ve not warm
hopes of being myself again.

Wordsworth and his daughter, a fine girl, were with us on the last day.
I tried to write in her diary, and made an ill-favoured botch--no help
for it. "Stitches will wear, and ill ones will out," as the tailor
says.[467]

[_October_ 8, London.]--The King has located me on board the _Barham_,
with my suite, consisting of my eldest son, youngest daughter, and
perhaps my daughter-in-law, which, with poor Charles, will make a goodly
tail. I fancy the head of this tail cuts a poor figure, scarce able to
stir about.

The town is in a foam with politics. The report is that the Lords will
throw out the Bill, and now, morning of 8th October, I learn it is
quoited downstairs like a shovel-board shilling, with a plague to it, as
the most uncalled-for attack upon a free constitution, under which men
lived happily, which ever was ventured in my day. Well, it would have
been pleasing to have had some share in so great a victory, yet even now
I am glad I have been quiet. I believe I should only have made a bad
figure. Well, I will have time enough to think of all this.

_October_ 9.--The report to-day is that the Chancellor[468] will unite
with the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel to bring in a Bill of
his own concocting, modified to the taste of the other two, with which
some think they will be satisfied. This is not very unlikely, for Lord
Brougham has been displeased with not having been admitted to Lord John
Russell's task of bill-drawing. He is a man of unbounded ambition, as
well as unbounded talent and [uncertain] temper. There have been hosts
of people here, particularly the Duke of Buccleuch, to ask me to the
christening of his son and heir, when the King stands godfather. I am
asked as an ally and friend of the family, which makes the compliment
greater. Singular that I should have stood godfather to this Duke
himself, representing some great man.

_October_ 10.--Yesterday we dined alone, so I had an opportunity of
speaking seriously to John; but I fear procrastination. It is the cry of
Friar Bacon's Brazen head, _time is--time was_; but the time may soon
come--_time shall be no more_. The Whigs are not very bold, not much
above a hundred met to support Lord Grey to the last. Their resolutions
are moderate, probably because they could not have carried stronger. I
went to breakfast at Sir Robert Henry Inglis', and coming home about
twelve found the mob rising in the Regent