'For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient,And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.'
'For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient,And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.'
CHARACTER OF LORD MELBOURNE.
And still less was he fit to be the leader of a party and the head of a Government, for he had neither the strong convictions, nor the eager ambition, nor the firmness and resolution which such a post requires. From education and turn of mind, and from the society in which he was bred and always lived, he was a Whig; but he was a very moderate one, abhorring all extremes, a thorough Conservative at heart, and consequently he was only half identified in opinion and sympathy with the party to which he belonged when in office; he often dreaded and distrusted his colleagues, and was secretly the enemy of the measures which his own Government originated, and of which he was obliged to take the credit or bear the obloquy. No position could be more false than the position in which Melbourne was often placed, and no man ever was more perplexed and tormented than he was by it, for he was remarkably sensitive; and most of the latter years of his administration were passed in a state of dissatisfaction with himself and with all about him. He hated the Reform Bill, which he was obliged to advocate. He saw, indeed, that Reform had become irresistible, and therefore he reconciled it to his conscience to support the Bill; but he had not sufficient energy of character or strength of will to make a stand against the lengths which he disapproved, and he contented himself with those indirect attempts to modify it which I have narrated in their proper place. It was probably his personal popularity, and the reluctance of Lord Lansdowne to take so laborious a post,78which led to his beingmade Prime Minister on the resignation of Lord Grey, for there never was a man more incapable of exercising the vigilance and supremacy which that office demands. After the great breach of 1835, and the abortive attempt of William IV. to throw over the Whig Government, his relations with his Ministers became very uncomfortable; but Melbourne was a good-natured man, and a gentleman, and perhaps no one else would have gone on with the King so harmoniously as he managed it.
But it was upon the accession of the Queen that his post suddenly grew into one of immense importance and interest, for he found himself placed in the most curious and delicate position which any statesman ever occupied. Victoria was transferred at once from the nursery to the throne—ignorant, inexperienced, and without one human being about her on whom she could rely for counsel and aid. She found in her Prime Minister and constitutional adviser a man of mature age, who instantly captivated her feelings and her fancy by his deferential solicitude, and by a shrewd, sagacious, and entertaining conversation, which were equally new and delightful to her. She at once cast herself with implicit confidence upon Melbourne, and, from the first day of her reign, their relations assumed a peculiar character, and were marked by an intimacy which he never abused; on the contrary, he only availed himself of his great influence to impress upon her mind sound maxims of constitutional government, and truths of every description that it behoved her to learn. It is impossible to imagine anything more interesting thanmore calculated to excite all the latent sensibility of his nature. His loyal devotion soon warmed into a parental affection, which she repaid by unbounded manifestations of confidence and regard. He set himself wisely, and with perfect disinterestedness, to form her mind and character, and to cure the defects and eradicate the prejudices from which the mistakes and faults of her education had not left her entirely free. In all that Melbourne said or did, he appears to have been guided by a regard to justice and truth. He never scrupled to tell her what none other would have dared to say; and in the midst of that atmosphere of flattery and deceit which kings and queens are almost always destined to breathe, and by which their minds are so often perverted, he never scrupled to declare boldly and frankly his real opinions, strange as they sometimes sounded, and unpalatable as they often were, and to wage war with her prejudices and false impressions with regard to people or things whenever he saw that she was led astray by them. He acted in all things an affectionate, conscientious, and patriotic part, endeavouring to make her happy as a woman, and popular as a queen.
It is notorious that he committed two great errors in judgement, both of which were attended with disastrous consequences, and I believe that in both cases his discretion was misled by his feelings, and that it was his care for her ease and happiness which betrayed him into these fatal mistakes. The first was the Flora Hastings affair, the scandal of which he might certainly have prevented; the other was the Bedchamber quarrel, when her reluctance to part with him, and his tenderness for her, overruled his better judgement, and made him adopt a course he must have known to be both impossible and wrong. In these affairs (especially the first), Melbourne must have suffered torments, for his tender solicitude for the Queen, and the deep sense of his own responsibility, were sure to weigh heavily upon him. His influence and authority at Court were not diminished, nor his position there altered by her marriage;but the Prince, though always living on very friendly terms with him, was secretly rejoiced when the political power of this great favourite was brought to a close; for, so long as Melbourne was there, he undoubtedly played but an obscure and secondary part. When the inevitable change of Government at last took place, the parting between the Queen and her Minister was very sorrowful to both of them, and it was then that he gave his last and generous proof of his anxiety for her happiness in sending me with his advice to Peel.
It would be rendering imperfect justice to Melbourne's character to look upon him rather as a courtier than as a statesman, and to fancy that he made his political principles subordinate to his personal predilections. He was deeply attached to the Queen, but he had all the patriotism of an English gentleman, and was jealous of the honour and proud of the greatness of his country. He held office with a profound sense of its responsibilities; there never was a Minister more conscientious in the distribution of patronage, more especially of his ecclesiastical patronage. He was perfectly disinterested, without nepotism, and without vanity; he sought no emoluments for his connexions, and steadily declined all honours for himself. The Queen often pressed him to accept the Garter, but he never would consent, and it was remarked that the Prime Minister of England was conspicuous at Court for being alone undecorated amidst the stars and ribands which glittered around him. He has been not inappropriately compared to Sallustius Crispus, as described by Tacitus: 'Quamquam prompto ad capessendos honores aditu, sine dignitate senatoriâ multos triumphalium consulariumque potentiâ anteiit; diversus a veterum instituto per cultum et munditias; copiâque et affluentiâ luxu propior. Suberat tamen vigor animi ingentibus negotiis par, eo acrior, quo somnum et inertiam magis ostentabat. Igitur incolumi Mæcenate proximus; mox præcipuus cui secreta Imperatorum maxime inniterentur.'79
MELBOURNE'S CONVERSATIONS AND OPINIONS.
At the time Melbourne left office he was only an occasional guest at Court, but the Queen continued to correspond with him constantly, and gave him frequent proofs that her regard for him was undiminished. He took very little part in politics after 1841, and it was not long before his health began to give way. He had been so completely absorbed by the Court, that for many years he had been almost lost to society; but as soon as he was out of office, he resumed his old habits, and was continually to be found at Holland House, at Lady Palmerston's, and with a few other intimate friends. There he loved to lounge and sprawl at his ease, pouring out a rough but original stream of talk, shrewd, playful, and instructive. His distinctive qualities were strong sound sense, and an innate taste for what was great and good, either in action or sentiment. His mind kindled, his eye brightened, and his tongue grew eloquent when noble examples or sublime conceptions presented themselves before him. He would not have passed 'unmoved by any scene that was consecrated by virtue, by valour, or by wisdom.' But while he pursued truth, as a philosopher, his love of paradox made him often appear a strange mass of contradiction and inconsistency. A sensualist and a Sybarite, without much refinement or delicacy, a keen observer of the follies and vices of mankind, taking the world as he found it, and content to extract as much pleasure and diversion as he could from it, he at one time would edify and astonish his hearers with the most exalted sentiments, and at another would terrify and shock them by indications of the lowest morality and worldly feelings, and by thoughts and opinions fraught with the most cold-hearted mocking and sarcasm. His mind seems all his life long, and on almost every subject, to have been vigorous and stirring, but unsettled and unsatisfied. It certainly was so on the two great questions of religion and politics, and he had no profound convictions, no certain assurance about either. He studied divinity eagerly and constantly, and was no contemptibletheologian; but he never succeeded in arriving at any fixed belief, or in anchoring himself on any system of religious faith. It was the same thing in politics. All the Liberal and Constitutional theories which he had ever entertained had been long ago more than realised, and he was filled with alarm at the prospect of their further extension. All his notions were aristocratic, and he had not a particle of sympathy for what was called progressive reform. He was a vehement supporter of the Corn Laws, abused Peel with all the rancour of a Protectionist, and died in the conviction that his measures will prove the ruin of the landed interest.
DEATH OF CHARLES BULLER.
During his administration his great object seemed to be to keep a rickety concern together, less from political ambition than from his personal feelings for the Queen. He abhorred disputes and quarrels of every description, and he was constantly temporising and patching them up when they occurred in his Cabinet (as they often did) by all sorts of expedients, seldom asserting either the dignity or the authority of his position as head of the Government. Such weak and unworthy misrule brought his Cabinet, his party, and himself into contempt, and it was unquestionably in great measure owing to his want of judgement and firmness that they became so unpopular, and at last fell with so little credit and dignity as they did in 1841. He was capricious about money, and generous and stingy by fits and starts. Easy and indolent, he suffered himself to be plundered by his servants, and took little trouble in looking after his affairs. He was fond of his family, and much beloved by them, but, both with regard to them and his friends, he was full of a jealousy and touchiness, which made him keenly alive to any appearance of indifference, and equally sensible of any attentions that were shown him. This grew into a morbid feeling after his health had given way, and tinged his latter days with melancholy, for he fancied himself neglected and uncared for. On the promotion of Lord John Russell's Government, he was mortified at not being invited to take a share in it. It was evident that he was consciousof, and bitterly felt, the decay of his own powers, and the insignificance to which he was reduced. He would, if he could, have disguised this from himself and others, but it preyed on his mind, and made him very unhappy, and often apparently morose. Sometimes his feelings would find vent in these lines from the 'Samson Agonistes,' which he would repeat with a sad memory of the past, and sense of the present:
So much I feel my general spirit droop,My hopes all flat, nature within me seemsIn all her functions weary of herself,My race of glory run, and race of shame,And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
So much I feel my general spirit droop,My hopes all flat, nature within me seemsIn all her functions weary of herself,My race of glory run, and race of shame,And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Taking him altogether, he was a very remarkable man in his abilities and his acquirements, in his character and in his career, with virtues and vices, faults and merits, curiously intermingled, and producing as eccentric results as society has often beheld.
December 2nd.—The death of Charles Buller has occurred when he can be ill spared to the party of which he was rapidly becoming an important member, and to the country which he was capable of serving. He is a great social and a great public loss, more especially in days of mediocrity and barrenness like the present. He was clever, amiable, accomplished, and honest. His abilities were of a very high order, and though he loved the world and its pursuits, he had great powers of application. Few people were more agreeable and entertaining in society, and he had a very gentle and affectionate disposition. He never made, and never would have made, much progress in the profession of the law, which he originally embraced. It was evidently unsuited to his genius, his taste, and his habits, and he judged rightly in exchanging it once for all for a political career in which, had his life been spared, he would have achieved great eminence. In politics he was originally a Radical, but though the old leaven not unfrequently showed itself, it was greatly modified in his latter years; and when he manifested ultra-Liberal sympathies, it was probably morefrom love of paradox and controversy, than from real and sincere conviction. His political opinions, however, which for a long time seem to have been in an unsettled and transitional state, he never suppressed or compromised for any personal interest; and though he was both very ambitious and very poor, he never committed a mean or discreditable act for the sake of either favour or office. A man more honourable and independent never existed, and he would have been indebted for the political exaltation which was certainly in store for him to nothing but the force and influence of his own capacity and power. His career of usefulness was in fact only beginning. Up to a very recent period he had made no progress in public life commensurate with his ability, and especially with his parliamentary talents; but if justice was not done him, it was mainly because he did not do justice to himself. He was perhaps the most popular member of the House of Commons. By universal acknowledgement he was an admirable speaker, full of matter, lucid, never dull, and generally very amusing, so that he never rose without being sure of an attentive and favourable audience. His greatest speeches were on dry and serious subjects, such as colonisation, emigration, or records, none of which became heavy or uninteresting in his hands. He had, however, one great defect, which not only rendered him less agreeable in society than he would otherwise have been, but which had a very serious and unhappy influence on his political career. He was seduced by his keen perception of the ridiculous and an irresistible propensity to banter into an everlasting mockery of everything and everybody, which not only often became tiresome and provoking, but gave an appearance of levity to his character that largely deducted from the estimation in which he would otherwise have been held. It was impossible to be sure when he was in earnest and when he was in jest, when he really meant what he said, and when he was only jeering, gibing, and making game. It is incredible what damage this pernicious habit did him; for it created a notion that though he was very witty and entertaining, he had no settled principles andconvictions, and that he 'made a mockery of life.' Of this defect (with which his friends had often reproached him) he was manifestly curing himself. He had begun to take a more sober and earnest view of the great concerns of the world, and his really excellent understanding was asserting its predominance over the wild vagaries of his wit. In thus disciplining his mind into more of practical wisdom, he was paving the way for his own success; and had he not been snatched away thus suddenly, 'while his hopes were as warm and his desires as eager as ours,' he would have become an eminent man. As it is he has left behind him a memory cherished for its delightful social qualities, and a vast credit for undeveloped powers.
PLAN FOR IRISH EMIGRATION.
Yesterday, Clarendon went to the Grange on his way to Dublin. I had a long conversation with him before he went. He told me what they are meditating for Ireland. They give up all idea of paying the priests, and laying out money for any purpose but that of emigration. For this, however, they have a great scheme connected with Canadian railways. Their purpose is to establish a vast line of railways in Canada, and to make a large emigration from Ireland for this purpose. A tax on Canadian timber, and a sum of money to be borrowed here, the interest on which Clarendon thinks he can supply (180,000l.), are to provide the necessary funds. They have satisfied themselves that this is as much as they can venture to attempt.
He informed me that Wylde (to whom the Prince is in the habit of talking very openly) told him that the Prince had been discussing with him the possibility of some change of government being rendered necessary by Lord John's health breaking down, and that they would like him (Clarendon) to succeed him, and that if such an event occurred, the Queen would certainly send for him to consult him on the subject. Clarendon desired him to take an opportunity of telling the Prince that no power on earth should induce him to accept such a post, and as it was much better the Queen should never make an overture which would not be accepted, he wished none such might ever be made to him.He then gave his reasons for considering himself disqualified. I told him they would not accept his excuses, because since his Irish administration he had acquired a reputation which rendered him in the eyes of the world fit for any post, but that I understood well why for various reasons he might wish to decline the office. He said he could not speak, and had not had parliamentary experience enough, having come too late into the House of Lords, and never having been in the House of Commons. Finally he begged me to tell anybody who suggested such a possible contingency, that no power on earth would ever induce him to take it. But I don't think he was displeased when I told him I should certainly not say that, because I did not consider it so absolutely impossible, and that events might occur, and the state of parties be such, that his acceptance of the post would become a matter of public duty on his part. The truth is, he is sincere in his disclaimer, but with anarrière penséeof ambition, which not unnaturally smiles on the idea of such a prodigious elevation.
December 9th.—I dined on Tuesday last with Milman, Guizot, Macaulay, and Hallam; Macaulay receiving felicitations with great modesty and compliments on his book,80of which the whole impression was sold off, and not a copy was to be got, though it had only been out three days. Macaulay and Hallam talked of a branch of our literature of which Guizot, well informed as he is, could know nothing. Macaulay's French is detestable, the most barbarous accent that ever hasécorché les oreillesof a Parisian.
On Tuesday I breakfasted with Macaulay, very small party and nothing remarkable. Went in the afternoon to see Lord Beauvale.81He talked to me of Melbourne, and so did she. They are not at all pleased at Brougham's being his executor, which astonishes everybody. It would be mightyinconvenient to have Melbourne's papers overhauled by Brougham. Ellice has written to him to propose that they should all be delivered to Beauvale unseen by anybody. He left a letter for Beauvale. In this letter he gives certain pecuniary directions in favour of Lady Brandon and Mrs. Norton, and a solemn declaration that what he had instructed the Attorney-General to say on the trial as to her purity was true. He said that, as his indiscretion had exposed her to obloquy and suspicion, he was bound to renew this declaration.
ELECTION OF LOUIS NAPOLEON.
Bowood, December 20th.—The result of the French election for President has astonished the whole world.82Everybody thought Louis Napoleon would be elected, but nobody dreamt of such a majority. Great alarm was felt here at the probable consequences of Cavaignac's defeat and the success of his rival, and the French funds were to rise if Napoleon was beaten, and to fall if he won. The election has taken place: Napoleon wins by an immense majority, the funds rise, confidence recovers, and people begin to find out that the new President is a marvellous proper man. I really believe that the foolish affair of the tame eagle in 1840 was the principal cause of the contempt with which he was regarded here; added to this, he led an undistinguished life in this country, associating with no conspicuous people, and his miserable failure in the Chamber when he attempted to speak there, confirmed the unfavourable impression. But Van de Weyer, who is here, says that he has long known him and well, that he is greatly underrated here, and is really a man of considerable ability. He crossed the water with him when he went to take his seat after his election to the Assembly, and he then expressed the most undoubting confidence in his own success at the Presidential election, and said that he had every reason to believe, if he chose to put himself forward, he would be supported by an immenseforce, and that he might assume any position he pleased; but that he should do nothing of the kind, that he had a legal position beyond which he would not force himself, but that he was prepared to accept all the consequences to which it might lead. And now there is a pretty general opinion that he will be Emperor before long. The ex-Ministers and Legitimists, who were hot for his election, considering him merely as a bridge over which the Bourbons might return to power, begin to think the success greater than is agreeable, and that such a unanimous expression of public opinion may lead to the restoration of the Bonapartes instead of to that of the Bourbons.
London, January 2nd, 1849.—The past year, which has been so fertile in public misfortunes and private sorrows, wound up its dismal catalogue with a great and unexpected calamity, the death of Auckland, who went to the Grange in perfect health on Friday last, was struck down by a fit of apoplexy on his return from shooting on Saturday, and died early on Monday morning, having only shown a slight and momentary consciousness on seeing his sister Fanny in the course of Sunday. His loss to the Government is irreparable, and to his family it is unspeakably great. To his sisters he was as a husband, a brother, and a friend combined in one, and to them it is a bereavement full of sadness almost amounting to despair. He was a man without shining qualities or showy accomplishments, austere and almost forbidding in his manner, silent and reserved in society, unpretending both in public and in private life, and in the House of Lords taking a rare and modest part in debate, and seldom speaking but on the business of his own department. Nevertheless he was universally popular, and his company more desired and welcome than that of many far more sprightly and brilliant men. His understanding was excellent, his temper placid, his taste and tact exquisite; his disposition, notwithstanding his apparent gravity, cheerful, and under his cold exterior there was a heart overflowing with human kindness, and with the deepest feelings of affection, charity, and benevolence. Engaged from almost his earliest youth in politicsand the chances and changes of public life, he had no personal enemies and many attached friends amongst men of all parties. His colleagues in office were fully sensible of the merits which he never endeavoured to push forward, and he was successively raised to the posts of President of the Board of Trade, First Lord of the Admiralty, and Governor-General of India; and he was a second time First Lord of the Admiralty on the formation of John Russell's Administration in 1846.
DEATH OF LORD AUCKLAND.
His government of India was the subject of general applause till just as it was about to close, when the unfortunate Cabul disaster tarnished its fame, and exposed him to reproaches which he did not deserve. Whether that expedition was wisely or unwisely undertaken, it is incontestable that it was suggested or sanctioned by some of the greatest authorities both in England and in India; that the military operations were completely successful, and that the subsequent misfortunes were not attributable to any neglect or impolicy on the part of the civil government. But rage and shame took possession of the public mind at the bloody and discreditable reverse which befel our arms, and without any discrimination all who were concerned in the invasion were involved in a common sentence of indignant reprobation. Lord Auckland bore this bitter disappointment with the calmness and dignity of a man who felt that he had no cause for self-reproach, probably trusting to an ultimate and unprejudiced estimate of the general merits of his laborious and conscientious administration.
His conduct of affairs at the Admiralty, his diligence, his urbanity, his fairness and impartiality have been the theme of loud and general praise. In an office in which jobbing and partiality have so often prevailed, in which from the nature of the service the Minister is compelled to disappoint many fair hopes and just expectations, and to wound the pride, the vanity, and the feelings of many brave and honourable men, it requires the greatest firmness to be just, and the nicest tact and delicacy to avoid giving offence. In this most difficult function no First Lord ever was more successful thanAuckland. Always patient and affable, holding out none of the false hopes which in the end make sick hearts, dealing openly and frankly with his officers, he inspired the whole profession with confidence and esteem. Such a character and such a career may well be envied by every well-regulated mind; nor can the termination of that career, however grievous and deplorable to all who loved him, be regarded as an unhappy destiny for himself, for if the pursuits and pleasures of existence were suddenly and prematurely cut off, he was spared from sickness and infirmity with their train of suffering and sorrow, and from the privations which attend the approaches of old age and the gradual decay of the bodily and mental powers. He closed a useful, honourable, and prosperous life with his faculties unimpaired, leaving behind him a memory universally honoured and regretted, and cherished by the tender affection and inconsolable grief of his family and his friends.
RETROSPECT OF THE YEAR.
ThisAnnus Mirabilis, as it may well be called, is at last over, and one cannot but feel glad at getting rid of a year which has been so pregnant with every sort of mischief. Revolutions, ruin, sickness, and death have ravaged the world publicly and privately; every species of folly and wickedness seems to have been let loose to riot on the earth. It would be easy to write a great deal of wise matter, but very little that is new, on these topics. If ever mankind is destined to learn by its own experience, to look at beginnings, middles, and endings, to see what comes of what, and to test the virtue, wisdom, and utility of plausible maxims and high-sounding phrases, this has been the time for mankind's going to school and studying the lessons put before it. We have seen such a stirring up of all the elements of society as nobody ever dreamt of; we have seen a general Saturnalia—ignorance, vanity, insolence, poverty, ambition, escaping from every kind of restraint, ranging over the world and turning it topsy-turvy as it pleased. Every theory and crotchet has had full swing, and powers and dominations have bowed their necks to the yoke and cowered under the misbegotten tyranny which has suddenly changed placeswith them. Democracy and philanthropy have never before (or hardly ever) had their own way without let or hindrance,carte blancheto work out their own great and fancy designs. This time they leave behind them—and all Europe exhibits the result—a mass of ruin, terror, and despair. Nothing strikes one more than the poverty of invention as well as the egregious folly of the new patriots all over the world. They can think of nothing but overturning everything that exists, and of reconstructing the social and political machine by universal suffrage. To execute the most difficult task which the human mind can have set before it, the task which demands the highest qualities of knowledge, experience, and capacity, it is thought enough to invite masses of men with strong passions and prejudices, without even any of that practical knowledge which might serve, though inadequately, to enable them to play their part in this prodigious operation. Universal suffrage is to pick out the men fit to frame new Constitutions, and when the delegates thus chosen have been brought together—no matter how ignorant, how stupid, how in every way unfit they may be—they expect to be allowed to have their own absurd and ruinous way, and to break up at their caprice and pleasure all the ancient foundations, and tear down the landmarks of society; and this havoc, and ruin, and madness, are dignified with the fine names of constitutional reform. Nor can the excuse be urged that this inundation of wickedness and folly has been brought about by a resistance which stood out too long, and was at last swept away by the effects of its own obstinacy.
Leaving out France altogether, whose Revolution was an accident—and France is retracing her steps as fast as she can, scrambling, crestfallen, perplexed, and half-ruined, out of the abyss into which she suffered herself to be plunged—let us look at Prussia and Rome. In both places the sovereigns spontaneously advanced to meet the wishes and promote the interests of the people: they went to work in the right way. In countries where the people had never exercised political rights and privileges, where self-government was unknown, it was clear that the masses were not capableof legislating or taking an immediate part in framing Constitutions for themselves; but in every country, even in the Roman States, there were some men of education, knowledge, genius, who were more or less qualified to undertake the great work, and the Pope called such men to his councils, and gave the Romans the framework of a Government as liberal as was compatible with the working of any government at all. This was what sense and reason suggested; but, though it pleased his foolish and despicable people for a moment, they soon got tired of such safe and gradual progress as this, ran riot, flung off all control, and proceeded from one excess to another, constantly rising in the scale of democracy, till they reached their climax by assassinating the Pope's Minister, and forcing the Pope himself to escape in disguise from Rome. Nobody knows what they want, nor do they know themselves how they are to recover from the anarchy and ruin in which they are so deeply plunged.
In Prussia better things might have been expected, for there at least the people are better educated, and they have enjoyed municipal institutions, and do know something of the practice of civil administration; nevertheless, Prussia has not shown until lately much more moderation and wisdom than Rome. This, however, now appears to have been entirely the King's fault. If he had displayed more firmness and decision he would have rallied round him the Conservative feelings and interests of the country; but when these interests found themselves abandoned by a Sovereign who commanded 200,000 faithful troops, and they saw him bowing his head to the dictation of the rabble of Berlin, they lost all heart, and democracy became rampant and unrestrained.
At length a reaction began. Vienna first, and Berlin afterwards, were reduced to obedience, and the tide is now flowing back. It is impossible to speculate on the final result, but for the present at least the disgust and abhorrence of the brutal excesses committed under the pretence of a spurious liberalism are intense and apparently increasing.
THE ADMIRALTY OFFERED TO GRAHAM.
London, January 19th.—Lord Auckland's death naturally excited great interest and curiosity about the Admiralty. The first and most general feeling was a desire that Lord Minto might not be his successor. This was proclaimed in the press and in all places; but such a disagreeable manifestation was hard upon him, as it turned out that he not only never aspired to the place, but he at once told John Russell to take the Privy Seal from him without scruple and do anything he pleased with it if his resignation would be of use in any fresh combination he might wish to make; in fact, he behaved very well. Lord John resolved to make the offer to Graham (after having consulted Lord Lansdowne) provided the Cabinet did not object. He called them together and proposed him. Though certainly some of them did not like it, they consented unanimously, and he accordingly wrote to Graham and asked him to come up to town. Graham arrived, and they had a long and frank conversation. Graham said he was quite independent, and his being invitedalonewas no objection. He asked Lord John what the views and intentions of Government were, and Lord John explained everything to him in the most open and candid manner. Graham seems to have made no objections to anybody or anything, but rather to have hinted his apprehensions that they might not go far enough in the way of economy; and he showed some leaning towards Cobden's schemes, that is, he said he thought there was a great deal in his speech and letter. At the end of the conversation he asked Lord John if he had any objection to his consulting Peel, who, he had reason to believe, was to pass through London that afternoon; if he had, he would give him his answer at once. Lord John said he had no objection, and Graham went away. In the evening he came back, said he had missed Peel and could not consult him, and finally he declined, somewhat I think to Lord John's surprise, for he gave no good reason for declining, and, after asking for information as to the Government plans, and appearing satisfied with them, Lord John naturally expected he would accept. They parted on very friendly terms, but Lord Johnis not pleased; it has not raised his opinion of Graham, and he will not make him another proposal if he can help it. They cannot understand his conduct and motives, but they think he was afraid—which probably is the truth. They then proposed it to Sir Francis Baring, who took it directly. On the whole he will probably be of more use to them than Graham. The accession of the latter would have been distasteful to the Whigs generally and to many of the Government; he would not have been at his ease with his colleagues nor they with him, and I only wonder he ever hesitated. It is perhaps as well that the offer was made to him, but on the whole better as it is. The Protectionists, who, contemptible as they are as a party, can always do some mischief, would have been more disposed to thwart and embarrass the Government when Graham had become a part of it, for he is their favourite aversion.
Cobden's new economical agitation is making a great stir, and the Government are so uneasy at it that they are moving heaven and earth in the way of reduction.
ATTACKS ON LORD PALMERSTON.
Palmerston has been dreadfully nettled at some recent attacks on him in the 'Times.' Charles Wood sent for Delane and entreated him to desist from these bitter attacks, and he promised he would for the present; he said they had recorded their opinions and did not want to do any more. The state of our foreign affairs and Palmerston's management of them are the astonishment of Europe. There will certainly be more discussion than usual about them in the ensuing Session, but probably with no more result than heretofore. Stanley and Aberdeen will do their best or their worst in the House of Lords, but all their blows will fall on the soft, non-resisting cushion of Lansdowne's evasive urbanity, while in the House of Commons there will be nobody to attack Palmerston, and between those who won't grapple with him, and those who can't, he will come off unscathed, as he has always done. It is said, however, that he is more uneasy (as well he may be) than he ever was before, and from several little symptoms I expect this to be the case. Whetherheis or not his colleagues are, and hisRoyal Mistress still more. Within the last few days fresh difficulties have arisen with reference to Lord Palmerston's conduct of foreign affairs, for he keeps the Queen, his colleagues, his friends, and the party in continual hot water; and on this occasion he seems to have given serious offence to a foreign Power, insomuch that a formal apology is said to be required of him. Yet Lord John has made up his mind to fight through the Session in defence of a colleague whose proceedings give him perpetual annoyance. Aberdeen has been with Peel, and says that he is still more animated against Palmerston than he is himself, and he expects that Peel will not abstain from manifesting his opinion when Parliament meets. Aberdeen said he had no hostility to the Government, and no objection to anything but the conduct of foreign affairs, so much so that if Clarendon came to the Foreign Office he would give him his proxy if he would hold it. The Government are evidently in a stew. There was an article in the 'Times' on Thursday, in which, though there was no attack on Palmerston, who was not named, there was an allusion to former articles and to our conduct to Austria, which evidently rubbed on a sore place, for Charles Wood sent for Delane and expressed his regret that we were on such bad terms with Austria. Delane said, he had all along been saying the same thing, when Charles Wood replied that he did not think we haddoneanything we could not justify and defend, but unfortunately Palmerston's manner of doing things and the language he employed had given great offence, and that it was much to be regretted that he had given advice and expressed opinions in so offensive a tone as he had done, especially to Austria.83All this showed clearly enough that Austria was the Power whom he last insulted. He has not, however, been quite idle about Russia, having instructed Stratford Canning to move thePorte to take some steps to thwart Russian policy in that quarter. Canning was very prudent, and nothing serious came of it; but the Emperor is informed of his proceedings, and has taken care to let him know that he is, without making any quarrel. He has also given Palmerston to understand that it is not his intention to allow great European questions, in which he may naturally be expected to take an interest, to be dealt with without his being consulted and considered.
London, January 28th.—It appears that Graham did not give the same account to Peel and to Lord Aberdeen of what had passed with John Russell about his taking office. Lord John says that he appeared well inclined to accept, made no serious objections to anybody or to anything, and that he could not make out why he finally refused. It is clear, however, that Graham must have given some reasons for declining, and, in fact, they are pretty well agreed as to the latter part of their several statements. John Russell, when the Queen asked him why Graham declined, told her that the reasons he gave were some doubts whether their contemplated reductions would go far enough, and some objections as to the foreign policy; but Lord John clearly thought that these doubts and objections were so faintly expressed that they did not amount to anything like insuperable obstacles. He said with reference to foreign policy, that it always must be remembered that Palmerston had kept us at peace, and as Graham went away expressly to consult Peel, that implied that if Peel advised him to accept he would do so. This is not the conduct of a man who had serious objections to our past policy. Of course he could not join without subscribing to the past and undertaking its defence; but to Peel he declared that he had refused because he could not approve of or defend Palmerston's foreign policy, and because their reductions were not sufficient, putting his objections and refusal in a much stronger way than he appears to have put them to Lord John. All this comes from his timidity, and I have no doubt the want of a really clear conscience. He pines for office, he dreads to take it;he knows he is an object of suspicion and dislike to people of all parties; he is embarrassed with his own position; he is clear-sighted enough to perceive all its entanglements and difficulties. All sorts of absurd stories are current about his demands and what the negotiation went off upon.
OPENING OF THE SESSION.
February 7th.—Parliament opened last Thursday, and the Government began the campaign very victoriously. A great flourish of trumpets had been sounded to announce the attack which Lord Stanley was to make, especially on the vulnerable point of the foreign policy, and the Government and their friends were not at all easy as to the result. Stanley's was one of the worst speeches he ever made, ill put together and arranged, full of ignorance, and consequently of misrepresentations and misstatements. Lord Lansdowne made a very able and judicious reply. The Government got a majority of two in a division which Stanley most unwisely forced on, and the affair ended in a general opinion that the Ministers had much the best of it, and that Stanley had been signally defeated. His blunders, however, were not confined to his speech. He had at first determined not to move any amendment to the Address, and the Duke of Wellington had entreated him not to do so. He had accordingly told Eglinton, his whipper-in, he should not, and Eglinton told Strafford none would be moved. Then Stanley changed his mind, contrary to the opinions of Eglinton and others, and much to the annoyance of the former, who had misled Strafford by his information. After Lansdowne's speech, to persist in the amendment was very injudicious. The Duke of Wellington opposed it in a very sensible speech, when Stanley rose and said there was nothing in his amendment about foreign affairs; on which Lord St. Germains pointed out to him that that was an express allusion to them. He said he had forgotten it, and still persisted; but it is much believed that some of his own people were sent away to avoid the embarrassment of their being in a majority. So much for the Lords.
In the Commons Government was equally triumphant. There had been a great deal of squabbling among the Protectionistsabout their leadership, some wanting Herries, some Granby, and some Disraeli, and when Parliament met there was nothing settled. Stanley had written a flummery letter to Disraeli, full of compliments, but suggesting to him to let Herries have the lead. Disraeli, brimful of indignation against Stanley and contempt for Herries, returned a cold but civil answer, saying he did not want to be leader, and that he should gladly devote himself more to literature and less to politics than he had been able to do for some time past. Meanwhile Herries declined the post, and Granby with Lord Henry Bentinck insisted on Disraeli's appointment, both as the fittest man, and as a homage to George Bentinck's memory. I saw a note from Disraeli a day or two ago, saying he had received the adhesions of two-thirds of this party. In the House of Commons he appeared as leader, for he moved Stanley's Amendment, which was sent to him so late that he placed Stanley's draft in his own handwriting in the Speaker's hands. He made a clever speech with some appearance of attacking Palmerston in earnest. The debate was adjourned, and the next night Palmerston made one of the cleverest, most impudent, and most effective speeches that ever was heard. It took vastly with the House, threw his opponents into confusion, and he came out of themêléewith flying colours. The Opposition have committed nothing but blunders, and the Government have naturally reaped the benefit of them, and they are in a high state of elation.
As soon as Graham came to town, he called on me, and gave me his reasons for not having accepted office. He said nothing could be handsomer or more gratifying than John Russell's conduct to him. He had been more than frank, he had been confidential, and had told him things that he desired him not to repeat even to Peel or Aberdeen, and which he said he never would repeat to anybody. Graham made an excellent case for himself, and after hearing him I am satisfied that he both acted fairly and judged wisely. He said, 'I have played some pranks before high heaven in my time. I quitted the Whigs once, and it would notdo to quit them again; and unless I could subscribe to all their past conduct and policy, as well as feel quite satisfied for the future, it was better not to join.' The great obstacle he owned was Palmerston, and he anticipated being very likely placed in a state of collision with him, which might have been most embarrassing to himself and to the Government.