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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 6th.—Nothing written for a long time, and for the old reason, the Derby and the race-course.... I have been very slightly concerned in this great speculation, but larger sums have been wagered on it than ever were heard of before. George Bentinck backed a horse of his called Gaper (and not a good one), to win about 120,000l. On the morning of the race the people came to hedge with him, when he laid the odds against him to 7,000l.; 47,000 to 7,000, I believe, in all. He had three bets with Kelburne59 of unexampled amount. He laid Kelburne 13,000 to 7,000 on Cotherstone (the winner) against the British Yeoman, and Kelburne laid him 16,000 to 2,000 against Gaper. The result I believe was, to these two noble lords, that George Bentinck won about 9,000l. and the other lost 6,000l. or 7,000l. I have never much inclination to record racing details, though these particulars may not be unamusing or uninteresting many years hence. George Bentinck may eschew racing, and be found in his latter days addicted to some very different pursuit, and it may appear as strange to hear of his thousands lost and won, as it is to read of Wilberforce's gaming at the fashionable clubs, or to be told of the mild and respectable Tom Grenville heading the mob in the demolition of the Admiralty windows in the Keppel riots. Or times may change, and the value of money, or the usages and habits of the world. These sums may appear contemptibly small or alarmingly large. After all, when the letters and diaries with which the press now teems make their appearance, we always read with more or less interest the familiar details of the vices and follies, the amusements and pursuits of our forefathers; even their winnings and losings are attractive; so that if I chose to tell more stories of the turf, somebody would be found to read them in times remote; but I always feel so ashamed of the occupation, and a sort of consciousness of degradation and of deterioration from it, that my mind abhors the idea of writing about it; in fact, I often wonder at my own sentiments or sensations, and my own conduct about the business and the diversion of racing. It gives me at least as much of pain as pleasure, and yet so strong is the habit, such a lingering, lurking pleasure do I find in it, such a frequent stimulus does it apply to my general indifference and apathy, that I cannot give it entirely up. One effect of that sort of active concern with the turf, which is unavoidable during the spring campaign, is an almost complete suspension of attention to political matters, and to what is passing in the world: and as I have learnt nothing but what everybody else knows, I have not thought it worth while to waste pen and ink in making my own observations on passing events. I have been too idle and too busy for that. If I had been used to write in the common diarial form, I should have put down something of this sort: On Tuesday in Epsom week I went to Bingham Baring's at Addiscombe, with the Clanricardes, Damers, Ben Stanley, Levesons, Poodle Byng; very agreeable people, but the women brimful of ill-nature. Clanricarde and his wife excellent members of society; both of them extremely clever, quick, light in hand.

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

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

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

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

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

On Saturday I am going abroad, partly for health and partly in search of amusement, and to get away from the London season. Lord Wharncliffe said to me yesterday, 'You are going away, and I shall not see you for some time. You leave us in a strange state, with many difficulties around us. Our friends are angry because we don't do more and come down to Parliament about Ireland, but we have no case to act upon. What can we do about O'Connell? He may go great lengths, and at some of these meetings may expose himself to a prosecution, but when would you find an Irish jury to convict him?' All this is true enough; the question of Ireland is very difficult, but the Government have done all they can do; they take precautions and are in readiness if anything happens. Lord Wharncliffe said that the dismissal of the Repeal magistrates had been done in concert with the Government here, but that Sugden61 had done the mischief by writing such a foolish letter. Then he is very uneasy about Scinde, on which I must say that he told me, before Parliament met, that he was not afraid of the Afghanistan part of Ellenborough's conduct, but that he was afraid of the Scindian part, and he has proved in the right. He says that, though it is rendered palateable by the brilliant victories Napier has gained, the conduct of both Napier and Ellenborough has been to the last degree arbitrary and tyrannical, and such as nothing can justify. Add to these things the distress in this country, the Corn Law quarrels, and the religious dissensions both in Scotland and in England, and the cauldron is surely bubbling and fizzing as merrily as need be; yet we shall scramble through all these difficulties, as we have done so many before pejora passi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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