‘London, June 6, 1862
The evening before the Derby, the Chief and I were down at the House of Commons from five o’clock P.m. till one A.m., listening to the great debate of the season. This is one of the sights that I enjoy most. With us debate has gone out, and set speeches and personalities have taken its place. But here, though they no longer speak as they used in the old days of Pitt and Fox, with rhetorical effort and energy, there is still admirable debating. That night we heard Palmerston, Disraeli, Horsman and Cobden. Palmerston is a poor speaker, wants fluency and power, and talks the most miserable sophistry, but he does it so amusingly and plausibly and has such prestige that even Disraeli’s keenness puts no quencher on him. Gladstone is the best speaker in the house, but next to him I should place Disraeli. He looks precisely like the pictures in Punch, and speaks with a power of making hits that is infinitely amusing. He kept me in a roar three quarters of an hour, and the House cheered him steadily. Cobden was very good too. He damaged Horsman dreadfully. But the most striking part of the debate was that not a word as to America or interference was said in it. This was peculiar because the debate was on the subject of retrenchment, and retrenchment was necessary because of the American war. Six months ago such a debate would not have taken place, but in its place we should have had war speeches with no end.
Our position here now, putting aside a few diplomatic questions, is much as it might be at home. The Speaker calls the Chief “The Conqueror,” and it is only now and then, when our armies stop a moment to take breath, and they think here that we are in trouble, that the opposition raises its head a little and barks. Indeed the position we have here is one of a great deal of weight, and of course so long as our armies march forward, so long our hands are elevated higher and higher until we bump the stars. I hear very little about our friend Mason. He is said to be very anxious and to fear a rebellion within the rebellion. He has little or no attention paid him except as a matter of curiosity, though occasionally we are told of his being at dinner somewhere or other. A Southern newspaper called the Index lately started here, contains numbers of southern letters, all of which are so excruciatingly “never conquer” in their tone, that one is forced to the belief that they think themselves very near that last ditch. . . .
