June 10th.—For the last week this town has been kept in a fever by the brief and unexpected visit of the Emperor of Russia. Brunnow told me he was at Petersburg, and had given up all idea of coming here, and the very next day the telegraph announced that he was at the Hague, and would arrive in London in twenty-four hours. Nobody knows now what was the cause of this sudden and rapid expedition, for he travelled without stopping, and with extraordinary rapidity, from Petersburg, with the exception of twenty-four hours at Berlin, and forty-eight hours at the Hague. He alighted at the Palace, embraced the Queen, and after his interview went to establish himself at Brunnow's. He immediately visited all the Royal Family, and the Duke of Wellington. The Duke attired himself in the costume of a Russian Field-Marshal to receive the Emperor. On Monday he went to Windsor, Tuesday to Ascot, Wednesday they gave him a Review, which went off very badly, owing to mistakes and bad arrangement, but with which he expressed himself very well satisfied. The sight was pretty, glorious weather, 3,000 or 4,000 Guards, Horse, Foot, and Artillery in the Park, the Queen en calèche with a brilliant suite. It was striking when the Duke went and put himself at the head of his regiment, marched past, and saluted the Queen and Emperor. The air resounded with acclamations as the old warrior passed, and the Emperor rode up to him and shook him by the hand. He did the same by the Prince and Duke of Cambridge as they respectively marched by at the head of their regiments, but neither of them was so cheered as the Duke. There was a blunder about the artillery. The Queen cannot endure firing, and the Duke had ordered that the guns should not be fired till she left the ground. By some mistake contrary orders were given, and they advanced and fired not far from Her Majesty. The Duke was furious, and would not be pacified, though Emperor, Queen, and Prince did their best to appease him; he blew up, and swore lustily, and ordered the luckless artillery into the rear. It was a mighty small concern for the Emperor, who reviews 100,000 men, and sees 15,000 mount guard every day; but he expressed his satisfaction, and when the Queen said her troops were few in number, he told her that she must consider his troops at her disposal exactly the same as her own.

On Thursday they went to Ascot again, where they were received very well by a dense multitude; on Friday to London, where they gave him a party at the Palace, omitting to ask half the remarkable people, especially of the Opposition. On Saturday a breakfast at Chiswick, a beautiful fête, and perfectly successful. Everything that was distinguished in London was collected to see and be seen by the Emperor. All the statesmen, fine ladies, poets, artists, beauties, were collected in the midst of a display of luxury and magnificence, set off by the most delicious weather. The Emperor lunched in a room fitted up with his arms and ensigns, and afterwards held a sort of circle on the grass, where people were presented to him, and he went round talking to one after another. His appearance on the whole disappointed me. He is not so tall as I had heard he was—about 6 feet 2, I should guess; and he has no remains of the beauty for which he was once so celebrated, and which at his age, forty-eight, need not have so entirely faded away; but the cares of such an Empire may well have ravaged that head on which they sit not lightly. He is become bald and bulky, but nevertheless is still a very fine and grand-looking personage. He accepts his age and its consequences, and does not try to avert them by any artificial appliances, and looks all the better for so doing. Though he has a very imposing air, I have seen much nobler men; he does not bear the highest aristocratic stamp; his general appearance is inferior to that of Lord Anglesey or Lord Granville (both twenty-five years older), and to others. He gives me more the idea of a Thracian peasant raised to Empire, than of the descendant of a line of kings; still his head, and especially his profile, is very fine, and his manners are admirable, affable without familiarity, cordial yet dignified, and particularly full of deference and gallantry to women. As he moved round the circle all smiling and urbane, I felt a sensation of awe mixed with that of curiosity at reflecting that I saw before me a potentate so mighty and despotic, on whose will and pleasure or caprice depended the fortune, the happiness, and the lives of millions of creatures; and when the condition of these subject millions and the frequent exercise of such unbounded power flitted over my mind, I felt a pleasant consciousness that I was beyond the sphere of its influence, free as the birds in the air, at least from him, and I enjoyed that involuntary comparison of my freedom with the slavery of his subjects, which is in itself happiness, or something like it.

The Emperor seems to have a keen eye for beauty, and most of the good-looking women were presented to him. He was very civil to M. de St. Aulaire (and so he had been to Van de Weyer the night before), and very civil to Lord Harrowby, Lord Granville, Lord Lansdowne, to Clarendon, whom he had known in Russia, and to Palmerston. Lord John Russell was not presented to him, which was very wrong and ill-managed. Of all men he ought to have made acquaintance with the remarkable leader of the Whig party; but the Queen had not asked him to her party the night before, so that he never approached the Emperor at all. His Majesty thanked Lord Melbourne for having come to the breakfast, and afforded him the opportunity of making his acquaintance. He went away early, and the departure was pretty; the Royal equipages, the escort of Lancers with their pennons glancing in the sun, the steps and balcony clustered over with women to speed the parting guest; and as he bade the Duke of Devonshire a kind farewell, and mounted his carriage, while the Russian Hymn struck up, and he took his departure for ever from the gay scene and brilliant assemblage, proceeding on the march of his high and hard destiny, while we all turned to our humble, obscure, peaceful, and uneventful occupations, it was an exhibition to stir the imagination and excite busy thoughts.

June 21st.—While we were still gossiping about the Emperor's visit and discussing in great tranquillity all its incidents, we were roused by a rumour, which, as it swelled into importance, soon consigned his Imperial Majesty to oblivion. On Friday night the Government were defeated on the Sugar duties by a majority of 20.80 A meeting had taken place previously at Peel's, at which some strong language was held by Sir John Rae Reid and some of the West Indians; and many of the Government people expected they should be beaten, without apparently attaching much consequence to their defeat, if it occurred. On Saturday afternoon vague rumours were afloat of resignation, to which nobody paid any attention. In the course of Sunday these rumours acquired consistency and importance, and it became known that there really was something in it. The town became curious, busy, and bustling; the clubs were full; and little knots of anxious politicians were to be found at the corner of every street. There had been a Cabinet on Saturday, the Queen came to town, and there was another Cabinet on Monday; still on Sunday night nobody believed Peel would really seriously meditate resigning. The Tories went about saying it was settled and made up; and the Whigs, who were anything but prepared to take office, cried out against the notion of resignation quite as lustily as the Tories themselves. On Monday it gradually came out that matters were in a very critical and alarming state. Peel, long dissatisfied with his party, had been exceedingly incensed at the language held at the meeting, and the adverse vote made him resolve to stand it no longer. He accordingly convened a Cabinet on Monday, and then they agreed, with the full concurrence of Graham and Stanley, who, Wharncliffe told me, were quite as decided as Peel himself to adhere to their measure, to signify their resolution to the House of Commons, and, if beaten again, to resign. Peel went down and made a speech which appeared to everybody very injudicious. It was long and dull. It put forth pretensions which men of all parties said were not to be tolerated, for they construed what he said into an intimation that if the House of Commons did not do all he chose to insist upon, he would throw the government up; and with much bad taste and without any necessity, he lugged in the House of Lords also, in reference to the Bangor Bishopric Bill. His speech was determined enough, but it was very offensive and dictatorial, and people of all parties were exasperated and disgusted with it. For some time the fall of the Government was considered inevitable; nobody saw any prospect of their getting a majority, and it was thought that many people would be so shocked and offended at his speech that they would vote against him, for no other reason than to mark their opinion of it. The dissatisfaction was universal; however, he got a majority of twenty-two, and the storm blew over. Many who had not voted at all on Friday came and voted with him now; some went away, and the Leaguers remained firm and voted with Government again. But it was their doing so that saved him, and a capital speech of Stanley's is supposed to have done a great deal of good; but Peel's own moderate friends severely blamed both his conduct and language—men, for example, like Sandon and Francis Egerton—and the multitude were still more bitter and angry than before. It is generally admitted that the Government has been excessively weakened by this transaction, and that it will be very difficult for them to go on at all when such mutual feelings of estrangement and aversion are entertained by the leader of the party. Peel's personal reputation has suffered severely. He is thought to have been injudicious and unjust, and to have been influenced by personal motives and a morbid sensitiveness unworthy of a great man and of one who took on himself to govern the country. Those who admit that he has received great provocation, and that his party have been insulting in their tone and lukewarm or hostile in their conduct, still maintain that his party have equal reason to complain of him. They complain that he is unsocial and reserved, that he never consults their wishes and opinions, and that their feelings towards him are in a great measure attributable to himself. There are, no doubt, grave faults on both sides, and it is not improbable that fresh subjects of disagreement will occur, and that some fresh crisis will bring his Government to an end. On the other hand, there is so much reluctance to see any change, and such a dread of a general election, that it is just possible this breeze may have alarmed the Tory malcontents, and that the necessity for a better understanding may tend to produce it. Peel is at the head of a weak, discontented party, and both Lords and Commons are animated towards him with an unfriendly spirit, and merely look upon him as a necessary evil. One striking circumstance is his forgetfulness of the Queen's condition, so near her confinement, and his not shrinking from exposing her to the difficulty and embarrassment into which his resignation must have thrown her. This indicates a predominance of selfish feeling, and a want of gallantry. He ought to have made every personal sacrifice, not absolutely incompatible with his public duty, rather than do anything to annoy her at such a moment, and nobody accepts the excuse he makes as a sufficient apology for the course which he adopted.

June 22nd.—Peel found an opportunity of making a sort of apology to his party in the House of Commons two nights ago. Tom Duncombe attacked him and them in one of his buffoon speeches, and Peel took advantage of it especially to disclaim the arrogant pretension of insisting on his party adopting every measure he thought fit to propose. The ground on which he took the decided part he did last week was the coalition between his people and the Opposition. He said he should not have minded the adverse vote; this might have been got over; but it was the agreement by which it had been brought about which so deeply offended him. This, together with the personal conduct and language of many, indicated such a want of confidence in him, and proved to him that he was in such danger, and must be thrown into such difficulty, by the possibility of future coalitions of a similar kind, that he was resolved not to put up with it. It is now made up; but nothing can repair the mischief that has been done; nothing can restore that mutual confidence and goodwill which are so necessary between a Government (especially the leader) and the party which supports them; nothing can recover for Peel the estimation which he has forfeited. The dislike of many of his supporters to him will not be less, their distrust will be greater, and he has now lost their respect in great measure. His conduct has not been that of a great man, nor even that of a prudent and judicious man.

July 5th.—Since I last wrote the political atmosphere has been getting clearer, and Peel and his party seem to have made it up pretty well. It is likely enough that he will take more pains to keep them in good-humour, and that they will be afraid of provoking him again. However, this affair had hardly subsided before another storm was raised about opening letters at the Post Office. Tom Duncombe, indefatigable for mischief, and the grand jobman of miscellaneous grievances, brought forward the case of M. Mazzini, whose letters had been opened by Sir James Graham's warrant. This matter, in itself most ridiculous, inasmuch as Graham had done no more than what every other Secretary of State did before him, soon acquired a great and undue importance. The press took it up; the Whig press as a good ground of attack on the Government, and especially Graham; and the 'Times,' merely from personal hatred of Graham, whom they are resolved to write down if they can on account of his honest support of the Poor Law. No man ever distinguished himself more than Graham has done during this session, and none ever was so fiercely and unscrupulously assailed and bitterly vilified on all sides. The question was brought before the House of Commons, and bruited abroad in such a manner, and with such comments, that it lit up a flame throughout the country. Every foolish person who spoils paper and pens fancied his nonsense was read at the Home Office. The Opposition took it up, and supported Duncombe. Graham did not deal with the matter very judiciously. He might have said more or less than he did; he might have said something more for the necessary irresponsibility of the power, and something less as to the manner in which it had actually been exercised. But whatever he said, it was very wrong and very unfair of John Russell not to make common cause with him, not to vindicate the law and its exercise, and to say manfully at once that he had done the same thing when he was in office; instead of this, he both spoke and voted against Graham, and I am positively assured that no Secretary of State ever was less scrupulous in the exercise of this power than himself. Palmerston was more prudent, for he said nothing at all on the subject. It seems Lord Lichfield left all the warrants which he had received in the office, and they can be produced. When Graham found himself thus attacked and reviled, he resolved to cast off all the official reserve in which he had at first wrapped the question, and to vindicate himself by showing that he had merely followed the example of his predecessors; and I conclude he found that he should lose nothing by a comparison of his proceedings with theirs, so he moved for a Secret Committee, who are to take evidence and make a report. He has composed it of five Whigs and four Tories, excluding all who are or have been in office, and Tom Duncombe the accuser. This concession by no means disarmed his opponents, and the 'Times' particularly has continued to attack him with the utmost virulence, but so coarsely and unfairly as quite to overshoot the mark.

On Monday and Tuesday last I was in the Court of Exchequer, to hear our great cause of 'Orlando' and 'Running Rein,'81 which ended very triumphantly by their withdrawing the record early on the second morning. Our case was admirably got up, owing in great measure to the indefatigable activity and the intelligence and penetration of George Bentinck, who played the part both of attorney and policeman in hunting out and getting up the evidence. The opposite party had no idea we had got up our case so perfectly; but the trial was over before we had half developed it in evidence. The whole circumstances from the beginning to the end are very curious, and it has been equally interesting and amusing to all concerned in it. We have all worked hard in different ways, palmam qui meruit ferat; and though there is a feud between George Bentinck and myself, and we do not speak to each other, I must acknowledge all his great services on this occasion. The counsel on the other side, Cockburn, made a very violent attack on him in his speech, and accused him of being party, attorney, policeman; that he had tampered with the witnesses, clothed, fed, and paid them. This he was specifically instructed to say, and a great deal of it was true; but I think he said more than he need or ought to have done, though the Judge (Alderson) said he had only done his duty. On this occasion George Bentinck did no more than he was justified in doing, and he certainly did not tamper with any witnesses, or employ any unfair means to procure testimony. He wrote on the evening of the first day a letter of indignant but courteous remonstrance to Cockburn, to which he alluded in Court on the second. The object of it was to entreat him to put him in the box, and give him an opportunity of vindicating himself and telling all he had done in the matter. Some explanatory civilities were bandied about between George Bentinck, Cockburn, and the Judge, and it ended amicably.

Brougham has withdrawn the obnoxious clauses of his Privy Council Bill, making at the same time an asseveration that the judicial appointment in it was never intended for himself; and he appealed to his 'noble friends,' who nodded or remained silent, three of whom at least (the Duke, the Chancellor, and Wharncliffe) knew the contrary, but they think it worth while to humour him, and to allow him to play his antics in the House of Lords ad libitum. The Duke of Wellington has lent himself to the sort of tacit compact which exists between him and the Government, to a degree I never thought he could have done; but he does not seem to hold the House of Lords in hand in the way he used to do.

Bretby, September 8th.—Considerably more than two months have elapsed since I have written anything in this book. When I have taken up my pen it has always been occupied in the thing I am writing on Ireland. But I am reluctant altogether to forsake my old companion of so many years, and to give up noticing public events; so I have brought this book down here with me, for the purpose of bringing up the arrear (briefly and cursorily indeed) to the present time. The session of Parliament was suspended, though for all active purposes virtually closed, when the Judges went on the circuit, with, an understanding that it was to assemble again for the judgement in O'Connell's case, and then to be prorogued. It ended very differently for the Government from the last; notwithstanding the severe shock they had in the middle of it, they left off strong, and with more of reputation than last year. A good deal had been done, and some of it well done; and, what is of still greater importance, the country is peaceful and flourishing.

During the recess, however, the dispute which had some time before begun between us and France took a threatening aspect, and for some time it was a toss-up whether we went to war or not. Peel had announced to the House of Commons in very lofty language that Government would exact an ample reparation for the outrage perpetrated on Pritchard at Tahiti, while Guizot evinced no disposition to make any. A long series of semi-diplomatic negotiations ensued. Aberdeen very prudently did not demand anything specific, but laid the case before the French Government, expressing his conviction that they would do everything that justice and propriety demanded. The press in both countries blew the coals with all their might and main, and for a long time Guizot refused to make any such amende as we could possibly take. What we wanted (not demanded) was that some act should be done to mark the sense of the French Government of what was due to us,—the recall of D'Aubigny or of Bruat, or of both; but Guizot said, 'Je ne rappellerai personne,' and all he offered was to express 'regrets et improbation.' This, which was a mere scintilla of apology, we could not accept as a sufficient reparation for so gross an outrage, and at one moment up to the day, Tuesday last, when the Council was held for the prorogation, it looked very bad. That day Aberdeen told me he thought Guizot's Ministry was on its last legs, that he did not despair of an amicable settlement, but that he thought Guizot must fall, and he looked for an arrangement being made by Molé or Thiers, whichever of them might succeed him. But when matters appeared nearly desperate, a suggestion was thrown out (I believe by Jarnac),82 but in conversation between Jarnac and Aberdeen, and therefore either made by him or accepted by him, that, besides the verbal apology, a compensation in money should be made to Pritchard. On Wednesday the Cabinet met to decide whether they should accept the final offers of France to the above effect or refuse them; and the result was that they agreed to accept them. They were very anxious to be able to announce the pacification in the Queen's Speech, and they felt that it would be preposterous and absurd to go to war for so small a matter, and when the principle of making an apology was on the other side admitted, to haggle about the words of it; and therefore, though it was slender, they thought it better to take it. It is, I think, not impossible that the decision of this Cabinet was in some degree quickened by the reversal of O'Connell's judgement, which took place the same morning, much to their disgust.83 I think they were right, especially as we have certainly done enough to make the French Government see that we do not intend to submit to any more impertinence on their part. Our case, too, was one of much complexity and difficulty, for Pritchard had been turbulent and mischievous, and had, with the sectarian zeal of a missionary, given all the trouble and embarrassment he could to the French; they, therefore, had a case against him, though the French officers were by no means justified in the violence they exercised. I called one day at Apsley House, saw the Duke, and found him in a talkative humour on this affair. He has been for some time urging the Government to make themselves stronger; and very much in consequence of his advice, measures had been in rapid progress for equipping ships and preparing a formidable force at sea. The Duke said that the disposition of the French was to insult us whenever and wherever they thought they could do so with impunity, and that the only way to keep at peace with them was to be stronger in every quarter of the globe than they were; that he had told Lord Melbourne so when he was in office, and that this was his opinion now. Wherever they had ships we ought to have a naval force superior to theirs; and we might rely on it, that as long as that was the case we should find them perfectly civil and peaceable; and wherever it was not the case, we should find them insolent and troublesome.

The judgement on O'Connell's case came on the world like a clap of thunder; though Ministers were aware of it, for Lyndhurst told them it would be so. Wharncliffe had the greatest difficulty in preventing the Tory Peers from voting; Redesdale and Stradbroke were especially anxious, and the former in the highest possible dudgeon. If they had voted it would have been most injurious to the House of Lords, and Government must have immediately let O'Connell out of prison.

The Grange, September 14th.—O'Connell, as soon as he got out of prison, made a long speech, full of sound and fury, threatening and abusing everybody, but evidently desirous of finding plausible pretences for suspending all active movements, and for abstaining from doing anything that may bring him again into collision with the law or the Government. The high Tories and their press are exceedingly indignant with Wharncliffe for having interposed to prevent the lay Lords voting and overruling the law Lords; and much to my surprise I found Lord Ashburton rather leaning to that opinion, and talking a great deal of nonsense on the subject; but it is still more curious that this notion of his has been either produced or confirmed by a letter from 'that indescribable wretch Brougham,' as O'Connell calls him. In the House of Lords he backed up Wharncliffe, as it seemed, with great propriety and good sense, and now he writes to Lord Ashburton that for the first time in his life he lost his presence of mind, and takes blame to himself for not having opposed Wharncliffe, indeed for having supported him. If he had opposed him, unless the Chancellor had had the good sense and prudence to desire these Lords not to vote, they infallibly would have voted; indeed, I do not know if Brougham had urged them on, if they would not have done so even if the Chancellor had dissuaded them; and if they had, what a clamour would have been raised in Ireland, and what disgrace would have fallen on the House of Lords! This has certainly been a most unfortunate business from the beginning to the end, between the blunders and the accidents, the various untoward circumstances in the course of the trial, the unavoidable fact of a wholly Protestant jury, the undoubted partiality of the Chief Justice; then the division of opinion among the Judges, and the political character which the judgement itself displays, all ending with the triumph of the criminals and the mortification of the Government. But, in spite of all this, the great end of arresting agitation was accomplished; and in all probability, notwithstanding his escape, O'Connell has had a lesson sufficiently severe to deter him from renewing the system of monster meetings. It is pretty evident that he does not know what to do next, and the Government is much in the same predicament; nor am I sure that what has occurred will not prove favourable for an attempt at conciliation and a reasonable settlement. He has seen the danger of agitation, and they have seen the difficulty of coping with it; nor are there wanting some indications of a disposition on his part to pause, and conditionally to give up Repeal. He makes advances for a reconciliation with the Whigs, who, he knows, are opposed firmly to Repeal, and he talks of going round England to make an appeal to the people, and if this fails, then to work Repeal all the more strenuously. However, everybody goes on lamenting the state of things, and saying they don't see what is to be done.

The last day of the session a writ was moved for Stanley, who is going to the House of Peers; they found they could not go on there any longer, and Stanley would stay no longer in the House of Commons. He had taken a disgust to it, and fancied his health was breaking down, and he gave notice that he would rather resign than remain there. Brougham was disgusted at Stanley's translation. Graham told me this about Stanley, and said what a weight it cast on himself and Peel, and what a loss he was to them there. Ripon is done up; the Duke of Wellington is grown so much deafer lately that he can no longer lead the House; Wharncliffe does but moderately; the Chancellor does nothing at all; and Aberdeen confines himself to his own business. The Government was therefore left in the degrading position of being constantly nursed and dandled by Brougham, who sat on the Woolsack and volunteered to speak for them on all occasions. This position of his, which was sufficiently anomalous, placed them in one which they now feel to be very humiliating and ridiculous, and it is to cure this evil that Stanley has been translated to the other House. He said to me it was high time somebody should go there, and when he was there he should make the Chancellor take a more active part. Brougham will be highly disgusted at his advent because his own occupation will be gone. Stanley will fight the Government battles himself, and not suffer Brougham to take the Ministerial bench under his dangerous and discreditable protection.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Policy of England to Ireland—Ministers object to the Publication—Could the Book be delayed and published anonymously?—Visit to the Grange—Buckland—Visit to Broadlands—Visit to Woburn—Prince Albert complains of want of Secrecy—Visit to Ampthill—Baron Rolfe—The Master of the Rolls to sit at the Judicial Committee—The Queen knew nothing of the Irish Book—Reconciliation of Thiers and Palmerston—Mr. Gladstone resigns on the Maynooth Endowments—Changes in the Cabinet—Sidney Herbert—Lord Lincoln—Precarious Position of French Ministry—Mr. Gladstone's Resignation transpires—Sensitiveness of the French Government—Debate in the House of Commons—Gladstone's Resignation unintelligible—Mr. Duncombe's Letters—Death of Rev. Sydney Smith—Publication of the 'Policy to Ireland'—Death of Robert Smith (Bobus)—Death of Miss Fox—Visit to Althorp—Effects of the Irish Book—Whig and Tory Opinions—The Maynooth Grant—Meeting of Thiers and Guizot—Debate on the Maynooth Grant—Macaulay's Speech—Divisions in the Tory Party—Possibility of a Whig Government—Break-up of Parties—Birkenhead—Depression—Visits to the Grove and to Broadlands—Lord Melbourne—Opinions on the Irish Book—Sir Robert Peel's Improved Position—Embarrassment caused by the Queen's Absence from England—A Queer Family.

London, January 12th, 1845.—More than four months have elapsed since I wrote anything in this book, and I have not much hope either of finding materials or having sufficient application to make it interesting or amusing. When people kept diaries in former times, there were no such newspapers as the 'Times' with its volume of letterpress, and dozens of Sunday papers all collecting and retailing the public events and the private anecdotes of the day, and the memoranda of very inconsiderable persons consequently became interesting and amusing; but now it requires that a writer should either have access to stores of hidden information, or live in intimacy with remarkable people and become the chronicler of their words, thoughts, and actions, or that he should have a strong original genius of his own, and to none of these can I lay any considerable claim. I say considerable (I have none at all to the last), because, though I know very few State secrets, I do every now and then acquire the knowledge of curious and interesting facts; and I live more or less with conspicuous people, both literary and political, though much more, I am sorry to say, with the common herd. Certainly, however, the principal reason which has prevented my writing in this Journal has been the absorbing occupation of writing my book upon Ireland; and though the one need not have prevented the other, somehow it did, and whenever I was disposed to write, I always went to my manuscript and not to my red book. Having done that, I now turn to my Journal again, and am especially tempted to do so because I have something to say about my book. I will travel backwards up to the time when I last left off, as far as my memory serves me. But first of my book.84 The first idea of writing it laid hold of me after Lord John Russell's motion in February last, and I then began very slowly, and reading much more than I wrote, because I was obliged to plunge into books on Ireland, and grope my way through Irish history. When I had finished the first part, which brought down the history of Ireland to the Rebellion or near it, I showed what I had written to Clarendon, and he gave me so much encouragement that I resolved to go on with it, which I had by no means determined on before. I went on but slowly, and often interrupted by racing and other occupations, and by October I had finished the historical part and most of the statistical, or, indeed, I believe, all of it. It was then that I showed what I had written to George Lewis, who read and approved of it, and gave me a great many suggestions, of which I made use afterwards. His criticisms were very serviceable to me, and he wrote not less than a hundred pages of Irish matter which I made use of in the argumentative part of my composition. It is not above three weeks or a month ago that I finished the whole, and the last person who read it all in manuscript was Sheil, who also gave me encouragement and many useful hints. Besides these, the Duke of Bedford saw a part, Lady Georgiana Fullerton the whole, Normanby some, Dundas a very little at Ampthill, and Charles Buller some more proofs at the Grange. All these people expressed approbation and gave me encouragement. Reeve read the manuscript and helped me in correcting the press. He also approved, but in some respects criticised and disagreed. Henry Taylor saw part of it, but I don't think he did approve of anything but the style, which he liked. So much for friendly critics and previous inspection.

January 15th.—About six weeks ago I told Lord Wharncliffe what I was about, who made no observation and suggested no objection of any sort or kind, and I told him partly for the purpose of giving him an opportunity of suggesting objections, if any occurred to him. Frequently the subject was alluded to at his house, but nothing particular was ever said. Some three weeks ago I told Graham. He laughed, and begged to have a copy when it came out. I went on with the work, and sent it to the press; and meanwhile, making no secret of it, everybody became aware that such a book was forthcoming, and it began to excite a good deal of interest and curiosity. On Saturday last Lord Wharncliffe wrote a note to Reeve from the Cabinet 'immediate,' desiring he would not leave the office till he saw him. On his return he began to talk about my book and of the objections there might be to its publication. Reeve said he had much better speak to me himself, and accordingly he came into my room and began, 'I want to talk to you about your book. Do you think it is prudent in you to publish such a book?' I said I did not know why not. He did not, he said, know the exact nature of it, but supposed it was a pamphlet, and, as he gathered from my conversation, that the object of it was to recommend measures far beyond anything they could do. The Government were desirous of doing all the good they could, but that a book published by a person in my situation, connected as I was with the Government and in a position so conspicuous, might expose them to much misapprehension as to their intentions and greatly embarrass them. A great deal more conversation followed, in which he endeavoured to convince me of the reasonableness of giving up publishing my book, and I endeavoured to convince him that it could not do the Government any harm, and that I had a right to publish it. It ended by his begging me to reconsider the matter, which I engaged to do. I must add that there was no intimation of any threat, or of a positive prohibition. On Sunday I went and consulted Clarendon and George Lewis, and after our conference I wrote a long letter to Wharncliffe, which was intended for his colleagues as well as himself, explaining the nature of the work and the circumstances in which I was placed, and urging the reasons which I thought ought to reconcile the Government to the publication the consequences of which they appeared to apprehend. We went to Windsor on Monday for a Council, but on Monday evening I sent him this letter. He had, however, in the meantime come into my room and asked me if I had considered what he said. I replied that I would not then discuss it, as I had written him a letter; but after he had read it, and made what use he pleased of it, I would discuss it with him.

Yesterday, however, George Lewis went to Graham, and had a conversation with him about the publication, which he communicated to me last night, and which immediately determined me to abandon all idea of publishing it at all. From a conversation which Lord Wharncliffe had with Reeve in the morning, I gathered that the Government would be satisfied if I would delay the publication for a short time, till Easter perhaps; and I had entirely made up my mind to do this, and really flattered myself that such a compromise would settle the question. But the tenor of Graham's language has convinced me that neither now, nor at Easter, nor at any other time, can I with anything like safety or future peace of mind venture on this publication, and that no course is left me but to suppress it. Whether Graham had seen my letter to Wharncliffe I do not know, but Lewis found him very serious on the subject. He repeated all the objections and apprehensions that had been already urged, dwelt much on my position, and ended with this very ominous and intelligible hint, that there were persons who would be deeply offended by (or would resent, I forget which expression) any comments on their conduct either present or past. He had heard, too, that a leading Member of the Opposition in the House of Commons who had read this book said it was very violent. All this and more, Lewis told me (Graham having authorised him to do so), and the moment I heard it my mind was made up. It is certainly mortifying after so much time and labour have been expended upon a work, which my friends tell me would be creditable to me and amusing or interesting to the world, to consign my book to oblivion; but the wisest thing to do is not to dwell on the disagreeable side of the question, but to look out for some topic of consolation, and there is a shape in which this presents itself to my mind. The persons (in the plural) of whom Graham spoke may be one or more, but of one I feel as sure as if I had heard what passed in the Cabinet, and that one is Peel. Of this I have no doubt, for who else can care for his past conduct being canvassed? If I am now vexed by this little mortification and disappointment, I must consider that it is entirely my own fault, and that if I had reflected on the exigencies of my position I should have employed my time more profitably, and not have exposed myself to this annoyance. However, it has been an interest to me for many months past; it has not unpleasantly occupied my mind; and the habit of writing may perhaps lead me to do something more in the same way.85

January 16th.—Yesterday Wharncliffe came into my room and began again about the book. He said it was the particular time which made the great objection; would I delay it? When the struggle had begun and they were able to speak out, it would not so much signify, and if I would postpone the publication for a certain time. I said at once that I could not hesitate to keep it back, and that sine die; that I had told him it was far from my wish to embarrass the Government, and when he told me it might have that effect, I would stop the publication, and would not bring it out without further communication with him. He said, very well, that would be perfectly satisfactory and adjust everything; and rather to my surprise, because it showed the importance he attached to it, he really seemed quite relieved and overjoyed. He then asked, would I publish it without my name, which, having very nearly made up my mind not to publish it at all, I promised without any difficulty. As he went away, he told Reeve that all was amicably settled. He anticipates the publication later; indeed wishes it, because he sees that the Government would be in a scrape if they were supposed to have suppressed it, and I did not tell him what Graham had said. I met Sheil in the afternoon, and told him what had occurred. He greatly comforted me for the disappointment by telling me that when he read it he did think that it would prove so annoying to Peel that he wondered how I could venture to publish it.

January 18th.—The more I reflect on the affair of this book, the more satisfied I am with having suppressed it, and only dissatisfied with having spent so much time and trouble on the abortive production. I have written a note to Miss Berry, whom I had told that it was coming out, to account for its not appearing, and I have done this that no doubt may exist as to the reason I have given for its non-appearance.

I must now look back and pick up such scraps worth remembering as I have neglected to notice in the last few months, though they amount to very little. I returned a few days ago from the Grange, where I met Dr. Buckland and Archdeacon Wilberforce; the latter a very quick, lively, and agreeable man, who is in favour at Court,86 and has the credit of seeking to be Preceptor to the Prince of Wales, an office to which I should prefer digging at a canal, or breaking stones in the road, so intolerable would be the slavery of it. Buckland gave us a great dose of geology, not uninteresting, but too much of it. Lord Ashburton was in great force, and it is droll to see the supreme contempt which he and Palmerston entertain for each other.

I went there from Broadlands, where I left the Viscount full of vigour and hilarity, and overflowing with diplomatic swagger. He said we might hold any language we pleased to France and America, and insist on what we thought necessary, without any apprehension that either of them would go to war, as both knew how vulnerable they were, France with her colonies and America with her slaves, a doctrine to which Lord Ashburton by no means subscribes. Before these places I was at Woburn and at Ampthill. At Woburn the Duke of Bedford told me a good deal about his communications with Prince Albert, who seems to talk to him very openly. One day he took him in his carriage to shoot at Bagshot, when he spoke about Ireland, of the long course of misgovernment, and the necessity of doing something, in such a strain that the Duke was convinced Peel has some serious intentions, or the Prince would not have said what he did; and we agreed that when my book came out he should advise the Prince to read it. He told me that Prince Albert complained of the manner in which the proceedings and motions of the Court were publicly known and discussed, and how hard it was; that on the Continent the Government knew by its secret agents what the people were about, but here they knew nothing about other people's affairs, and everybody knew about theirs; that whatever they did, or were about to do, was known. The Duke told him he wondered he had not discovered that everything was and must be known here about them, and that it was the tax they paid for their situation; that the world was curious to know and hear about them, and therefore the press would always procure and give the information, and the only reason why more was known about them than about anybody else, was because there was not the same interest about others, and that, as it was, all conspicuous people were brought into public notice in the same manner. He owned this was true, and seemed struck by it. It is the misfortune of princes never to hear the language of truth and sense. They have men about them whose business it is to bow and smile and agree, and they hardly have any one with independence and force of mind enough to tell them what it would be good that they should hear, and what they would attend to.

At Ampthill I met Dundas, Baron Rolfe,87 and Empson. Nobody is so agreeable as Rolfe: a clear head, vivacity, information, an extraordinary pleasantness of manner without being either soft or affected, extreme good-humour, cheerfulness, and tact make his society on the whole as attractive as that of anybody I ever met. The conversation and the anecdotes of these lawyers would be well worth recording, but it is too late now. One hears in this way things which go to prove how many false notions take root in public opinion, and acquire all the solidity of undisputed facts. One, for example, which struck me was the concurrent opinion of Parke and Rolfe (both, it may be presumed, competent judges) of Eldon's value as a great lawyer and Chancellor. They rate it astonishingly low, and think that he did nothing for the law and for the establishment of great legal principles, which surprised me.

When I came to town I found that the Chancellor had got Lord Langdale to sit at the Privy Council, and all the other members of the Court were very anxious that it should be a permanent arrangement; and so it would be made but for Brougham. Langdale will not sit there if Brougham does, because Brougham would take precedence of him; and though everybody is satisfied that the permanent establishment of the Master of the Rolls at the head of the Judicial Committee would expedite the business, the Chancellor does not dare so settle it for fear of offending Brougham. I spoke to him about it and so did the others—'But what are we to do with Brougham?' he said. He did, however, half promise that he would make the arrangement if it was pressed upon him by the Committee; but nothing has been done.

January 28th.—Went out of town on Wednesday last to Lord Barrington's at Beckett; I saw the Duke of Bedford just before he went to Strathfieldsaye, where he undertook to speak to the Prince about my book. He did so, and found that they knew nothing about it, so that Peel had not said anything; but the Queen expressed the great interest she felt about the Irish measures to be proposed to Parliament, and her satisfaction that the book had been suppressed, which the Duke of Bedford was desired to convey to me. This he wrote to me, and to-day I have another letter from him in which he says again that 'Her Majesty could not wish to see anything published that would embarrass her Government, and was glad the work had been suppressed if it had not the sanction of Sir Robert Peel,' or words to that effect. Meanwhile Lewis has seen Graham again, who said that I had been very reasonable, and talked of a month or two hence as the time when it might be published. I sent it to Lord Lansdowne, who wrote me a very encouraging letter on it.

The debates on the address in the French Chamber have ended after great alarm well for Guizot, who is safe for the present. The most curious incident in French politics is the flirtation struck up between Thiers and Palmerston, which is matter of notoriety and amusement in Paris. It was brought about by the intermediation of Easthope, and some civil letters passed between the quondam rival statesmen; at least Palmerston wrote something to Thiers at which his friend Victor Cousin said he was extremely gratified.88