London, May 10, 1862
People here were quite struck aback at Sunday’s news of the capture of New Orleans. It took them three days to make up their minds to believe it. The division of the United States had become an idea so fixed in their heads that they had shut out all the avenues to the reception of any other. As a consequence they are now all adrift. The American problem completely baffles their comprehension. The only wish I have is that they would let it alone. But strange to say, that is the very last thing to which they are inclined. Some future historian of ours may have an amusing task in extracting from the Times of the last year its daily varying prognostications on this subject. A friend of ours, Sir Charles Lyell, was sitting with your mother on Sunday when I came in, and remarking how frequently he had found the American news of the next day flatly contradicting the Times’s affirmations at a given moment. “Now,” said he, “last week they proved conclusively that the United States could not control the Mississippi and seize New Orleans. I should not wonder if tomorrow’s steamer were to show the contrary.” And thereupon I showed him a telegram just received from Mr. Seward, by the steamer Canada, announcing the capture of that city. “There now,” said he, “is it not just as I said?” Even the Americans here get soon impregnated with the spirit of doubt. It was not without difficulty that I could get some of them to credit that the Government of the United States was transmitting trustworthy information.
The Exhibition does not as yet draw such great crowds as were expected. Things are a little out of joint. The Queen secludes herself and does not get over her grief. The Prince of Wales is sent on his travels to get him out of the way. The ministry have no power in Parliament, and yet the opposition are afraid to take their places. Napoleon does not know what to do with the Pope. The Kung of Prussia does not know what to do with his subjects. Everything seems a little mal à propos and yet goes on somehow. Cotton goes, but does not come. The operatives are getting poorer and poorer, and yet there is so much capital in the city that interest is at two and one-half per cent. The country really seems to be rolling in wealth, and yet there are miserable beggars in rags assailing you at every corner. Such is a summary of European life so far as London is concerned….
