Yesterday Normanby came to take leave of me before returning to Paris. He has been very much dissatisfied and annoyed at Palmerston's goings on, and at the rôle which was imposed on him, and he told me he did not like Palmerston's tone, which was much too triumphant, and he was very much afraid he would not change his ways of proceeding. His best hope was that no case would occur to elicit any fresh conduct or language of his of a questionable nature.

July 28th.—This day week the Radicals gave Palmerston a dinner at the Reform Club. It was a sorry affair—a rabble of men, not ten out of two hundred whom I know by sight. They asked John Russell who would not go, and then they thought it better to ask no more of Palmerston's colleagues. Neither Lord John nor any of them liked it, but of course they said nothing. Palmerston would have done better to repose on his House of Commons laurels, and find some pretext for declining this compliment. The Court are just as much disgusted with him as ever, and provoked at his success in the House of Commons.[123]

Brighton, August 26th.—I have been here for a week past. On Sunday last the death of Arbuthnot took place at Apsley House, where he had been gradually sinking for some time. He is a great and irreparable loss to the Duke of Wellington, who is now left alone in the world. Arbuthnot was almost always with him, he had his entire confidence. The Duke told him, and talked to him, about everything, and on the other hand, all who wanted to approach the Duke for whatever purpose, communicated through Arbuthnot. The Duke, who has for a long time been growing gradually more solitary and unsocial, more irritable and unapproachable, is now left without any friend and companion with whom he can talk over past events, and to whom he can confide present grievances and complaints. He will feel it as acutely as at his age and with his character he can feel anything.

DEATH OF MR. ARBUTHNOT.

Arbuthnot's career has been remarkable. He had no shining parts, and never could have been conspicuous in public life; but in a subordinate and unostentatious character he was more largely mixed up with the principal people and events of his time than any other man. He might have written very curious and interesting memoirs if he had only noted down all that passed under his observation, and the results of his political information and connexions, for few men ever enjoyed so entirely the intimacy and unreserved confidence of so many statesmen and ministers, and therefore few have been so well acquainted with the details of secret history. He was successively the trusted adherent and intimate friend of Lord Liverpool, Lord Castlereagh, and the Duke of Wellington, and more or less of almost all their colleagues, besides being on very good terms with many others with whom he had no political opinions in common. He had in fact a somewhat singular and exceptional position; much liked, much trusted, continually consulted and employed, with no enemies and innumerable friends. This was owing to his character, which was exactly calculated to win this position for him. Without brilliant talents, he had a good sound understanding and dispassionate judgement, liberality in his ideas, and no violent prejudices. He was mild, modest, and sincere; he was single-minded, zealous, serviceable, and sympathetic (simpatico), and he was moreover both honourable and discreet. The consequence was that everybody relied upon him and trusted him, and he passed his whole life in an atmosphere of political transactions and secrets. After the death of his wife he lived at Apsley House when in London, and during a great part of the rest of the year with the Duke at Walmer and Strathfieldsaye, and he went hardly at all into the world; but he rather extended than contracted the list of his personal and political friends, for as the Whig Ministers had often business to transact with the Duke, they generally found it convenient to communicate with Arbuthnot too; and, as he was always ready to render any service, public or private, in his power, he made many acquaintances and acquired friends in that party, specially the Duke of Bedford, with whom he had long been intimate, and who was in the habit of communicating with him very unreservedly on political matters. The preceding pages exhibit many proofs of Arbuthnot's familiarity with the political history of his time, as well as of his good sense and liberality. He was buried at Kensal Green, and the Duke is said to have been very much affected at the funeral.

Brighton, August 27th.[124]—Yesterday morning Louis Philippe expired at Claremont quite unexpectedly, for though he had been ill for a long time, it was supposed he might still live many months. Not long ago his life was the most important in the world, and his death would have produced a profound sensation and general consternation. Now hardly more importance attaches to the event than there would to the death of one of the old bathing-women opposite my window. It will not produce the slightest political effect, nor even give rise to any speculation. He had long been politically defunct. The effect that presents itself as most likely is its paving the way to a reconciliation between the two branches of the Bourbons, and a fusion of their interests; but as the late King had consented to this fusion and desired it, while the Duchess of Orleans was opposed to it, this consummation is more likely to be prevented than brought about by his death. His character has been often described with more or less of truth and justice, and of course there will be many fresh descriptions of it now. I cannot attempt it, for I never knew anything of him except at second-hand. He had certainly many good qualities and an amiable disposition, and probably no vices but selfishness and insincerity. These were, however, universally ascribed to him, and consequently out of the limited circle of his own family and a few friends and old servants, who were warmly attached to him, he inspired neither affection nor respect. The worst kings have seldom been destitute of many devoted adherents; but in his day of tribulation, although he may rather be accounted amongst the best than the worst, he was abandoned by all France, and his fall was not only unresisted, but suffered to take place with scarcely a manifestation of sympathy and regret.

November 10th.—After a lapse of nearly three months I resume my notices of past and present events, these three months having furnished very little matter worth recording nearly up to the present time. For the last month, however, the world has been sufficiently agitated, on different accounts and in different places, to afford ample opportunity for either description or comment even to the most superficial observer. I might, however, I have very little doubt, write that which would be acceptable to one person or another by recording my own personal experiences and the communications that I have with different people on different matters, which certainly are ludicrously miscellaneous. Some people like politics, some gossip, and almost all like political gossip. I have had within these few weeks consultations and communications on the most opposite subjects: men coming to be helped out of scrapes with other men's wives, adjustments of domestic squabbles, a grand bother about the Duke of Cambridge's status in the House of Lords, a fresh correspondence with Lady Palmerston about the 'Times' attacking her husband, communication from Cardinal Wiseman about the troubled state of ecclesiastical affairs, and so forth; odds and ends not altogether uninteresting, and making a strange miscellany in my mind. It is needless to attempt to say anything about the solution of the German question, touching which I have no private information whatever.[125] It is a drama, at which all the world is audience, and I have not been behind the scenes. I think we have played a very paltry part in it, and Palmerston's policy and conduct are so unintelligible to me that I shall say nothing about them. I agree in all that the 'Times' has written thereon, and its strictures have hit hard, as is evident by the resentment expressed by Lady Palmerston.

The Duke of Cambridge and his family have been, and still are, excited about the place he is entitled to occupy in the House of Lords,[126] and they are very angry with me because I said, in my pamphlet on Prince Albert's precedence ten years ago, that he was only entitled to sit as Duke of Cambridge according to the date of his peerage, and this I adhere to now. It is incredible what importance they attach to this nonsense. The Duchess of Gloucester sent to me to beg a copy of that old pamphlet, and afterwards the Chancellor did the same. I have had a correspondence with Lord Redesdale about it, who has taken up the Duke's cause, and sustained it by some very bad arguments and very inapplicable precedents. I have stuck to my original opinion, but nevertheless am now endeavouring to help the Duke to attain his purpose, and have furnished him with a better precedent than he and his advisers have been able to find for themselves.

THE PAPAL AGGRESSION.

But such trifles as these, and such serious matters as an impending German war, are uninteresting in comparison with the 'No Popery' hubbub which has been raised, and which is now running its course furiously over the length and breadth of the land. I view the whole of this from beginning to end, and the conduct of all parties with unmixed dissatisfaction and regret. The Pope has been ill-advised and very impolitic, the whole proceeding on the part of the Papal Government has been mischievous and impertinent, and deserves the severest censure. Wiseman, who ought to have known better, aggravated the case by his imprudent manifesto. On the other hand, the Protestant demonstration is to the last degree exaggerated and absurd. The danger is ludicrously exaggerated, the intention misunderstood, and the offence unduly magnified. A 'No Popery' cry has been raised, and the depths of theological hatred stirred up very foolishly and for a most inadequate cause. John Russell, who acted prudently in declaring his Protestant sympathies, joining the public voice in condemnation of the Pope's proceedings, and clearing himself and his Government from any suspicion of being indifferent to them, nevertheless writes a very imprudent, undignified, and, in his station, unbecoming letter. He might have said all that it was necessary to say without giving any offence; he might have taken the movement into his own hands, and satisfied the Protestants, and at the same time not dissatisfied the Catholics, pouring oil on the waters, and moderating the prevailing effervescence. But his letter has had a contrary effect. On one hand it has filled with stupid and fanatical enthusiasm all the Protestant bigots, and stimulated their rage; and on the other it has irritated to madness all the zealous Catholics, and grieved, shocked, and offended even the most moderate and reasonable. All wise and prudent men perceive this, and strongly disapprove of his letter; all his colleagues with whom I have spoken, and I have no doubt all the rest, do so; and Clarendon writes me word that the effect it has produced in Ireland is not to be told. I have already had a practical proof of the mischief it has done. Two days ago Bowyer came to me from Cardinal Wiseman, who was just arrived, to ask my opinion whether anything could be done, and what. I said if he had sent to me some time ago, and told me what was contemplated, I might have done him some service by telling him what the consequences would be; but that now it was too late to do anything, John Bull had got the bit in his mouth, and the Devil could not stop him. He told me the Cardinal was drawing up a loyal address to be signed by ecclesiastics and laymen, and asked me to look at it. I agreed, and he brought it the next day. I said it was very well as far as it went, and only suggested that the new Bishops should take care to sign their names only, and omit all allusion to their sees. This he engaged for. I then talked over the case, and what might be done. I said of course we could not expect the Pope to retract; but that if he was really desirous of doing what could be done to allay the prevailing irritation, he had better do that which he still could consistently; that he had not yet pronounced any decision as to the Irish Colleges, and he might either give one in their favour, or at least abstain from giving any at all, and the Cardinal would do well to urge this at Rome. Bowyer replied that this might have been possible before, but Lord John's letter had made it impossible now, and that this letter would be regarded as so insulting at Rome, and such a proof of the hostility of the British Government to the Roman Catholic religion, that they would put no trust in the writer of it, and it would be impossible to ask the Pope, nor would he be induced, to do anything in deference to the objects or wishes of this Government.