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and-twenty, who seems to me to be thinking of nothing but marriage, for he fastens upon every pretty English girl he sees with a doting fondness,)—then he enters into a long conversation with me, which is partly provoked by my telling him how I like the nobility of his country, for their perfect ease and nature in conversation. For instance, Lady Isabella had been speaking with me of her brother, (Lord Clare,) Governor of Bombay, with all the unrebuked rapture of a girl of sixteen conversing with one of her own age,-calling him an angel, the best of men, brothers, etc.; I was charmed with her eloquent affection, and told her she, at least, must be the best of sisters. The young lord just mentioned talks cleverly, after a fashion, but à l'Ecossaise,-that is, somewhat pedantically and scholastically, beginning at the beginning, assigning the reason of every thing, etc., etc. Mr. Senior, who is at my right, breaks in on my conversation, and compels me to join issue with him. He thinks my feeling towards England no fair specimen of the country, which, he is persuaded, (like all the rest of the English,) is decidedly hostile to the mother country. Says it is desirable that the United States should be thoroughly well represented in England, and asks if they have any chance of seeing me in that situation. I tell him no; however, I desired it, not as being at all worthy of the distinction implied in his question, but for the immense advantages a residence of a couple of years there would give me. Begs me to come after the soirée, and see them at their lodgings. I tell him I will if I can, but think I sha'n't. Dr. Bowring is there, who looks shy at me; I suppose he thinks I have treated him cavalierly, as I am inclined to do, or suspects me of having something to do with a severe pickling Sir Robert Adair gave him, some days ago, for a piece of flummery of his about the rights of man and the rascality of diplomatists, at a patriotic banquet given during the fêtes, at which he, Hume and Senior assisted,-neither is he out there.

Mr. Patterson calls.

30th Sept. Before I go out this morning, Mr. McGregor, who is to dine with me to-day, calls. While he is there, Mr. Senior (who is engaged, and can't come) comes in. We reason high of war, peace, Louis Philippe, and La Fayette, Leopold and the Dutch, etc., etc. These are both very intelligent men. After they are gone, I get into my carriage and go to the race, tempted by the genial and fine day. Get to the course just in time to see two infamous matches, in one of which, one of the two beasts bolts, and, in the other, the winner comes in on an easy trot, having double-distanced Lord William Paget's poor little pony, his only competitor. Not a great monde there, but the king and queen were. After my return, take a walk. Miss

Freke, who is passing in her carriage, stops and talks with me about our meeting at Paris. At dinner we are only seven, every body being engaged. Conversation very animated. Mr. Northey and Mr. Patterson remain with me until half-past 11, discussing the Belgian revolution, in which Mr. Patterson has, perhaps, too much faith, and Mr. Northey too little. The latter speaks of the Prince of Orange as a personal friend; and says there is no doubt but the charge, recently made in the Independant, of missionaries from the Orange party to London and the Northern capitals, is well-founded; that, from his privy relations with that party, he could have told 'em so long ago. I don't commit myself further than by saying that, be the sentiments of the people what they may, their apathy in political matters exceeds all belief, and must never be left out of any estimate of political chances; for a people, without individuality and a lively sensibility to their rights and duties, is a herd to be led or driven by a few. At half-past 11, I am pretty weary, and go out, it being a lovely moonlight, en voiture, to the Boulevard du Jardin Botanique.

1st October. Horrible fog and damp weather, inclining to rain. Call up my servants and tell them they must be making preparations against my departure in ten or twelve days. They seem all au desespoir, for winter is at hand, and places hard to be found. Coachman shows me signs of use and weakness in my carriage; at the which, being very much enraged, I write to Jones, telling him to look to his bond. Go to my banker's and deposit a draft for 1520 francs. Do nothing but fidget and fret all day long. In the evening, to a soirée at Lady Wale's, (a new comer, who shews violent symptoms of fashionable propensities,) where I meet most of the English habitués, and some I don't know. Shortly after I am there, Mr. Northey fixes me to a whist table, where, in sad civility, I sit and play four mortal rubbers, all which I lose. I then exchange a few kind words with ma folie, and make my escape.

2d Oct. Go out and call on Mr. Senior, who is going tomorrow to England. Promises to let me hear from him. Take a walk. Fall in with Mrs. Seymour, and, on the Boulevard, afterwards, with Mr. S. and Emma,-walk till 5. Dine alone, at 6. In the evening, go to Latour Maubourg's last soirée. Few people there, the Morgans. Lady M. gets me to sit down by her, and begins to talk about the provincial tone of Belgian society here. Tells me she meets me no where but in the grand monde. I am soon off, and speak to my little Freke,then to Sir Charles Morgan,-then some songs prettily sung by their nieces, then home.


THE Publishers deem it due to Mr. LEGARÉ to say that they are satisfied, from both internal and external evidence, that he never intended this Diary for publication, but only as a collection of private memoranda for himself, and, perhaps, his friends. He may, also, have intended it as a note-book in aid of some future publication, as he was frequently heard by his friends to say (in reference to his diplomatic residence abroad) that he had materials for a volume. It is also proper to add that the difficulty of deciphering the manuscript may have led to several errors in the text.


Antwerp, 6th May, 1835.

HAVING suffered a great deal, for some months past, from disordered health, and, particularly, been confined almost continually to my house during the last month, I determined, as soon as my convalescence were sufficiently advanced to permit it, to set out on a tour of some weeks. It was, at first, my intention to proceed immediately towards the Rhine, through Liège and Aix-la-Chapelle; my principal object in that excursion (beside the re-establishment of my health) being to visit Bonn and its University, and to make the acquaintance of Augustus William Schlegel. This latter purpose I had a favorable opportunity of accomplishing, through my acquaintance with the Marchese Arconati and his wife, who are at present there, with their only son, an éléve of Schlegel's and the University. But the weather continued (and continues) so unseasonably cold, that I determined to begin with Antwerp, which I have always considered as by far the most interesting spot in the Low Countries. So, having sent for post-horses, and having them put to my landaulette, I set off from my house in Brussels, Rue des Sablons, No. 9, at noon, on the second of May, and arrived at half-past 5, at the Hotel of the Grand Laboureur, at Antwerp, where I am now writing this.

The day after my arrival was Sunday, and a Te Deum was to be celebrated at the cathedral, on occasion of the birth of the second Crown Prince of Belgium. Magnæ spes altera Roma! Without being aware of this circumstance, I had made up my mind to consecrate the day to that noble monument of the grandeur of Catholic Europe. Accordingly, immediately after breakfast, I sallied forth all alone, (for I came hither without even a servant,) and, at 12 o'clock, assisted at the extraordinary religious service of the day, whose character I soon divined from seeing the governor of the province and other authorities, both civil and military, in the choir, and a double hedge of soldiers along the whole length of the chief aisle. The effect of the fine music, heightened by that of the vast and magnificent edifice, in whose mighty spaces it was floating loose about like some aërial spirit, and of those famous master-pieces of Rubens (the Descent and Elevation of the Cross in the transverse aisle, and the Assumption of the Virgin on the high altar), before which I stood, was

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