the Opposition had not yielded, in two hours half London would have been
in Old Palace Yard.

Since Tuesday the Tories have been rather cowed. But their demeanour,
though less outrageous than at the beginning of the week, indicates what
would in any other time be called extreme violence. I have not been once
in bed till three in the morning since last Sunday. To-morrow we have a
holiday. I dine at Lansdowne House. Next week I dine with Littleton,
the member for Staffordshire, and his handsome wife. He told me that
I should meet two men whom I am curious to see, Lord Plunket and the
Marquess Wellesley; let alone the Chancellor, who is not a novelty to
me.

Ever yours

T. B. M.

To Hannah M. Macaulay.

London: July 25, 1831.

My dear Sister,--On Saturday evening I went to Holland House. There
I found the Dutch Ambassador, M. de Weissembourg, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon
Smith, and Admiral Adam, a son of old Adam, who fought the duel with
Fox. We dined like Emperors, and jabbered in several languages. Her
Ladyship, for an esprit fort, is the greatest coward that I ever saw.
The last time that I was there she was frightened out of her wits by the
thunder. She closed all the shutters, drew all the curtains, and ordered
candles in broad day to keep out the lightning, or rather the appearance
of the lightning. On Saturday she was in a terrible taking about the
cholera; talked of nothing else; refused to eat any ice because somebody
said that ice was bad for the cholera; was sure that the cholera was at
Glasgow; and asked me why a cordon of troops was not instantly placed
around that town to prevent all intercourse between the infected and the
healthy spots. Lord Holland made light of her fears. He is a thoroughly
good-natured, open, sensible man; very lively; very intellectual; well
read in politics, and in the lighter literature both of ancient and
modern times. He sets me more at ease than almost any person that I
know, by a certain good-humoured way of contradicting that he has.
He always begins by drawing down his shaggy eyebrows, making a face
extremely like his uncle, wagging his head and saying: "Now do you know,
Mr. Macaulay, I do not quite see that. How do you make it out?" He
tells a story delightfully; and bears the pain of his gout, and the
confinement and privations to which it subjects him, with admirable
fortitude and cheerfulness. Her Ladyship is all courtesy and kindness
to me; but her demeanour to some other