“At one o’clock he came.  I went out to meet him.  ’I have nothing to tell you.  Nothing.  Lord Grey sent for me to speak about a matter of importance, which must be strictly private.’

“November 27.—­I am just returned from a long walk, during which the conversation turned entirely on one subject.  After a little previous talk about a certain great personage, [The personage was Lord Brougham, who at this time was too formidable for the poor girl to venture to write his name at length even in a private journal.] I asked Tom when the present coolness between them began.  He said:  ’Nothing could exceed my respect and admiration for him in early days.  I saw at that time private letters in which he spoke highly of my articles, and of me as the most rising man of the time.  After a while, however, I began to remark that he became extremely cold to me, hardly ever spoke to me on circuit, and treated me with marked slight.  If I were talking to a man, if he wished to speak to him on politics or anything else that was not in any sense a private matter, he always drew him away from me instead of addressing us both.  When my article on Hallam came out, he complained to Jeffrey that I took up too much of the Review; and, when my first article on Mill appeared, he foamed with rage, and was very angry with Jeffrey for having printed it.’

“‘But,’ said I,’ the Mills are friends of his, and he naturally did not like them to be attacked.’

“‘On the contrary,’ said Tom, ’he had attacked them fiercely himself; but he thought I had made a hit, and was angry accordingly.  When a friend of mine defended my articles to him, he said:  “I know nothing of the articles.  I have not read Macaulay’s articles.”  What can be imagined more absurd than his keeping up an angry correspondence with Jeffrey about articles he has never read?  Well, the next thing was that Jeffrey, who was about to give up the editorship, asked me if I would take it.  I said that I would gladly do so, if they would remove the headquarters of the Review to London.  Jeffrey wrote to him about it.  He disapproved of it so strongly that the plan was given up.  The truth was that he felt that his power over the Review diminished as mine increased, and he saw that he would have little indeed if I were editor.

“’I then came into Parliament.  I do not complain that he should have preferred Denman’s claims to mine, and that he should have blamed Lord Lansdowne for not considering him.  I went to take my seat.  As I turned from the table at which I had been taking the oaths, he stood as near to me as you do now, and he cut me dead.  We never spoke in the House, excepting once, that I can remember, when a few words passed between us in the lobby.  I have sat close to him when many men of whom I knew nothing have introduced themselves to me to shake hands, and congratulate me after making a speech, and he has never said a single word.  I know that it is jealousy, because I am not the first man whom