impressed when I inquired for the celebrated author. He was
obliged to tell me, however, that he was not in London. I went on
to ask whether I could not be admitted to a debate, but was told
that, in consequence of the old Houses of Parliament having been
burnt down, they were using temporary premises where the space
was so limited that only a few favoured visitors could procure
cards of admittance. But on my pressing more urgently he relented,
and shortly after opened a door leading direct into the
strangers' seats in the House of Lords. It seemed reasonable to
conclude from this that our friend was a lord in person. I was
immensely interested to see and hear the Premier, Lord Melbourne,
and Brougham (who seemed to me to take a very active part in the
proceedings, prompting Melbourne several times, as I thought),
and the Duke of Wellington, who looked so comfortable in his grey
beaver hat, with his hands diving deep into his trousers pockets,
and who made his speech in so conversational a tone that I lost
my feeling of excessive awe. He had a curious way, too, of
accenting his points of special emphasis by shaking his whole
body, I was also much interested in Lord Lyndhurst, Brougham's
particular enemy, and was amazed to see Brougham go across
several times to sit down coolly beside him, apparently with a
view to prompting even his opponent. The matter in hand was, as I
learned afterwards from the papers, the discussion of measures to
be taken against the Portuguese Government to ensure the passing
of the Anti-Slavery Bill. The Bishop of London, who was one of
the speakers on this occasion, was the only one of these
gentlemen whose voice and manner seemed to me stiff or unnatural,
but possibly I was prejudiced by my dislike of parsons generally.

After this pleasing adventure I imagined I had exhausted the