LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

Passages of a Working Life during Half a Century
Chapter VII

Contents Vol. I
Prelude 1
Prelude 2
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Contents Vol. II
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
‣ Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Note to Chapter XV
Contents Vol. III
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Note to Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Note to Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Note to Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Index of Persons
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DURING the spring of 1830 I am engaged in carrying forward the regular monthly publication of the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, which was issued in half volumes. I am also occupied in writing a second volume of “The Menageries.” Important events are at hand. The confirmed ill-health of George IV. was the chief subject of political interest, for most persons were looking forward to the inevitable dissolution of Parliament, which would follow the accession of a new King. Yet the greater number of the Londoners were more agitated by a change that was proceeding—the metamorphosis of the old watchman into the new police—than by the approaching transition from the fourth George to the fourth William. There were many silly people who thought that our liberties were coming to an end when a dozen tall fellows in a blue uniform were seen issuing from their station to patrol the streets, unarmed with sword or pistol. Ruffians, and thieves, and dirty little boys insulted them; and sometimes there was a serious affray, in which the guardians of the peace were openly defied. I looked, one afternoon, from my windows in Pall Mall East, and beheld what was really a formidable street riot, in which the conduct of the rioters was as brutal as that of the police was forbearing. “Down with the
Peelers!” was the cry that came with a gathering mob that rushed forth from the narrow and dirty Whitcomb Street, and went on, to the terror of shopkeepers and passengers, till large re-inforcements arrived, and the mob fled, as they always will flee, before combined and vigorous action.

George IV. died on the 26th of June. The oath of allegiance to King William IV. having been taken by peers and commoners, the business of Parliament commenced on the 29th, and after a somewhat stormy three weeks, it was prorogued by the King on the 23rd of July. In the royal speech the general tranquillity of Europe was adverted to as an object of congratulation. On Monday morning, the 26th of July, three Ordinances of the King of France were published, which shook Paris to its centre, as by a social earthquake. These unconstitutional decrees, which suspended the liberty of the periodical press, dissolved the Chamber of Deputies, and lessened the number of the people’s representatives, produced what is known as the Revolution of July. Never did any event of foreign politics more deeply and widely stir the feelings of the British people, At the commencement of another week, the three days of the barricades had snatched the sovereignty of France from the incapable hands of the elder branch of the Bourbons; the Duke of Orleans had consented to exercise the functions of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom; the Chamber of Deputies was again opened, and a large majority, after a few days’ debate, declared that the urgent interests of the French nation called the Duke of Orleans to the throne.

For several weeks in our country this great French
revolution was the one absorbing topic of thought and speech. The sympathy of the British people with the revolutionists was a solid feeling of satisfaction that a “royal rebellion against society” had been signally defeated. These expressive four words are those by which
Dr. Arnold characterised the cause of this great outbreak. In a letter of the 24th of August, he writes to his friend the Rev. George Cornish: “It seems to me a most blessed revolution, spotless beyond all example in history, and the most glorious instance of a royal rebellion against society, promptly and energetically repressed, that the world has yet seen. It magnificently vindicates the cause of knowledge and liberty, showing how humanizing to all classes of society are the spread of thought and information, and improved political institutions; and it lays the crimes of the last revolution just in the right place, the wicked aristocracy, that had so brutalized the people by its long iniquities that they were like slaves broken loose when they first bestirred themselves.”* In the same spirit, Mr. Brougham writes to me, in the middle of August, from Lancaster: “I give you much joy of these grand events. The peaceful and moderate conduct of the French Liberals is everything for the cause of sound opinion and good government. I find all rational Tories are of this mind, and my support in Yorkshire was almost as much from them as any other quarter. Then what a thing that our friend M. de Broglie, Minister of Instruction, is Prime Minister!”

On the 16th of August the deposed King of

* Life of Dr. Arnold, vol. 1. p. 264.

France had embarked at Cherbourg, for England. The probability of a reactionary movement seemed to be at an end, and whilst all France, according to
M. Guizot, hastened to Paris, many of the tourists of England, turning from the picturesque of Italy and Switzerland, went to look upon the spots which had already attained historical celebrity;—spots where for three days workmen in blouses had stood up against a regular soldiery, till a small band of the Chamber of Deputies, at first hesitating and timid, proclaimed, “France is free! Absolute power elevated its standard; the heroic population of Paris has beaten it down.” Mr. Matthew Hill and I were strongly moved by “these grand events.” We determined not only to have a holiday in Paris, but to collect there as many facts from eye-witnesses during the three days as to give additional interest to a narrative which might form a portion of the Library of Entertaining Knowledge. My excellent friend M. Tarver, of whom I have spoken in the previous volume, agreed to accompany us. We set out on the evening of the 30th of August, and the Dover mail arrived in time for the steam-packet to Calais. Englishmen who had never crossed the Channel were rushing from London and the provinces, to look upon the scenes, the descriptions of which, during the recess of Parliament, filled every newspaper. A fellow-passenger in the mail asked permission to breakfast with us when we had reached the well-known salle à manger of the original Meurice. Our friend Tarver catered in the mode which he thought would be most agreeable to us as citizens of the world. Our chance acquaintance was rather dismayed at our solid refection of cutlets, pâté de foie gras, and a couple of
bottles of Lafitte, but he bore the infliction of the share of the bill with a true English magnanimity.

In our journey to Paris, we were surprised to find, by talking with the people in the villages where we changed horses, and in the towns where we dined or slept, how little was known with any exactness of the circumstances that had been happening in the capital. They had no news to tell us that was not a week old; they had no conjectures to offer upon the probability of future events. We went out of our direct way to see Chantilly. The palace of the great Condé had been destroyed in the first revolution; but the park and gardens, which Delille had made famous as “ce beau Chantilly,” still flourished. At the time of our visit an unusual gloom hung over the place, for a mysterious tragedy had there been enacted a very few weeks before. The house was shut up. The old Duke de Bourbon had been laid in the vaults of St. Denis to be terrified no more by the echoes of another revolution. The huntsman of the duke was an Englishman. Of him I learnt much of the condition of the peasantry in the forest of Chantilly, and was led to think there might be even a worse lot than that of a Dorsetshire labourer. “A severe winter,” said the huntsman, “is a blessing to the poor in this district, for horses often fall on the slippery roads, and breaking their legs, are killed and left on the wayside. Then, and almost only then, the cottagers have a taste of fresh meat.”

Our sojourn in Paris for a fortnight was not a period of idleness. The public resorts presented unusual objects of interest. On the evening of our arrival we dine at a restaurateur’s, the private meal at the Hôtel de Windsor not offering sufficient food
for our curiosity. Amongst the diners were many young men of the National Guard, which body of the civic militia had been suppressed by
Charles X. in 1827, but had started up again to take its share in the fight for liberty in July, 1830. During our visit to Paris, M. de Lafayette related with characteristic animation how he was at breakfast on the 29th of July, at his seat at La Grange, when the news of the Ordinances came; how he hastened to Paris to organize the National Guard; and how the young men who were at the head of the movement asking him for his name as their chief, he at once gave his assent. The uniform of the National Guard, when we were in Paris on the 2nd of September, was seen in every quarter. One of my friends was moved to enthusiasm at the immediate presence at the restaurant of some of the heroes of the three days, and he stood up, to the visible surprise of the party in regimentals at another table, to propose the health of the gentlemen of the National Guard. The compliment was received with the usual politeness of the nation. We fraternized, and had a pleasant hour of warlike anecdote.

No time was lost by my friends and myself in setting out upon a tour of inspection of the streets and quays which had been memorable scenes of the great conflict. It required, however, some minute observation to trace the external evidence of the warfare that had raged only a month before. In a great battle-field, such as that of Waterloo, where thousands have perished amidst standing corn, nature very soon covers the traces of bloodshed with her own green mantle. In a populous city, where men have
been fighting from house to house, regardless of the temporary injury to private property, the ravages are very soon obliterated by the usual course of industry. The work and the pleasure of the world goes on as before, and in another generation the minute local associations of stirring events have ceased to have any abiding place in the memory. But to me and my fellow-travellers there was not one of these spots of passing celebrity which had not an excitement for our curiosity.

Without stopping to regard the objects of our special search near the Rue de Rivoli, where we lodge, we hire an open carriage, and driving along the Quai de la Cité, proceed at once to the Hôtel de Ville. In the open space opposite the hotel there was a very unusual display of merchandize, which told of something different from the peaceful exchange of the necessaries of life. Muskets, pistols, swords, bayonets, many of them rusty, and most in a dilapidated condition, were lying on the pavement for chance sale. Here we got into talk with a smart and intelligent young man, who had his arm in a sling, having been wounded by a sabre cut. He was a nail-maker, of the name of Louis Jean Deré. He told us how a journeyman printer had given him the news of the Ordinances, and how they went out the next morning to fight side by side, and were fighting up and down the city during the three days of conflict. Here was exactly a man to tell us something more than we could learn from chance observation, so we agreed that he should accompany us in our progress, and a very useful and trustworthy guide we found him. Opposite the Hôtel de Ville was the shop of a grocer, of the name of Rivière, who, as a
branch of his trade, sold wine and brandy. Deré pointed out this store as a place that bore signal evidence of the affray. The good man was proud to show us his broken window-sashes and his riddled shelves. He was more proud to tell us how one of his sons had been a school-fellow of one of the young princes of the house of Orleans. The passion for relics, which most of us, I suppose, cannot refrain from indulging, was displayed by me in a way which did not much command the after-sympathy of my household. On a peg in the shop hung a pewter wine measure, of about the capacity of a pint, which had been pierced by a ball. I bore it off in triumph, at a fancy price, contemplating libations to liberty on future days of July. I am afraid it was too vulgar a utensil ever to make an appearance at my table, and it went, I suppose, the way of all useless things which encumber tidy servants who have no respect for enthusiasm—not even for antique images with broken noses—who deal cruelly with our most sacred treasures of antiquarianism in the way that a wicked housemaid scoured the shield of Martinus Scriblerus.

The series of “Entertaining Knowledge” contains two volumes entitled “Paris and its Historical Scenes.” They were written by Mr. Craik. The first volume is one especially of permanent interest, as relating to the growth of the French capital under the old monarchy; and describes its more remarkable edifices and situations in connexion with the great events of which that city had been the theatre. Nor is the second volume less valuable, as continuing the succession of sketches, held together by the thread of local associations. To bring together in a condensed narrative the obscure records of the
middle ages, and the pamphlet of the hour,—to tell the story of the Barricades of the League, of the Three Days of 1830,—was a labour worthy of a trustworthy writer. It is sufficient to refer to this volume to render it altogether unnecessary to go over the scenes that my friends and I traced during our fortnight’s exploration. I have therein indicated some of the objects that especially attracted my notice through personal information, which passages are referred to by the letters S. T. I have some notes before me of various details by our companion,
Mr. Tarver, whose knowledge of the language which he had spoken from his childhood, saved us from many a difficulty and mistake. One of his notes as to the general demeanour of those with whom we conversed, principally mechanics, is worth transcribing: “Nothing can equal the calm and unpretending manner with which the mass of the people speak of the three glorious days. Satisfied with having successfully repelled the act of tyranny, they resumed their occupations, even apparently unconscious of having done anything to deserve the gratitude of their fellow-citizens.” From a friend of ten years earlier with whom I was then associated in the “Architects and Antiquaries’ Club”—a most pleasant society, of which the elder Pugin and other eminent artists were members—I derived valuable information for the materials of the projected book. Mr. Crecy was engaged in the building of a magnificent square in the Rue St. Lazare, and had seen some remarkable traits of the scrupulous honesty and excellent organization of some of the heroes of the three days. A band of men having come to demand his tools and his timber for the formation of a barri-
cade, took off every article which could possibly be useful to them. Not a crowbar or a pickaxe, not a scaffold pole or a deal batten, not the minutest piece of wood, was lost. Everything was restored to Mr. Crecy, who did not estimate his damage at the value of five shillings.

Of the inner political life of the Paris of 1830, I had a few glimpses. Lafayette gave a weekly reception at the Hôtel which he inhabited, as commander of the National Guard. The spacious rooms were crowded, not only with officers and privates of the civic militia, but with deputies and journalists, with men of science and of art, with foreigners of all climes. I renewed here my acquaintance with a clever Frenchman, M. St. George, who had been a useful contributor to the “London Magazine.” He was here quite at home, for his democratic principles had always been very manifest, and were somewhat difficult of restraint in the moderate-toned miscellany which St. Leger and I conducted. He pointed out to me the various celebrities, but there was none on whom I looked with more respect than upon the venerable man who had fought with Washington in 1777, who had organized the French National Guard in 1789, who had incurred the hatred of the Jacobins in 1792, by his denunciation of the outrages committed against Louis XVI., who had retired into private life when the ambition of Bonaparte seemed to render liberty impossible, who finally a month before I saw him had headed the revolt of the people against Charles X., and believed that he had established freedom upon a constitutional basis when he proposed Louis Philippe as king. The fine old man was now in his seventy-third year, courteous, high
spirited as became one who belonged to the chivalrous days of the old aristocracy; identified with the hopes and feelings of the class more especially regarded as the people, in whose moral and intellectual progress he saw something like a security for the future against a return of the storms which he had witnessed.

I had an opportunity, in company with Mr. Hill, of being present at an entertainment of a very unusual character in France. The London system of public dinners, for social or political purposes, was then comparatively unknown in Paris. We had been introduced to a celebrated man of letters who was said to have had the not very enviable distinction of having been private secretary to Robespierre. He was now the editor of one of the most voluminous and ambitious periodical works in the French language—“Le Bulletin Universel,” which had its ramifications throughout Europe. He had his soirées in an immense library, set apart for the use of contributors of all nations, where they might peruse the new books and journals of their own languages, and digest them upon the systematic principle of French editors into elaborate reviews and smart paragraphs. I was well acquainted with the “Bulletin Universel,” for in the third volume of the “London Magazine” I had introduced a new department, called the “Journal of Facts,” in which I referred to the Bulletin as a monthly publication averaging 700 or 800 octavo pages—“a most valuable store-house of every new fact that is called into light by the communication of mind throughout the world.” I was happy to intrust this department to a gentleman well qualified to conduct it by his knowledge of
foreign languages.
Mr. Charles Atkinson rendered me this literary assistance several years before he had become the able and esteemed secretary of University College. Mr. Hill and I were invited to join a large party of the collaborateurs of “Le Bulletin Universel,” who were to assemble at an early hour of a coming afternoon to dine at a pleasant tea-garden outside the barriers. The party was a large one. There was a mixture of tongues—French, German, Italian, but only one Englishman besides ourselves. We were happy to recognize the distinguished member of parliament who had written the best book on English finance—Sir Henry Parnell, a member of our Useful Knowledge Committee. The guests were being seated, when I took the liberty of mentioning to the president the political eminence of our compatriot, venturing to refer to the custom in England, that men of high mark should have a seat at the upper end of the table. With perfect suavity he informed me that in France the principle of equality was so recognized that he could make no distinctions. The guests took their places par hasard. The eating went on very rapidly, for the object of the meeting was, that certain fiery spirits should deliver exciting orations. It was as much like a platform assembly as could be imagined, with the single exception, that a good deal of wine was drunk. But there were no toasts given out by the chair; no standing up for three times three; no speeches such as England was so fertile in producing, when the honoured one declared for the fiftieth time, that this was the proudest moment of his life. But there were speeches at this French political assembly which were really worth listening
to, if only for the intensity with which the rising democratic spirit of Europe was thus embodied. One of the most remarkable of these speakers—worthy of note not only for his ability but for the adventurous circumstances in which he had recently been placed,—was
M. Potter, the famous Belgian. Banished in the previous April under a sentence of conspiracy against the government of the Netherlands, he had returned from France after the days of July, and had headed the revolt of Brussels on the 25th of August. It was about the 10th of September when we saw him after his return to Paris, when the first insurrection of Brussels had been put down, and only a few days before he returned thither, to organize that second insurrection, which ended in the separation of Belgium from Holland. One little incident of this dinner I well remember, as moving us to repeated merriment in intervals of the most solemn displays of fervid oratory. A little boy with a fiddle crept to the side of the three Englishmen, who probably looked less stern than some around us, and requested that we would ask the president for permission to exhibit his skill for the entertainment of the company. We ventured to convey this request to the chairman, who graciously consented. In a pause of the speechification, the little fellow mounted upon a stool, played with considerable spirit the long suppressed air of La Marseillaise, equally distasteful to Bonaparte and Bourbon; renewed his exertions during another pause, and went round with his hat to collect sous from the company.

My attention was agreeably directed in Paris to inquiries of a less exciting nature than the circum-
stances attending the Revolution of the three days. In the preparation of the two volumes of my “
Menageries,” I had studied the habits of the animals there described in the small collection that was then still preserved in the Tower of London, in the caravans of Bartholomew Fair, and best of all, in the gardens of the Zoological Society. Those gardens, first opened to the public in the spring of 1828, were in 1830 far removed from their present perfection. The space enclosed was comparatively small, the buildings were not of the best construction with regard to the health of the animals; the collection itself contained some very beautiful specimens, especially of the carnivora, but did not then offer the noble assemblage of living curiosities, some almost unique, which have now been gathered together here, through the munificence of scientific travellers and the liberal expenditure of the Society, that has thus raised up one of the most useful and the most popular institutions of London. I was curious to see in Paris how far our spirit of associated enterprise in England promised successfully to compete with the state expenditure of France. We had the rare advantage of visiting the Jardin des Plantes under the guidance of the illustrious Cuvier. During the outbreak of the Revolution of the three days he was in England, but he returned soon after Louis Philippe had been called to the throne, to continue his course of lectures on the history and progress of the natural sciences. His recent visit to England rendered his conversation during our walks through the gardens and the museum peculiarly interesting. He had seen that we were making an attempt in the right direction towards the formation of a great
national menagerie, but he had also seen the effect of limited means in confining the larger quadrupeds in miserable cages, instead of exhibiting them wherever possible, under the influence of their natural habits. I might have told him, and perhaps did so, that, a short time before, the young elephant of our Zoological Gardens, shut up in a cage on one side of a passage about four feet wide, had, whilst I was looking at some animal in the opposite cage, inserted his trunk into my outer pocket searching for a cake, and not easily withdrawing it, had dragged me up to the bars and then tore my coat into ribbons. The amiable desire of the man who was then confessedly the greatest naturalist in Europe, to impart a portion of his rare knowledge to a listener who had no scientific pretensions, but who might be able to present some truths to the popular understanding, left a deep impression upon my memory. The unpretending simplicity of his manner was in him nothing remarkable, for I have ever noticed simplicity as the leading characteristic of men of the highest talents and acquirements.

Mr. Hill and I left Paris about the 16th of September. We travelled to Rouen and thence on to Havre. Here we heard the distressing news of the fatal accident which had befallen Mr. Huskisson at the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, on the 10th of September. Deeply felt as was the calamity which accompanied this auspicious event of the opening, there was scarcely any educated person in England who did not hail the triumph of the locomotive engine as the commencement of a change which would produce more permanent effect upon the progress of society than any
revolutionary movement—any substitution of one set of political administrators for another set, at which most of the outs are ready to exclaim—“Patience, and shuffle the cards.” When the great political economist who led the way to commercial freedom, perished under the wheels of the “Rocket” engine, he might, as the trains first began to move through the wondrous power of steam, have thought that there was at that hour being accomplished a new manifestation of the most terrific force in the universe, subdued and regulated into perfect organization and discipline. At the meeting of 1824, for erecting a monument to
James Watt, Mr. Huskisson had described one man as directing steam into the bowels of the earth, another placing it upon the surface of the waters, and he added, “a third, perhaps, and a fourth, are destined to apply this mighty power to other purposes, not less important than those which it has already produced,” Yet probably George Stephenson, who was destined to work out the “other purposes,” could scarcely have filled his imagination with a thought of the extent to which the locomotive would be applied, when, in a letter addressed to the editor of the Companion to the Almanac, in October, 1829, he said, “The ‘Rocket’ locomotive engine, which gained the premium of 500l., is about to be put on Chat Moss, to drag the gravel for finishing the permanent way, and there is no doubt but a proportionate reduction will take place—besides doing away with the wear and tear of the horse-track which, on all new-made roads, is so considerable.” This is Eclipse dragging a sand-cart.

I return from this interesting trip to resume my usual tasks. My literary employment during 1830,
in connexion with the “Library of Entertaining Knowledge,” could scarcely be called light, and it had been somewhat troublesome. Several manuscripts came into my hands, valuable as materials for books, but requiring an immensity of labour to prune them of their superfluities, and interweave passages which would impart to them a more artistical character than they originally presented. Such were three volumes written by
Mr. James Rennie, entitled “Insect Architecture,” “Insect Transformations,” “Insect Miscellanies.” His manuscripts contained a mass of truly valuable original observations upon the habits of insects; and feeling their value I laboured hard to make them more readable, and especially to trace those evidences of Design, which lift the mind, by details far more entertaining than the inventions of romance, to the constant feeling of the Living Principle of all things. These volumes were the main cause of Mr. Rennie obtaining the honourable position of Professor of Zoology, at King’s College. He was a man of jealous and irritable feelings, and had the imprudence to make an invidious attack upon some eminent men of science, recklessly accusing them of irreligion. Mr. Rennie’s newborn zeal had not the effect of advancing him in the favour of the authorities of King’s College; who, although they differed from the founders of the University of London (now University College) upon the question of direct religious instruction in the classes, were far too able and liberal to join in the vulgar prejudices with which science was at this period very frequently surrounded. Rather to mark the temper of the times, than with a desire of drawing attention to my own writings, I give an
extract from my volume of the “Library of Entertaining Knowledge,”—“The Elephant, principally viewed in relation to Man,” which was published in 1830. This passage forms the conclusion of a chapter on the “Fossil Remains of Elephants:”—“In leading the mind of the reader to the contemplation of those remote periods, whose history, dark and imperfect as it may be, is yet written in legible characters within the soil on which we tread, it may occur to some few that we deserve the reproach of the amiable and pious
Cowper, against those who—
‘drill and bore
The solid earth, and from the strata there
Extract a register, by which we learn
That he who made it, and revealed its date
To Moses, was mistaken in its age.’
The professors of geology have too long been open to such reproaches, partly from the misplaced zeal with which they attempted to associate an infant science with theories crudely conceived, and built up without a comprehensive knowledge of a great body of facts; partly from the prejudices of those who fancied they saw a moral danger in the pursuit of the science itself. But the time is past, we hope for ever, when the diligent and modest student of Nature, in any of her departments, has to fear the same sort of spirit which
Galileo had to encounter; and which still, in some Catholic states where intolerance predominates, holds the sublime discoveries of Newton as little better than atheism. Now and then, in our own days, an ignorant or a crafty controversialist attempts to repress the progress of inquiry, by proclaiming that some particular course of
scientific investigation leads to irreligion; but, in her own peaceful and sober courage, true religion feels that she has nothing to fear from the utmost hardihood of research, and nothing to gain from the servile timidity of those who thus exclusively claim to be her supporters.”*

The elections to the new Parliament were over in England. The organization of parties under the Duke of Wellington was threatened with a speedy disruption. The Liberals had gained ground in the contests. Large constituencies had manifested, in a remarkable manner, that the question of Reform in Parliament could no longer be dealt with in the summary manner in which, three years before, Birmingham had been denied a member in the place of the disfranchised East Retford. Mr. Brougham, after exertions of unparalleled activity, in addressing the freeholders half-a-dozen times a day in as many different places, was triumphantly returned for Yorkshire. Parliament met on the 2nd of November. In the very first moment of debate, he who had become the real leader of the House of Commons—the representative of a great county instead of a nomination borough-

* Sir J. Emerson Tennent, in his “Sketches of the Natural History of Ceylon,” citing a passage from my little work, obligingly says, “It will be seen that I have quoted repeatedly from this volume, because it is the most compendious and careful compilation with which I am acquainted of the information previously existing regarding the elephant. The author incorporates no speculations of his own, but has most diligently and agreeably arranged all the facts collected by his predecessors.” I may add that in exhibiting the elephant in “relation to man,” I brought together a body of historical facts as to his employment by the nations of antiquity, and by the people of the East in their wars. A most interesting French book on this subject by M. St. Amand had not then been published.

asserted the constitutional right of the Commons to do whatever business they pleased before the consideration of the King’s speech, and gave notice of a motion for Reform. In the House of Lords, the Duke of Wellington declared that the Legislature possessed the full and entire confidence of the country, and that he would oppose every measure for what was called Reform. Then was the land agitated by conflicting opinions, such as had scarcely before manifested themselves, with equal intensity, for a generation. The declaration of the Duke of Wellington, on the 2nd of November, was followed by the overthrow of his ministry on the 16th.
Sir Henry Parnell, who at the dinner at the guinguette at Paris was denied a seat of honour, was the immediate instrument of accomplishing this change, by his motion on the subject of the Civil List, which left the Ministry in a large minority.

The list of the ministry of England, which appeared in the British Almanac for 1831, was made up to the 15th of November, 1830. In that list Wellington was Prime Minister; Lyndhurst, Lord Chancellor; Goulburn, Chancellor of the Exchequer; Peel, Home Secretary. “Never,” says Sidney Smith, “was any administration so completely and suddenly destroyed.” Had such an immediate destruction been confidently anticipated, I doubt whether we should have sent forth the list in the Society’s Almanac, afterwards issuing a leaf to be substituted by the purchaser. In a week, Grey was Prime Minister; Brougham, Lord Chancellor; Althorp, Chancellor of the Exchequer; Melbourne, Home Secretary.

I have mentioned in another place a fact which I had known in 1832, and which I could repeat in
1862, without any violation of confidence—that
Lord Althorp almost forced the Great Seal upon Mr. Brougham, who exclaimed again and again, “What! leave the House of Commons?”* The Lord Chancellor’s patent had been made out, which obviated the temporary necessity of his longer sitting in the House of Lords as Speaker without being a Peer. Having received a note from Lord Brougham to come to his private room in the House of Lords before the afternoon meeting of the House, I had a very hurried interview. The time was expired for his moving into the House. The Mace and Purse were in the passage; anxious ushers were about the door. “I can only stay to say a word,” he exclaimed; “advertise Paley to-morrow morning.” He rushed along as nimbly as that officer of Elizabeth, of whom it was said—
“The grave Lord-Keeper led the brawls.”
The “panting” Mace-bearer “toiled after him in vain.” I stepped out of the room and saw the officials looking somewhat as the royal ushers of Versailles might have looked when shoestrings heralded the Revolution, and Bastiles and buckles were doomed. I ventured to say to one of these solemn men in black, “Is that quite regular?”—“Regular, sir? oh dear! The last was bad enough, but this one!—Oh dear!” Chaos was come again.

I returned home, meditating as I went, upon a new example of the versatility of genius. A Lord Chancellor who had been only a week on the woolsack—perplexed as one might have thought with

* Popular History of England, vol. viii. p. 265.

the technicalities of Chancery, with which he was unfamiliar—the orator upon whom a great party mainly relied for carrying through schemes of improvement which were essentially necessary to maintain the power which they had won—that a man so burdened should resolve at the same time singly to undertake a labour which was best fitted for the abstracted student, seemed to me almost inexplicable. And yet the announcement which I sent forth was no idle flourish. The plan of the book had been conceived a year before, when it was thought that
Mr. Brougham and several men of science might be induced to work together in its production. If I recollect rightly, there were some difficulties in completing such an arrangement. The sudden resolve of December, 1830, cut the knot of this difficulty, and so “Paley’s Natural Theology, with Notes and an Introductory Discourse by Henry Lord Brougham,” was advertised as in preparation. I had been astonished, and so was the world to be.