This one year has done the work of fifty ordinary ones; or, more
accurately, it has made apparent what has long been preparing itself.


January 6th.--The American ambassador called on me to-day and stayed a
good while,--an hour or two. He is visiting at Mr. William Browne's, at
Richmond Hill, having come to this region to bring his niece, who is to
be bride's-maid at the wedding of an American girl. I like Mr. ------.
He cannot exactly be called gentlemanly in his manners, there being a
sort of rusticity about him; moreover, he has a habit of squinting one
eye, and an awkward carriage of his head; hut, withal, a dignity in his
large person, and a consciousness of high position and importance, which
gives him ease and freedom. Very simple and frank in his address, he may
be as crafty as other diplomatists are said to be; but I see only good
sense and plainness of speech,--appreciative, too, and genial enough to
make himself conversable. He talked very freely of himself and of other
public people, and of American and English affairs. He returns to
America, he says, next October, and then retires forever from public
life, being sixty-four years of age, and having now no desire except to
write memoirs of his times, and especially of the administration of Mr.
Polk. I suggested a doubt whether the people would permit him to retire;
and he immediately responded to my hint as regards his prospects for the
Presidency. He said that his mind was fully made up, and that he would
never be a candidate, and that he had expressed this decision to his
friends in such a way as to put it out of his own power to change it. He
acknowledged that he should have been glad of the nomination for the
Presidency in 1852, but that it was now too late, and that he was too
old,--and, in short, he seemed to be quite sincere in his nolo
episcopari; although, really, he is the only Democrat, at this moment,
whom it would not be absurd to talk of for the office. As he talked, his