“a kind of semi-Solomon, half knowing everything from the cedar to the hyssop.” [These words are extracted from a letter written by Macaulay.] The student, who, in his later years, never left his library for the House of Commons without regret, had little in common with one who, like Napoleon, held that a great reputation was a great noise; who could not change horses without making a speech, see the Tories come in without offering to take a judgeship, or allow the French to make a Revolution without proposing to naturalise himself as a citizen of the new Republic.  The statesman who never deserted an ally, or distrusted a friend, could have no fellowship with a free-lance, ignorant of the very meaning of loyalty; who, if the surfeited pen of the reporter had not declined its task, would have enriched our collections of British oratory by at least one Philippic against every colleague with whom he had ever acted.  The many who read this conversation by the light of the public history of Lord Melbourne’s Administration, and still more the few who have access to the secret history of Lord Grey’s Cabinet, will acknowledge that seldom was a prediction so entirely fulfilled, or a character so accurately read.  And that it was not a prophecy composed after the event is proved by the circumstance that it stands recorded in the handwriting of one who died before it was accomplished.

“January 3, 1832.—­Yesterday Tom dined at Holland House, and heard Lord Holland tell this story.  Some paper was to be published by Mr. Fox, in which mention was made of Mr. Pitt having been employed at a club in a manner that would have created scandal.  Mr. Wilberforce went to Mr. Fox, and asked him to omit the passage.  ‘Oh, to be sure,’ said Mr. Fox; ’if there are any good people who would be scandalised, I will certainly put it out!’ Mr. Wilberforce then preparing to take his leave, he said:  ’Now, Mr. Wilberforce, if, instead of being about Mr. Pitt, this had been an account of my being seen gaming at White’s on a Sunday, would you have taken so much pains to prevent it being known?’ ‘I asked this,’ said Mr. Fox, ’because I wanted to see what he would say, for I knew he would not tell a lie about it.  He threw himself back, as his way was, and only answered:  “Oh, Mr. Fox, you are always so pleasant!"’

“January 8, 1832.—­Yesterday Tom dined with us, and stayed late.  He talked almost uninterruptedly for six hours.  In the evening he made a great many impromptu charades in verse.  I remember he mentioned a piece of impertinence of Sir Philip Francis.  Sir Philip was writing a history of his own time, with characters of its eminent men, and one day asked Mr. Tierney if he should like to hear his own character.  Of course he said ‘Yes,’ and it was read to him.  It was very flattering, and he expressed his gratification for so favourable a description of himself.  ‘Subject to revision, you must remember, Mr. Tierney,’ said Sir Philip, as he laid the manuscript by; ’subject to revision according to what may happen in the future.’