in such weather, and Mr. Pitt was as determined it should put to sea.  “The fleet must absolutely sail,” said Mr. Pitt, accompanying his words with the most expressive gesture.  “It is impossible,” said the duke, with equal animation, “it will certainly be lost.”  Sir Charles Frederick, of the ordnance department, arrived just at this time, and finding them both in this laughable posture, had the greatest difficulty to preserve his gravity, at seeing two ministers of state deliberating on the affairs of the country in so ludicrous a situation.

“They’re all Out.”—­At the time when the unfortunate ministry, known as “All the Talents,” was ousted in 1807, there stood upon the Earthen Mound in Edinburgh many caravans of wild beasts belonging to the famous Mr. Wombwell, around which there clustered a large crowd of idle folks listening to the dulcet strains of his most harmonious brass band.  The news of the Tory victory was first made known in the parliament house, and, as can well be believed, the excitement that ensued was intense.  Under its influence that eager and eccentric judge, Lord Hermand, making for his home, espied a friend among the Wombwell crowd, and shouted aloud in his glee across the street, “They’re out! they’re out! they’re all out!” In half a second there was the wildest distribution of the mob—­down to Prince’s-street, up the Castle-hill, into the gardens, and up the vennels.  The people picturing the horrors of a tiger-chase did not stop to hear more, and Hermand found himself, to his amazement, monarch of all he surveyed, and sole auditor of the last terrified shriek of the band.

Lord Lyndhurst, it is said, tells this story of his surrender of the great seal in 1846.  “When I went to the palace,” says his lordship, “I alighted at the grand staircase; I was received by the sticks gold and silver, and other officers of the household, who called in sonorous tones from landing to landing, and apartment to apartment, ’Room for the Lord High Chancellor of England.’  I entered the presence chamber; I gave the seals to her Majesty; I had the honour of kissing her hand; I left the apartment by another door and found myself on a back staircase, down which I descended without any one taking any notice of me, until, as I was looking for my carriage at the outer door, a lackey bustled up, and with a patronising air, said, ‘Lord Lyndhurst, can I do anything for you?’”

The Slave Trade.—­In one of the last discussions on the slave trade, Sir Charles Pole said, “while he deprecated the motion (for the abolition), he rejoiced that it had been brought forward thus early, because it showed the cloven foot which had been attempted to be concealed.”  To this remark Mr. Sheridan very spiritedly replied, “An honourable baronet,” said he, “has talked of a cloven foot; I plead guilty to that cloven foot; but this I will say, that the man who expresses pleasure at the hope of seeing so large a portion of the human race freed from the shackles of tyranny rather displays the pinions of an angel than the cloven foot of a demon.”