Chapter IV (1)

The Queen and Lord Melbourne--The Battersea Schools--A Council at
Windsor--A Humble Hero--Lord Durham's Resignation--Duke of
Wellington's Campaigns--The Grange--Lord Durham's Return--Death
of Lord Sefton--Lord Durham's Arrival--His Reception in the
Country--Position of the Radicals--A Visit to Windsor Castle--
Lord Brougham's 'Letter to the Queen'--Lord Durham repudiates
the Radicals--A Lecture at Battersea--Dinner at Holland House--
Curran and George Ponsonby--Prospect of the New Year--The
Petition of the Serjeants-at-Law--Reconciliation with Lord
Durham--Murder of Lord Norbury--The Corn Laws attacked--Lord
Palmerston and the 'Portfolio'--The Serjeants' Case--Brougham
and Lyndhurst 'done up'--Opening of the Session--Resignation of
Lord Glenelg--State of Parties--Lord Durham's Report--Lord
Glenelg's Retirement--Lord Normanby, Colonial Minister--Corn
Law Repeal--Sir Francis Bond Head--Gore House--Lady
Blessington.

September 7th, 1838 {p.130}

Nothing to record of any sort or kind: London a desert; I went to-day to Windsor for a Council, was invited by the Queen (through Melbourne) to stay and dine, but made an excuse on the score of business, and luckily had a plausible one to make.

September 12th, 1838 {p.130}

[Page Head: THE QUEEN AND LORD MELBOURNE.]

George Villiers, who came from Windsor on Monday, told me he had been exceedingly struck with Lord Melbourne's manner to the Queen, and hers to him: his, so parental and anxious, but always so respectful and deferential; hers, indicative of such entire confidence, such pleasure in his society. She is continually talking to him; let who will be there, he always sits next her at dinner, and evidently by arrangement, because he always takes in the lady-in-waiting, which necessarily places him next her, the etiquette being that the lady-in-waiting sits next but one to the Queen. It is not unnatural, and to him it is peculiarly interesting. I have no doubt he is passionately fond of her as he might be of his daughter if he had one, and the more because he is a man with a capacity for loving without having anything in the world to love. It is become his province to educate, instruct, and form the most interesting mind and character in the world. No occupation was ever more engrossing or involved greater responsibility. I have no doubt that Melbourne is both equal to and worthy of the task, and that it is fortunate she has fallen into his hands, and that he discharges this great duty wisely, honourably, and conscientiously. There are, however, or rather may be hereafter, inconveniences in the establishment of such an intimacy, and in a connexion of so close and affectionate a nature between the young Queen and her Minister; for whenever the Government, which hangs by a thread, shall be broken up, the parting will be painful, and their subsequent relations will not be without embarrassment to themselves, nor fail to be the cause of jealousy in others. It is a great proof of the discretion and purity of his conduct and behaviour, that he is admired, respected, and liked by all the Court.

Yesterday I went to Battersea and dined with Robert Eden, the Rector,[1] and he took me before dinner to see his lions, and introduced me to scenes very different from those which I am used to see. We went to different manufactories, a saw-mill, a pottery, to the lunatic asylum, to the workhouse, and we visited several poor people at their cottages, when he enquired into the circumstances of the sick or the indigent; but what struck me most forcibly was the school (upon Bell's system) and the extraordinary acquirements of the boys. Eden examined them, and invited me to do so, in arithmetic, geography, English history, and the Bible, and their readiness and correctness were really surprising. I doubt whether many of the children of the rich, who are educated at a vast expense at private or public schools, could pass such an examination as these young paupers who are instructed at the cost of about one guinea a year. The greatest punishment that can be inflicted on one of these boys is to banish him from school, such delight do they take in acquiring knowledge. He gave me a curious account of the state of his parish: there is no middle class of tradesmen in good circumstances; they are divided between the extremes of wealth and of poverty, masters and operatives; but amongst the latter there is a considerable amount of knowledge, though their minds are ill-regulated and their principles perverted. When first he came there the place abounded in disciples of Carlile, pure atheists, and when Carlile was in prison he was supported by their contributions; but though totally without religion they were not immoral, and among these men were some of the best husbands and fathers in the place, so much so that when Carlile told them that men might indulge in polygamy and take two wives, they were scandalised and disgusted, and began immediately to abandon him. Some were reclaimed and came to church, but the greater part, who required some powerful excitement, sought it in politics, and became deeply imbued with the most pernicious principles of hatred against all institutions, against the higher orders, and against property. The fountain from which they draw their opinions is a Sunday paper called the 'Watchman,' which is universally and greedily read: it is cleverly written, accommodated to their taste, and flatters all their worst propensities. Few people know these things and are aware of the poison that is thus circulating through the veins, and corrupting the blood, of the social mass. The desire for instruction and knowledge seems very general among the lower orders. Eden, with some others, has established evening lectures upon various subjects, which are crowded by anxious and attentive listeners of all ages and callings, who frequently hurry from their daily occupations, impatient to partake of the instruction which Eden and his curates, and often some of the better informed inhabitants of the place, are in the habit of dispensing.

[1] Afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells.

September 15th, 1838 {p.132}

[Page Head: AN INVITATION TO WINDSOR.]

Yesterday again at Windsor for a Council. I had made up my mind not to stay if invited, and meant to hasten away; but before I could do so Melbourne came after me and said, 'You will stay here? the Queen desired me to ask you.' I said I had no evening dress, had come by the railroad, and walked from Slough; could not assume that I should be asked, and did not know what to do. He said, 'She meant it as a civility, and thought you would like it.' There was a sort of reproach conveyed in the tone, and that induced me to say, 'So I should if I had only known of it, but as it is I can send for my things if you like.' He ended by desiring I would do what I liked best myself, promised that he would take care the Queen was not offended, and that nobody else would know anything of the matter. I accordingly resolved to go, and went away with Lord Albemarle. My mind misgave me, and I had a great mind to stay, especially as Lord Albemarle told me they did not mean to turn me out after dinner, but that sleeping there was a matter of course. Then I was sorry I had not stayed, which I might just as well have done, for I had nothing else to do. At these Councils we meet in common morning dress, which we used not to do.

London, October 26th, 1838 {p.133}

A blank month: to Newmarket, to Buckenham, back to Newmarket, to Cromer (fine, wild, bleak coast), Buckenham again, Newmarket, London, Norman Court, and here again; heard nothing, learnt nothing, altogether unprofitable, Durham's resignation[2] the only event, the _dénouement_ of which nobody can guess. The Ministers ought never to have sent him, knowing what he was, and this has not been their only fault. Norman Court[3] is a very enjoyable place; close to it was (for it has lately been pulled down) the house from which Lady Mary eloped with Mr. Wortley. There I met the doctor who attended young Sam Day (who won the St. Leger for me on Mango) after the fall of which he died, and he gave me a striking account of the deathbed scene, the actors in which, albeit of an humble and unpolished class, displayed feelings not the less intense from the simplicity of their expression, and the total absence of that morbid or conventional sensibility which gives a sort of dramatic dignity to the grief of the great ones. The boy himself died like a hero, with a firmness, courage, and cheerfulness which would have been extolled to the skies in some conspicuous character on whom the world has been accustomed to gaze, but which in the poor jockey boy passed unheeded and unknown, and it is only the few as obscure as himself who witnessed his last moments who are aware that, wherever his bones rest--

in that neglected spot is laid
A heart once pregnant with celestial fire.

[2] [Upon the receipt of the intelligence of the
Declaratory Act, Lord Durham at once announced in
Canada his determination to resign. The disallowance of
the Ordinance and his official recall crossed this
intimation on the road.]

[3] [Norman Court was at that time the seat of Mr. Baring
Wall. After his death it passed to Mr. Thomas Baring.]

November 8th, 1838 {p.134}

At Newmarket, and at Euston for a day (probably for the last time), and to London on Monday. The stillness of the political atmosphere has been rudely broken in upon by Lord Durham's astounding Proclamation: for once the whole of the press has joined in a full chorus of disapprobation, and this may be considered conclusive as to public opinion. Indeed there can scarcely be two opinions on the subject, for such an appeal to the people of the Colony over whom he is placed from the acts of the Government and the legislature of the mother country is as monstrous as it is unexampled.[4] It seems incredible that he should not have been deterred by the men who are about him, who are not deficient in capacity, from taking this desperate step; but as there is little doubt that Turton advised him not to issue the Ordinances, and got into disgrace with him for so doing, it is possible that they none of them were consulted, or if consulted did not dare, or did not choose, to give him any advice whatever. The dignity of the Government now demands that his insolence and misconduct should be visited with the severest expression of disapprobation and reproof, and the harshest measures, even an impeachment, would be fully warrantable, if harsh measures did not generally defeat their own object. But if the Government mince matters with him, and evince any fear to strike, if they do not vindicate their own authority, and punish his contumacy with dignity and spirit, their characters are gone, and they will merit all the contempt with which their opponents affect to treat them.

[4] [Lord Durham's conduct was arrogant and highly
injudicious. On the 9th October he issued a
Proclamation in Canada, in which he censured the
conduct of the Home Government. It is printed in the
'Ann. Reg.' for 1838, Chron. p. 311. In fact his vanity
was wounded, and his mission, of which so much was
expected, had failed. But it will be seen further on
that the first impression produced by his violence was
considerably mitigated. Mr. John Stuart Mill defended
his policy in the _Westminster Review_, and a certain
amount of reaction took place in his favour.]

November 18th, 1838, Wolbeding {p.135}

[Page Head: WELLINGTON IN BATTLE.]

Came here to-day and brought Lord Fitzroy Somerset[5] with me, who told me a great deal about the Duke and their old campaigns. He never saw a man so cool and indifferent to danger, at the same time without any personal rashness or bravado, never putting himself in unnecessary danger, never avoiding any that was necessary. He was close to the Duke, his left arm touching the Duke's right, when he was shot in the arm at Waterloo, and so was Lord Anglesey when he received his wound in the leg. When Lord Anglesey was shot he turned to the Duke and said, 'By G-- I have lost my leg.' The Duke replied, 'Have you? by G--.' The only time the Duke ever was hit was at Orthez, by a spent ball, which struck him on the side and knocked him down. He and Alava were standing together having both dismounted, and they were laughing at a Portuguese soldier who had just passed by saying he was 'offendido' ... when the Duke was struck down, but he immediately rose and laughed all the more at being 'offendido' himself. During the battles of the Pyrenees Cole proposed to the Duke and his staff to go and eat a very good dinner he had ordered for himself at his house in the village he occupied, as he could not leave his division. They went and dined, and then the Duke went into the next room and threw himself upon a bed without a mattress, on the boards of which he presently went to sleep with his despatch-box for a pillow. Fitzroy and the aides-de-camp slept in chairs or on the floor scattered about. Presently arrived, in great haste and alarm, two officers of artillery, Captain Cairne and another, who begged to see the Duke, the former saying that he had just brought up some guns from the rear, and that he had suddenly found himself close to the enemy and did not know what to do. They went and woke the Duke, who desired him to be brought in. The officer entered and told his story, when the Duke said, very composedly, 'Well, Sir, you are certainly in a very bad position, and you must get out of it in the best way you can,' turned round, and was asleep again in a moment.

[5] [Afterwards Lord Raglan. He lost his arm at Waterloo,
and commanded the British army in the Crimea, where he
died in 1855.]

Lord Fitzroy gave me an account of the battle of Salamanca, exactly corresponding with that which the Duke himself gave me last year at Burghley, but with some additional details. They were going to dine in a farmyard, but the shot fell so thick there that the mules carrying the dinner were ordered to go to another place. There the Duke dined, walking about the whole time munching, with his field-glass in his hand, and constantly looking through it. On a sudden, he exclaimed, 'By G--, they are extending their line; order my horses.' The horses were brought and he was off in an instant, followed only by his old German dragoon, who went with him everywhere. The aides-de-camp followed as quickly as they could. He galloped straight to Pakenham's division and desired him immediately to begin the attack. Pakenham said, 'Give me your hand, and it shall be done.' The Duke very gravely gave him his hand, Pakenham shook it warmly and then hastened off. The French were attacked directly after.

[Page Head: AN ARMY LOST.]

He also told me another anecdote I had never heard before. During the retreat from Burgos, on this very day twenty-six years ago, when the weather was dreadful and the roads were nearly impassable, the Duke _lost his army_ for several hours. They had to cross a river near a place called Rodrigo, and the Duke had ordered the army to march in three columns, of which one, composed of the Spaniards, was to cross by the only bridge there was, and the other two by fords and by another route. He had assigned the easiest line to the Spaniards because they were likely to have more stragglers than the British. Arthur Upton, the Quartermaster-General of one of the divisions, had dined at head-quarters the night before, and the Duke had sent by him written orders for the march. The next morning at two o'clock the Duke was on the high road on purpose to see the troops pass by. Cavalry came, but no infantry, and to the enquiries the Duke made, they all replied that they had not seen anything of the infantry. Presently the Duke galloped off, and Fitzroy having missed him soon after, set off to see if he could discover what was become of the infantry. It was not till several hours after that he joined the Duke, who had at last found out the cause of the non-appearance of his infantry. The three Generals commanding the divisions, Clinton, Stewart, and Lord Dalhousie, had thought fit to disobey his orders, and as a great deal of rain had fallen in the night, they had settled that it would be better to direct the whole of the infantry on the bridge instead of moving them by the roads prescribed by the Duke, and though they knew he was only seven or eight miles off, they never advised him of their having made this change in the movements he had ordered. The enemy did not discover what had occurred; if they had, the consequences might have been very serious, and a great loss have ensued. Fitzroy asked the Duke what he had said to them, and he replied, 'Oh, by G--, it was too serious to say anything.' It was too late then to restore the original order of march, and the whole army crossed by the bridge. No further allusion was made to what had occurred.

December 2nd, 1838 {p.137}

Went from Wolbeding to the Grange, last Friday week--Henry Taylor and George Cornewall Lewis there--and came to town on Sunday. The Grange is a beautiful specimen of Grecian architecture, bought by Lord Ashburton of that extraordinary man Henry Drummond, a man so able and eccentric as to be treading on the very edge of the partition which divides wit from madness.

Lord Durham arrived at Plymouth some days ago, but was not able to land (on Thursday last) owing to the violence of the storms. Great curiosity prevails to see what sort of a reception he gets from Ministers and the Queen, and what his relations are to be with Government. Nothing they say can exceed the astonishment which he and his court feel, or will feel, at the sensation excited in the country by his conduct. Gibbon Wakefield, the first who arrived, said he had never been so amazed in the course of his life, and owned that they had all expected to make a very different impression, and to be hailed with great applause. Brougham, who is sitting at the Judicial Committee, is in high spirits and looking forward with exceeding zest and eagerness to the fun he is to have in the House of Lords.

[Page Head: CHARACTER OF LORD SEFTON.]

While I was in the country, Lord Sefton's long illness came to a close, but not before he was reduced to a state of deplorable imbecility, so that his death was a release from misery to himself as well as to all about him. He was a man who filled a considerable space in society, and had been more or less conspicuous from the earliest period of his life. He was possessed of an ample fortune, which he endeavoured to convert into a continual source of enjoyment in every mode which fancy, humour, or caprice suggested. His natural parts were excessively lively, but his education had been wholly neglected, and he never attempted to repair in after-life the deficiencies occasioned by that early neglect. He had therefore not the slightest tincture of letters, his mind was barren of information, and he not only took no interest in intellectual pursuits, but he regarded with aversion, and something like contempt, those who were peculiarly devoted to them. On the other hand, he was an acute man of the world, eagerly entering into all the interests, great and small, of his own time, sufficiently acquainted with the mushroom literature of the day for all social purposes, and, partly from the authority which his wealth and position gave him, partly from his own dexterity, he contrived to turn conversation aside from those topics in the discussion of which he was incapable of mixing, and to promote that sort of half-serious, half-ludicrous talk, in which he was not only fitted to play a prominent part, but in which he exhibited a talent quite peculiar to himself. Never was there so great a master of what is called _persiflage_--of that boisterous, droll and pungent banter which, if not the most elevated species of wit, is certainly that which is most exhilarating and provocative of laughter. In this he was unrivalled, and it was heightened by the adjuncts of a voice, face, and manner irresistibly comical. As the most opposite characters owned the fascination of this exciting talent, he was enabled to gratify his inclination for every variety of social excellence, and to number among his friends and companions many of the most eminent and accomplished men of his time. From his earliest youth he had always lived in what was considered the very best society, and as he eschewed the idea of growing old and retiring from the stage, he was continually making new acquaintances, falling into fresh pursuits, and adapting himself to the prevailing tastes and habits of the day. His father had stamped upon him his hideous form, but with it his sharp and caustic wit; he found himself at the outset a member of that brilliant society of which Hatfield and Cashiobury were the temples, and Lady Salisbury, Lady Essex, and Mrs. St. John the presiding divinities. After these had flourished and decayed, Sefton struck into fresh paths of social enjoyment, and having successively sought for amusement in hunting, shooting, racing, gaming, 'besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking,' he plunged with ardour into politics, and though he had no opinions or principles but such as resulted from personal predilections, and had none of that judgement which can only be generated by the combination of knowledge with severe mental discipline, he was enabled by the force of circumstances and an energetic will to acquire political intimacies, and to a certain degree to play a political part: of this his friendship with Brougham was the primary cause. Brougham had been his counsel in some important cause at Liverpool, and that professional connexion subsequently ripened into a close alliance, Sefton being naturally delighted with his brilliant conversation, while Brougham was always highly diverted with the peculiar humour and drollery of Sefton. So intimate therefore did they become, and such influence was Sefton supposed to possess over his mind, that he was employed by Lord Grey, on the formation of the Whig Government in 1830, to settle the conditions of Brougham's accession to office, and to appease the wrath which had been stirred up in his mind by the offer of being made Attorney-General. His addiction to politics had, however, very little influence on his habits, except to extend and diversify the sphere of his occupations and amusements. His Parliamentary attendance never abridged the hours or nights which were devoted to Crockford's, and his friendships with Brougham, Lord Grey and Lord Holland, Talleyrand, and all the most distinguished people in the country, did not alienate him from the company of the idle, gay, and dissolute frequenters of clubs and race-courses, congenial spirits from whom he extracted their several contributions of entertainment. The one thing needful to him was excitement, and so fixed and rooted was his habit of seeking it, that there was a sort of regularity in the very irregularities of his existence. In regard to his moral attributes he was governed by an intense selfishness, but of that liberal and enlightened character which throws a partial veil over the vice itself and leaves the superficial observer unconscious of its existence. He was a devoted husband, a kind and affectionate father, a despot (though it was a beneficent despotism) in his own family, a courteous, cordial, and obliging host; he cared for money only as a means of enjoyment, but it formed no part of his scheme of happiness to employ it in promoting the pleasures, or relieving the necessities of others, except in so far as such pleasures were connected with his own gratification. He was absolutely devoid of religious belief or opinions, but he left to all others the unquestioned liberty of rendering that homage to religion from which he gave himself a plenary dispensation. His general conduct was stained with no gross immorality, and as he was placed far above the necessity of committing dishonourable actions, his mind was habitually imbued with principles of integrity. They sat, however, lightly and easily upon him as regarded the conduct of others, not so much from indifference as from indulgence in those particular cases where a rigid and severe application of high principle would have interfered with his own convenience or enjoyment. Such was Sefton, a man who acted too conspicuous a part on the stage of the world to be passed over without notice, whom I knew too well to delineate in more flattering terms, but to whom I must acknowledge a debt of gratitude for a long and undeviating course of kind and cordial hospitality experienced for many years.

December 6th, 1838 {p.141}

[Page Head: LORD DURHAM'S RETURN.]

If notoriety upon any terms could satisfy anybody, Lord Durham would have ample reason for contentment, as his name is in everybody's mouth, and the chief topic of every newspaper and political periodical. He was detained by the storms on board his ship for a day or two, and met on his landing by a Devonport address, to which he returned a rather mysterious answer (talking of the great disclosures he had to make), with a reference to his Glasgow speech in which in '34 he announced his Radical tendency. The most interesting question is how he and the Ministers will go on together, what they ought to do, and how he will take their usage of him whatever it may be. He has been in no hurry to come to town, and has reposed himself at Plymouth as long as it suited him; but he is expected to-day. Brougham, who is sitting every day at the Privy Council, is always growling at him sarcastically, and was much pleased when news came of the fresh outbreak in Canada, and his disappointment was equally evident when he heard it was so rapidly quelled. He was reading the newspaper in my room before the Court opened, when Denman came and announced that he had just met Charles Wood, who had told him that young Ellice was released, and the insurrection suppressed. Brougham did not take his eyes off the paper, and merely muttered, 'It will soon break out again.' He is all day long working sums in algebra, or extracting cube-roots; and while he pretends to be poring over the great book (the cases of the parties) before him, he is in reality absorbed in his own calculations. Nevertheless, he from time to time starts up, and throws in a question, a dictum, or a lecture, just as if he had been profoundly attentive.

December 10th, 1838 {p.142}

Nothing can exhibit more strikingly the farcical nature of public meetings, and the hollowness, worthlessness, and accidental character of popularity, than the circumstances of Durham's arrival here. He has done nothing in Canada, he took himself off just as the fighting was going to begin, his whole conduct has been visited with universal disapprobation, and nevertheless his progress to London has been a sort of triumph; and he has been saluted with addresses and noisy receptions at all the great towns through which he passed. His position here is extraordinary enough, and his relations with the Government stand upon a strange footing. They have made no communication to him since his arrival. Upon the receipt of his Proclamation they wrote to him and expressed their disapprobation, but those letters never reached him, as he quitted Canada before they could have arrived. They now, it seems, consider that silence is token sufficient of their displeasure at his abrupt return; but, though no doubt he fully understands them, they ought to have conveyed their sentiments openly and distinctly. There is an appearance of pusillanimity in this reserve which does them great harm, and brings them into discredit. They ought to have told him temperately, but firmly, that they were entirely dissatisfied with his proceedings, and having so done they should have called upon him to afford them all the explanations and all the information he has to give; but they have done none of this, for they have taken no notice of him, nor he of them. He has not seen one of the Ministers, not even his own brother-in-law Howick, nor any of the underlings, except Ben Stanley, who found Durham in high dudgeon, and saying, that 'as Government attacked him he must defend himself.' What he means by 'attacking him' is, that certain articles reflecting on his conduct have appeared in the 'Globe,' for in no way have Government said or done anything about him; on the contrary, they have been only too reserved and forbearing.

[Page Head: LORD DURHAM BLUNDERS.]

The conduct of Durham throughout the whole business, from his first legislative act in Canada (the Ordinance) down to his arrival in London, is perfectly inexplicable, and presents a series of blunders tricked out in plausible language, invested with the dignity of pompous phraseology, mysterious allusions, threats and promises, and the affecting complaints of injured innocence and ill-requited virtue. But still, such is the effect of notoriety, so dearly do ordinary mortals love to play a part and 'make the capable,' that in spite of his blunders and his faults he has contrived to excite a certain amount of interest, to make an impression, though not a very deep or wide one, and to raise a vague expectation as to his promised disclosures. His speeches in reply to the addresses are most extraordinary performances, unbecoming in tone, contradictory, inconsistent, and inflated; for as to disclosures he has none to make of any sort or kind. He had the finest game to play in Canada that could be placed in his hands, for the proceedings here gave him a legitimate grievance, and would have enabled him to claim double credit for success, and exemption from any blame or discredit from failure; but temper, uncontrollable and unreflecting, hurried him into the irretrievable follies he committed, and he is now without any alternative but that of renewing the Radical connexion from which a short time ago he evinced a disposition to keep aloof, and he has nothing left for it but to accept the post that is offered him of leading a party which, in its composition, principles, and objects, is as uncongenial as possible to his real character and disposition. For it is not a little curious that this levelling democratic faction, to whom the aristocracy are an abomination, are not only wild to have a lord for their leader, but must have that lord who is the especial incarnation of all those odious qualities which they ascribe most unjustly to the order of which he is a member: and he who is brimful of pride and arrogance, and of an overweening sense of his greatness and his rank, is content to associate with men whose chief recommendation is the profuseness with which they pander to his vanity, and to seek personal distinction and power by lending himself to the promotion of schemes the success of which no man would more earnestly deprecate than himself. The greatest enigma is how Durham has ever come to be considered of such importance, and what is the cause of the sort of reputation he has acquired; for whatever may be his intrinsic value, he certainly fills a considerable space, attracts a great share of public attention, and is a personage of some consequence in the political world. He is a clever man, can both write and speak well, but he has not been in the habit of _saying_ much, and he has never _done_ anything whatever. He is known to the world by no specific act, and he has taken part very rarely and occasionally in the debates in Parliament. All that is known of his embassy to Russia is, that he was completely bit by the Emperor Nicholas, and gave up the question of the 'Vixen;' still, by dint of being perpetually cried up by a particular party, and by doing well the little he has occasionally done in public, he has succeeded in making himself pass for a man of high pretensions and uncommon endowments, and in the present state of parties his arrival may be productive of important effects.

[Page Head: IRRITATION OF THE RADICALS.]

The Radicals, that is, the English ones, are extremely exasperated against the Government, and many of them are anxious to terminate the Whig reign, from which they think it vain to expect anything after John Russell's declaration, and to try their chance with the Tories: not that they expect to find the Tories squeezable, but they fancy that a Tory Government will fail, and, after its failure, that recourse must be had to them. The wiser heads of the party know that these notions are quite chimerical, and are for trusting to the chapter of accidents and letting the present Cabinet remain in. The consequence is, that there is great dissension and vast difference of opinion among them; they have no leader, and there is no individual who influences the determinations of the whole body. On the other side of the water, O'Connell has likewise threatened to insist upon ballot as the condition of his support to Government; but nobody pays any attention to his harangues or the menaces they contain, and his support may be pretty well depended on. But it would not be enough for Government that the English Radicals should abstain from going against them in a body, because so slender is the majority on which they can count, that if any considerable number were to oppose Government on some vital question, it would be sufficient to overthrow them. Of this they are aware, as well as of the probability of such defection, and the consequent precariousness of their situation, and many among them are beginning to be very tired and disgusted with such a tenure of office. It is difficult to believe that Melbourne would not be more so than anybody, if it were not that he is bound by every sentiment of duty, gratitude, and attachment to the Queen to retain the Government as long as he can with honour and safety, and to stretch a point even, to spare her the pain and mortification of changes that would be so painful to her. The Tories, who see the accumulating difficulties of the Government, and who are aware of the immense importance of letting it dissolve of itself, or be broken up by the defection and opposition of its own supporters, are disposed to be patient and moderate; that is, the more sagacious of them are; but they are always in danger of being prematurely urged on by the violence and impetuosity of their tail. Such is the state of parties at the present moment, and it would puzzle the most sagacious observer and most experienced actor in political life to predict the result of the ensuing session. There is quite enough, however, in the general aspect of affairs both at home and abroad to moderate the rancour of mere party violence.

December 15th, 1838 {p.145}

Went on Wednesday to a Council at Windsor, and after the Council was invited to stay that night; rode with the Queen, and after riding Melbourne came to me and said Her Majesty wished me to stay the next day also. This was very gracious and very considerate, because it was done for the express purpose of showing that she was not displeased at my not staying when asked on a former occasion, and as she can have no object whatever in being civil to me, it was a proof of her good-nature and thoughtfulness about other people's little vanities, even those of the most insignificant. Accordingly I remained till Friday morning, when I went with the rest of her suite to see the hounds throw off, which she herself saw for the first time. The Court is certainly not gay, but it is perhaps impossible that any Court should be gay where there is no social equality; where some ceremony, and a continual air of deference and respect must be observed, there can be no ease, and without ease there can be no real pleasure. The Queen is natural, good-humoured, and cheerful, but still she is Queen, and by her must the social habits and the tone of conversation be regulated, and for this she is too young and inexperienced. She sits at a large round table, her guests around it, and Melbourne always in a chair beside her, where two mortal hours are consumed in such conversation as can be found, which appears to be, and really is, very up-hill work. This, however, is the only bad part of the whole; the rest of the day is passed without the slightest constraint, trouble, or annoyance to anybody; each person is at liberty to employ himself or herself as best pleases them, though very little is done in common, and in this respect Windsor is totally unlike any other place. There is none of the sociability which makes the agreeableness of an English country house; there is no room in which the guests assemble, sit, lounge, and talk as they please and when they please; there is a billiard table, but in such a remote corner of the Castle that it might as well be in the town of Windsor; and there is a library well stocked with books, but hardly accessible, imperfectly warmed, and only tenanted by the librarian: it is a mere library, too, unfurnished, and offering none of the comforts and luxuries of a habitable room. There are two breakfast rooms, one for the ladies and the guests, and the other for the equerries, but when the meal is over everybody disperses, and nothing but another meal reunites the company, so that, in fact, there is no society whatever, little trouble, little etiquette, but very little resource or amusement.

[Page Head: LIFE OF THE QUEEN AT WINDSOR.]

The life which the Queen leads is this: she gets up soon after eight o'clock, breakfasts in her own room, and is employed the whole morning in transacting business; she reads all the despatches, and has every matter of interest and importance in every department laid before her. At eleven or twelve Melbourne comes to her and stays an hour, more or less, according to the business he may have to transact. At two she rides with a large suite (and she likes to have it numerous); Melbourne always rides on her left hand, and the equerry in waiting generally on her right; she rides for two hours along the road, and the greater part of the time at a full gallop; after riding she amuses herself for the rest of the afternoon with music and singing, playing, romping with children, if there are any in the Castle (and she is so fond of them that she generally contrives to have some there), or in any other way she fancies. The hour of dinner is nominally half-past seven o'clock, soon after which time the guests assemble, but she seldom appears till near eight. The lord in waiting comes into the drawing-room and instructs each gentleman which lady he is to take in to dinner. When the guests are all assembled the Queen comes in, preceded by the gentlemen of her household, and followed by the Duchess of Kent and all her ladies; she speaks to each lady, bows to the men, and goes immediately into the dining-room. She generally takes the arm of the man of the highest rank, but on this occasion she went with Mr. Stephenson, the American Minister (though he has no rank), which was very wisely done. Melbourne invariably sits on her left, no matter who may be there; she remains at table the usual time, but does not suffer the men to sit long after her, and we were summoned to coffee in less than a quarter of an hour. In the drawing-room she never sits down till the men make their appearance. Coffee is served to them in the adjoining room, and then they go into the drawing-room, when she goes round and says a few words to each, of the most trivial nature, all however very civil and cordial in manner and expression. When this little ceremony is over the Duchess of Kent's whist table is arranged, and then the round table is marshalled, Melbourne invariably sitting on the left hand of the Queen and remaining there without moving till the evening is at an end. At about half-past eleven she goes to bed, or whenever the Duchess has played her usual number of rubbers, and the band have performed all the pieces on their list for the night. This is the whole history of her day: she orders and regulates every detail herself, she knows where everybody is lodged in the Castle, settles about the riding or driving, and enters into every particular with minute attention. But while she personally gives her orders to her various attendants, and does everything that is civil to all the inmates of the Castle, she really has nothing to do with anybody but Melbourne, and with him she passes (if not in _tête-à-tête_ yet in intimate communication) more hours than any two people, in any relation of life, perhaps ever do pass together besides.[6] He is at her side for at least six hours every day--an hour in the morning, two on horseback, one at dinner, and two in the evening. This monopoly is certainly not judicious; it is not altogether consistent with social usage, and it leads to an infraction of those rules of etiquette which it is better to observe with regularity at Court. But it is more peculiarly inexpedient with reference to her own future enjoyment, for if Melbourne should be compelled to resign, her privation will be the more bitter on account of the exclusiveness of her intimacy with him. Accordingly, her terror when any danger menaces the Government, her nervous apprehension at any appearance of change, affect her health, and upon one occasion during the last session she actually fretted herself into an illness at the notion of their going out. It must be owned that her feelings are not unnatural, any more than those which Melbourne entertains towards her. His manner to her is perfect, always respectful, and never presuming upon the extraordinary distinction he enjoys; hers to him is simple and natural, indicative of the confidence she reposes in him, and of her lively taste for his society, but not marked by any unbecoming familiarity. Interesting as his position is, and flattered, gratified, and touched as he must be by the confiding devotion with which she places herself in his hands, it is still marvellous that he should be able to overcome the force of habit so completely as to endure the life he leads. Month after month he remains at the Castle, submitting to this daily routine: of all men he appeared to be the last to be broken in to the trammels of a Court, and never was such a revolution seen in anybody's occupations and habits. Instead of indolently sprawling in all the attitudes of luxurious ease, he is always sitting bolt upright; his free and easy language interlarded with 'damns' is carefully guarded and regulated with the strictest propriety, and he has exchanged the good talk of Holland House for the trivial, laboured, and wearisome inanities of the Royal circle.

[6] The Duke of Wellington says that Melbourne is quite
right to go and stay at the Castle as much he does, and
that it is very fit he should instruct the young Queen
in the business of government, but he disapproves of
his being always at her side, even contrary to the
rules of etiquette; for as a Prime Minister has no
precedence, he ought not to be placed in the post of
honour to the exclusion of those of higher rank than
himself.

December 19th, 1838 {p.149}

[Page Head: BROUGHAM'S LETTER TO THE QUEEN.]

Dined with Brougham the day before yesterday, with whom I am on mighty intimate terms just now. Sat next to Bellenden Ker (who drew up his Privy Council Bill), who told me that Brougham said he was writing sixteen hours a day, and about to bring out two more volumes of his Paley,[7] and I found the explanation of his calculations at the Council Board in the fact that he was working out some problems for the purpose of proving the form of the structure of honeycombs. In the meantime he has put forth a pamphlet in the shape of a letter to the Queen, which he half acknowledges, and of which nobody doubts that he is the author, as in fact nobody can who is acquainted with the man or his writings. It makes a prodigious noise in the world and is read with avidity, but, though marked with all his cleverness, it is a discreditable production. The tone of it is detestable, the object mischievous, though by no means definite or clear. After stripping it of all its invectives and ribaldry, there is no proposition which can be extracted from it except that of giving universal suffrage, for, although he does not say so, his argument cannot be arrested short of such a consummation. It is a bitter, brilliant, wayward satire and philippic, and, as Johnson said of Junius, 'if you extract from its wit the vivacity of impudence, and withdraw from its efficacy the sympathetic favour of plebeian malignity, if you leave it only its merit, I know not what will be its praise.' It is, however, marvellously characteristic of the man, and illustrative of the state of his mind. His present political conduct, if political it can be called, is curious enough, for he is doing all he can to keep up his connexion with the Radicals, and at the same time courting the Tories, his only fixed idea being to worry the Government. It is clear to me that he was jealous and displeased at the notion of Durham's being put at the head of the Radical party, and it was with evident glee that he told me on Monday how grievously Durham had offended them by his reply to the Westminster Association, which they very correctly took to themselves. Brougham called on Leader on Sunday, where he found Trelawny, and one or two more Radicals whose names I have forgotten, when Leader expressed these sentiments to him: he said there was no sort of necessity for Durham's writing them such a letter, and that he had evidently seized the opportunity of addressing _them_ in that shape, and of course there was an end of any possibility of a connexion between him and them. This is very true, for the fact is that Durham--who since his arrival has had time and opportunity to find out in what a miserable position he has placed himself, how feeble and inefficient the Radical party is as a party, and how entirely he would destroy himself by becoming their leader, and who moreover has been exceedingly disgusted at the way in which he was taken up by Molesworth, and provoked to death at being taken under his protection at Devonport--desires earnestly to retrace his steps and to disavow the alliance they have offered him, and which they have so prematurely and ostentatiously proclaimed. He now wants to put himself in a neutral and, if he can, a dignified position. Yesterday he had an interview with Lord Wellesley, whom he asked leave to call upon, and it is not at all unlikely that it will end in his meeting Brougham at Lord Wellesley's as their common friend. Brougham told me that their quarrel was at an end, and that it was now only a question which should first speak to the other, and that Durham had said he was not at all angry at the part he had taken in the House of Lords, and owned he could not, consistently with the conduct he had pursued with respect to Canada, have acted differently. All this proves that he is ready enough to make it up with Durham; in fact he will ally himself with anybody who is likely to join him in attacking the Government. What Brougham told me about the Radicals was confirmed last night by Fonblanque, who said that Durham's return had been positively serviceable to Government, for if he had remained in Canada there were fourteen or fifteen of that party who would most certainly have gone into Opposition; but his return having led to the expectation of his joining them, and that having been frustrated, there was every probability of their doing what they had done before and supporting the Government, however sulkily and reluctantly, rather than throw open the door for the return of the Tories. He said the slightest concession to them from the Government would secure them, but I told him none would be made, and he was aware of it.

[7] Paley's _Natural Theology_, illustrated by Lord
Brougham, was published soon afterwards.

I met Sheil at dinner yesterday at Poulett Thomson's, who, to my surprise, is a candidate for the office of Judge Advocate, and he expects, if Macaulay refuses it, to be appointed. He begged of me to let him know as soon as Macaulay's answer came, and he said, Normanby had strongly urged it, and Melbourne was well disposed towards him.

December 24th, 1838 {p.151}

[Page Head: A LECTURE AT BATTERSEA.]

Went on Friday to Battersea to hear Robert Eden deliver a lecture in the school-room--one of a course he is delivering upon anatomy, or rather upon different parts of the human body--and demonstrating the utility of cleanliness, the danger of drunkenness, and mixing precept with information for the benefit of as mixed an audience as ever was assembled, but who seemed much interested and very attentive. There were many of the gentry of Battersea, male and female, the tradespeople, workmen, the boys of the school, and a rough, ragged set of urchins, labourers on the railroad--in all about 300 people. The lecture, which was upon the arm, was very fluently given; the lecturer is not sufficiently master of his subject to make his explanations very lucid and perfectly intelligible, but he conveys good general notions, and introduces such a mixture of anecdote and illustration as makes it sufficiently entertaining. The undertaking is highly laudable; it is carried on with great zeal and spirit, very considerable ability, and, as far as it has gone, with complete success.