e report of the Secret Committee public opinion is
entirely changed as to the result of the proceedings against the
Queen. Everybody thinks the charges will be proved and that the
King will be divorced. It is impossible to discover what effect
the report may have in the country; it is certain hitherto that
all ranks of men have been decidedly favourable to the Queen, and
disbelieve the charges against her. The military in London have
shown alarming symptoms of dissatisfaction, so much so that it
seems doubtful how far the Guards can be counted upon in case of
any disturbance arising out of this subject. Luttrell says that
'the extinguisher is taking fire.'

[Page Head: THE QUEEN'S TRIAL]

July 8th, 1820 {p.033}

I was in the House of Lords the night before last to hear
Brougham and Denman speak at the bar. Brougham's speech was
uncommonly clever, very insolent, and parts of it very eloquent.
A very amusing episode was furnished by the Bishop of Exeter, who
moved that the counsel should withdraw, and then asked the House
whether they were not out of order. Lord Holland cut him up in
the most beautiful style, and excited universal laughter. Nobody
came to the assistance of the Bishop, and the counsel were called
in again and resumed. Brougham's speech is reported in the
'Morning Chronicle' of yesterday word for word.

July 14th, 1820 {p.033}

I have been at Newmarket, where I had the first fortunate turn
this year. The conversation about the Queen begins to subside;
everybody seems to agree that it is a great injustice not to
allow her lists of the witnesses; the excuse that it is not usual
is bad, for the proceedings are anomalous altogether, and it is
absurd to attempt to adhere to precedent; here there are no
precedents and no analogies to guide to a decision. London is
drawing to a close, but in August it will be very full, as all
the Peers must be here. They say the trial will last six months.

Luttrell's poem[44] has succeeded. The approbation it receives is
general but qualified; in fact, it was difficult to make such a
sketch of life and manners sufficiently piquant without the
infusion of a little satire, and his fear of giving offence has
induced him to be so good-natured that he is occasionally rather
insipid. 'Il y a des tracasseries de societe.' I cannot record
them, though perhaps years hence, when I may look over what I now
write, I might be amused with stories of long-forgotten
jealousies and