the towers, the balconies, and indeed the whole building. In short, I rave about it.

In the park, in the heart of a clump of tall and very sombre fir-trees, there is a mineral spring exactly like that at Tunbridge; and the park itself is not only full of deer but has also stags, any number of cows and sheep, and a fine herd of buffaloes.

Lord Abergavenny is very charitable. A hundred and twenty workmen are constantly in his employment; but since the visitors from Tunbridge came and damaged his garden he allows no one to see either his park or his house. Some time ago he refused admittance even to the Princesse de Lieven. Pleading notes from Countess Bathyány and from me touched his heart. He was out when we came, but had left orders for the servants to show us everything; we were guided through the woods by a man on horseback. His people are very fond of him; they have much to say of his goodness, and recount very impressively the story of the misfortunes which have afflicted their unhappy old master.

London, September 17, 1831.—On my way back from Tunbridge yesterday I visited Knole, one of the most ancient castles in England, built by King John. The oldest part of the existing building dates from this time. Knole was for long in the possession of the Archbishops of Canterbury, but Cranmer, finding that his magnificence excited popular discontent, restored it to the Crown. Elizabeth gave it to the Sackvilles, the eldest of whom she made Earl of Dorset; and it has remained in that family until the present day. It has just come into the hands of Lady Plymouth, sister of the Duke of Dorset, who was killed in the hunting-field, and left no children. The present Duke of Dorset, an old man, is the uncle of his predecessor; he has inherited the title without the estate.

When I choose I can be as meticulous as anybody! I condescended to read up the guide-book, and put myself in the hands of the housekeeper. This ancient fairy-godmother is very good at showing off the venerable and lugubrious house of Knole, which for melancholy has no rival. Even the part which has been fitted up for the present occupants is no exception to this; much more profound, therefore, is the gloom of that which is given up to memories of the past. Everything there is genuine antique; there are five or six bedrooms, the hall, three galleries, and a saloon full of Jacobean furniture. Panelling, furniture, and pictures all date authentically from this period. The rooms occupied by James I. when he visited the first Earl of Dorset are magnificent; they are decorated with Venetian mirrors; there is a state bed of gold and silver brocade, a filigree toilet-set, ivory and ebony cabinets, and many other curious and beautiful things. There are portraits here of all England, and among a vast quantity of rubbish some dozen splendid examples of Van Dyck and Sir Robert Leslie. The park is large, but in no way remarkable; a rapid visit is quite sufficient.

London, September, 1831.—I am always unlucky in my return to London. I got back the day before yesterday, in time to learn of the capture of Warsaw;[3] and to-day I arrived from Stoke[4] to hear of the new and serious disorders which had taken place in Paris on the occasion of the defeat of the Poles. The condition of the city was grave at the time of writing, from the details given in this morning's Times. I may add that M. Casimir Perier bravely saved Sébastiani from the gravest peril by taking him into his carriage. When they got to the Place Vendôme they were forced to take refuge in the Hôtel de l'État Major; there were loud cries of "à bas Louis-Philippe!"

To-day the fate of the Ministry will probably be decided in the Chamber. I know that M. de Rigny was very anxious, the previous sitting having been very unfavourable.

I have also received a very sad letter from M. Pasquin.

Our forebodings are turning out only too true.

London, September 20, 1831.—Count Paul Medem arrived yesterday and spent much of the day with me.

He left Paris on Saturday evening. I had plenty of time to question him, and found his judgment sound and cold as usual; he thinks that in France nothing as yet is either lost or saved. It is all, he thinks, a matter of chance; and one can depend on nothing. He brings ill news of the unpopularity of the King and of the ignorance and presumption of everybody. He thinks nothing of anyone but Casimir Perier, and even he makes no secret of his disgust at the little help he gets. I had a sad account of the social and commercial condition of Paris. Everything there is unrecognisable; dress, manners, tone, morals and language—all is changed. The men spend their whole lives in the cafés, and the women have vanished. New expressions have become the fashion. The Chamber of Deputies is termed La Reine Législative; the Chamber of Peers, L'Ancienne Chambre. The latter, as a power in the land, has ceased to exist. It is said that the King was more ready than anyone to abandon the hereditary principle in the peerage, hoping in this way to gain popularity and get a better civil list. No one supposes, however, that it will exceed twelve millions, and in the meantime he is drawing fifteen hundred thousand francs a month.

Several theatres are closed; the Opera and the Italiens still draw, but if the stars continue to appear on the stage it is only the seamy side of society that is seen in the boxes.

It is understood that the Czar Nicolas will only put to death such Poles as murdered Russian prisoners in the course of the sanguinary scenes enacted at the clubs. Siberia will receive the others. What a host of miserable creatures we shall see invading Europe, and more especially France! It is natural to want to shelter them, but it must be admitted that in the present state of France they can only be a new element of disorder. They say that when an émeute occurs the refugees from all countries always play a leading part.

The news from Rio de Janeiro is bad for the children[5] left by Dom Pedro. A revolt of the negroes has led to much disorder.

The scenes in Switzerland[6] are deplorable.

Things have been happening at Bordeaux.

Miaulis[7] has blown up his fleet rather than obey Capo d'Istria.

London, September 21, 1831.[8]—The rioting began again in Paris on Sunday evening, and lasted all Monday morning. There were ominous symptoms of all kinds, and the aspect of the city was very serious. The interpellations announced by Mauguin and Laurence were postponed for twenty-four hours, because it was thought that a partial, if not a complete, dislocation of the Ministry was imminent. Heavenly powers! Where have we got to and whither are we tending!

In this