attended on Sundays, and the people are very smartly dressed, but work does not cease, at least not necessarily and universally. I saw last Sunday the people haymaking, and this morning the shoemaker brought me home a pair of shoes. Notwithstanding the beauty of this place, I am beginning to feel that the life of it would be intolerable for any length of time. To ramble among the hills and valleys and feed one's eyes on such unrivalled prospects is delightful, and to loiter about inhaling sweet odours and listening to pretty music is pleasant enough; but lassitude and languor remain in the background, ready to pounce on the wretch who does and can do nothing but revel in such luxuries as these.

ARRIVAL OF THE BISHOP.

July 14th.—Since Sunday I have been leading the same sort of life, only extending more widely the circle of my acquaintance: one night to a play or vaudeville, the next to an opera, acting, dancing, and singing, all performed by the same people. On Monday to a ball, of which there are three every week; the company was very select, not above forty people; the room beautiful and very well lit; gay enough and unceremonious, everybody in morning dress. The people walk in and out from the promenade; almost all dance; it begins at half-past eight and is all over at eleven. The ballroom was decorated with orange-trees. Yesterday morning I started at seven, with a party on horses and donkeys, and rode to Yburg Castle to breakfast. There was nothing to eat when we got there, and we had to send to the nearest village, where we procured sour bread and bad coffee. This morning I set off again at seven and rode up to Mercuriusberg. This is by far the finest of all the views I have seen; the panorama is grand beyond description, infinitely more diversified and more beautiful than that of Yburg. The ways and habits, the mode of life of this place, are certainly unlike those of any other, except, I suppose, the other German Baths. There is a freedom and ease, a liberty, an intermixture of various nations and unequal ranks, which surprises a fresh-comer. Everybody lives in the open air, the promenade is full of round tables at which little parties congregate; here, two men playing at chess; there, two men at dominoes. At one round table are Russians, Germans, English, French, all puffing away in one another's faces. At a second, we see the two Princesses de Béthune, Lady Aldborough, the Princess Troubetzkoi, and Madame de Bacellos, known better as Marchioness de Loulé. Close by is Madame Spindler, the wife of a great German author, smoking her cigar, and spreading her huge bulk over two or three chairs.

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RETURN TO LONDON.