nley, with that levity which
distinguishes all his conduct, talks of him as of 'a hunted fox,
who, instead of dying gallantly before the hounds in the open,
skulks along the hedgerows, and at last turns up his legs in a
ditch.' This he said to George Bentinck, who told it to me; it is
not the way that Lord Stanley ought to speak of Sir Robert Peel.
What I certainly do regret is that he condescended repeatedly to
entreat John Russell to put off bringing up the report till
Monday, and exposed himself to a refusal. He should have invited
the decision of the contest rather than have tried to protract
it.

April 4th, 1835

[Page Head: SIR R. PEEL'S RETIREMENT.]

I told Jonathan Peel last night that Stanley and Graham blamed
Sir Robert for not resigning at once. He said that Sir Robert
would, as far as his own feelings were concerned, have preferred
resigning long ago, but that a vast number of his supporters were
furious at the idea of his resigning at all, and wanted him to
persist at all hazards, and he was compelled to resign only upon
such a point as might enable him to satisfy them that he had
abided by the pledge which he gave at the beginning to persevere
while perseverance could be useful or honourable. He then told me
(which I certainly did not attach the slightest credit to[7])
that he should not be at all surprised if his brother were now to
retire from public life. Such an idea in some moment of disgust
may have crossed his mind, but if he were to do so in the vigour
of his age and at the climax of his reputation, it would be the
most extraordinary retirement that history ever recorded. Men of
the most splendid talents have often shrunk from entering public
life, but I am not aware of any instance of a man who had
attained the eminence and the fame of Peel who has withdrawn from
the theatre of his glory and power without some stronger motive
than any that can be found for him.

[7] A great fool indeed I should have been if I had.--1838.

I was told last night that the scene of noise and uproar which the
House of Commons now exhibits is perfectly disgusting. This used
not to be the case in better, or at least more gentlemanlike,
times; no noises were permissible but the cheer and the cough, the
former admitting every variety of intonation expressive of
admiration, approbation, assent, denial, surprise, indignation,
menace, sarcasm. Now all the musical skill of this instrument is
lost and drowned i