period of oppression; then a convulsive reaction; and then a tremendous crash of the Funds, the Church, the Peerage, and the Throne.  It is enough to make the most strenuous royalist lean a little to republicanism to think that the whole question between safety and general destruction may probably, at this most fearful conjuncture, depend on a single man whom the accident of his birth has placed in a situation to which certainly his own virtues or abilities would never have raised him.

The question must come to a decision, I think, within the fortnight.  In the meantime the funds are going down, the newspapers are storming, and the faces of men on both sides are growing day by day more gloomy and anxious.  Even during the most violent part of the contest for the Reform Bill I do not remember to have seen so much agitation in the political circles.  I have some odd anecdotes for you, which I will tell you when we meet.  If the Parliament should be dissolved, the West Indian and East Indian Bills are of course dropped.  What is to become of the slaves?  What is to become of the tea-trade?  Will the negroes, after receiving the Resolutions of the House of Commons promising them liberty, submit to the cart-whip?  Will our merchants consent to have the trade with China, which has just been offered to them, snatched away?  The Bank Charter, too, is suspended.  But that is comparatively a trifle.  After all, what is it to me who is in or out, or whether those fools of Lords are resolved to perish, and drag the King to perish with them in the ruin which they have themselves made?  I begin to wonder what the fascination is which attracts men, who could sit over their tea and their books in their own cool quiet room, to breathe bad air, hear bad speeches, lounge up and down the long gallery, and doze uneasily on the green benches till three in the morning.  Thank God, these luxuries are not necessary to me.  My pen is sufficient for my support, and my sister’s company is sufficient for my happiness.  Only let me see her well and cheerful, and let offices in Government, and seats in Parliament, go to those who care for them.  If I were to leave public life to-morrow, I declare that, except for the vexation which it might give you and one or two others, the event would not be in the slightest degree painful to me.  As you boast of having a greater insight into character than I allow to you, let me know how you explain this philosophical disposition of mine, and how you reconcile it with my ambitious inclinations.  That is a problem for a young lady who professes knowledge of human nature.

Did I tell you that I dined at the Duchess of Kent’s, and sate next that loveliest of women, Mrs. Littleton?  Her husband, our new Secretary for Ireland, told me this evening that Lord Wellesley, who sate near us at the Duchess’s, asked Mrs. Littleton afterwards who it was that was talking to her.  “Mr. Macaulay.”  “Oh! “said the Marquess,” I am very sorry I did not know it.  I have a most