London, December 20, 1861
The great event of the past week on this side is the death of the Prince Consort. From the time of my arrival I had formed a very favorable opinion of the man. Having a most difficult part to play he seemed to me to acquit himself most creditably. A feeble person would have fallen into contempt. A vicious one would have created discord. An intriguing one would have filled the Court with animosities and sharpened all the rivalries of parties. He was neither. His capacity and his acquirements commanded the respect of the most powerful subject. His moral character set at defiance all malevolence. And his prudence preserved his neutrality from the assaults of contending factions. Yet he can scarcely be said to have been popular in any class, and least of all among the nobility. He was reserved and shy, little versed in the arts which recommend a man to others. Few were disposed to give him much credit until they lost him. Now they are beginning to open their eyes to a sense of his value. They discover that much of their political quietude has been due to the judicious exercise of his influence over the Queen and the Court, and they do not conceal their uneasiness as to the future without him. The young Prince is just coming of age, with a character by no means formed. The younger children are coming forward with a strong curb removed. The Queen herself has no guide or adviser so well fitted to perform his part without danger of political complications to disturb her. There is no strength in any purely party organization that will keep the government steady. War with the United States seems imminent. It may spread itself all over Europe. Where is the master to direct this storm, if he cannot arrest it? Is it Lord Palmerston or Earl Russell? I trow not. Let any thing happen to Napoleon, and you will see. He is their buckler and their shield.
As to us I fancy you can understand the pleasantness of the position we are occupying in the mean time. The leading newspapers roll out as much fiery lava as Vesuvius is doing, daily. The clubs and the army and the navy and the people in the streets generally are raving for war. On the other side are the religious people and a large number of stock jobbers and traders, together with the radical following of Messrs. Cobden and Bright. The impression is general that Mr. Seward is resolved to insult England until she makes a war. He is the bête noir, that frightens them out of all their proprieties. It is of no use to deny it and appeal to facts. They quote what he said to the Duke of Newcastle about insulting England as the only sure passport to popular favor in America, and a part of a speech in which he talked of annexing Canada as an offset to the loss of the slave states. This is the evidence that Mr. Seward is an ogre fully resolved to eat all Englishmen raw. Pitiful as is all this nonsense, it is of no trifling consequence in its political effect. Even our friend Mr. Thurlow Weed with all his sagacity is baffled in every attempt to counteract it. And if war finally happens, it will trace to this source one of its most prominent causes.
Of course I feel most anxiously the position of my country, and of those who are enlisted in its cause. So far as I now see the field it is much less alarming than it looked some weeks ago. Many of the causes of apprehension are removed. The government has not authorised the act of Captain Wilkes, neither has it adopted it, as yet. So far, so good. But the British government will not rest satisfied with that position. The policy must be disavowed and the men replaced. Such is my understanding of the substance no matter how gently the sense may be conveyed. Shall we do either? For my part I think justice to our former professions demands it of us. I care not about quibbles concerning Sir William Scott’s law, against which I was bred in a mortal aversion. He is no idol of mine, and I care not how soon both nations join to knock his image off its pedestal. But what my opinion may be is one thing. What the delusion of my countrymen is, is another and very different one. They may regard Messrs. Mason and Slidell as more precious than all their worldly possessions. May be so. For my part I would part with them at a cent apiece.
