February 12th, 1826 {p.077}

The last three months have been remarkable for the panic in the money market, which lasted for a week or ten days--that is, was at its height for that time. The causes of it had been brewing for some months before, and he must be a sanguine and sagacious politician who shall predict the termination of its effects.

There is now no panic, but the greatest alarm, and every prospect of great distress, and long continuation of it. The state of the City, and the terror of all the bankers and merchants, as well as of all owners of property, is not to be conceived but by those who witnessed it. This critical period drew forth many examples of great and confiding liberality, as well as some of a very opposite character. Men of great wealth and parsimonious habits came and placed their whole fortunes at the disposal of their bankers in order to support their credit. For many days the evil continued to augment so rapidly, and the demands upon the Bank were so great and increasing; that a Bank restriction was expected by everyone. So determined, however, were Ministers against this measure, that rather than yield to it they suffered the Bank to run the greatest risk of stopping; for on the evening of the day on which the alarm was at its worst there were only 8,000 sovereigns left in the till.[1] The next day gold was poured in, and from that time things got better.

[1] [Mr. Baring (Lord Ashburton) stated in his pamphlet on this crisis, 'The gold of the Bank was drained to within a very few thousand pounds, for although the public returns showed a result rather less scandalous, a certain Sat.u.r.day night closed with nothing worth mentioning. It was then that the Bank applied to Lord Liverpool for an Order in Council to suspend cash payment. A conference took place between Lord Liverpool, Mr. Huskisson, the governor of the Bank, and Mr. Baring. The suspension of cash payments was happily averted, chiefly as it was said by the accidental discovery of a box of one-pound Bank of England notes, to the amount of a million and a half, which had never been issued, and which the public were content to receive.' Mr. Tooke, however, states in his 'History of Prices' (Continuation, vol. iv. p. 342) that the lowest amount of the banking treasure was on the 24th of December, 1825: Coin, 426,000; bullion, 601,000: in all, 1,027,000. The pa.s.sage in the text refers of course to the banking department only.]

In the midst of all this the Emperor Alexander died, and after a short period of doubt concerning his successor it was found that Nicholas was to mount the throne. The first act of the Russian Government was to communicate to ours their resolution no longer to delay a recognition of the independence of Greece, and their determination to support that measure if necessary by force of arms. They invited us to co-operate in this object, but intimated that if we were not disposed to join them they should undertake it alone. The Duke of Wellington is gone to Russia, ostensibly to compliment the new Emperor, but really to concert measures with the Russian Ministry for carrying this measure into effect; and it is remarkable that the Duke, upon taking leave of his friends and family to set out on this journey, was deeply affected, as if he had some presentiment that he should never return. Alava told me that he had frequently taken leave of him, when both expected that they should never meet again, yet neither upon that occasion nor upon any other in the course of the seventeen years that he has known him did he ever see him so moved. Lady Burghersh said that when he took leave of her the tears ran down his cheeks; he was also deeply affected when he parted from his mother.

In the discussion which took place on Friday night in the House of Commons, when the Chancellor of the Exchequer[2] opened his financial plan, he is deemed to have made a very bad speech, and Huskisson a very good one. Robinson is probably unequal to the present difficult conjuncture; a fair and candid man, and an excellent Minister in days of calm and sunshine, but not endowed with either capacity or experience for these stormy times, besides being disqualified for vigorous measures by the remissness and timidity of his character. However, though it is the peculiar province of the Finance Minister to find a remedy for these disorders, he may well be excused for not doing that which the united wisdom of the country seems unequal to accomplish. All men agree as to the existence of the evil, and all differ as to the causes of it and the measures which will effect its removal; not one man seems to see his way clearly through the difficulty; however, 'time and the hour runs through the roughest day,' and probably the country will what is called right itself, and then great credit will be given to somebody or other who deserves none.

[2] [Right Hon. Frederick John Robinson, Chancellor of the Exchequer from January 1823 to April 1827; afterwards Viscount G.o.derich and Earl of Ripon.]

[Page Head: MR. ROBINSON'S SMALL NOTES BILL.]

February 20th, 1826 {p.079}

The Small Notes Bill,[3] as it is called, lowered the funds and increased the alarm among the monied men. Numerous were the complaints of the inefficacy of the measure for present relief, numerous the predictions of the ultimate impossibility of carrying it into effect. In the City, however, on Thursday afternoon things began to improve; there was more confidence and cheerfulness. On Friday evening the Chancellor of the Exchequer comes down to the House and surprises everyone by abandoning one part of his plan, and authorising the Bank to issue one pound notes till October. The immediate cause of this alteration was a communication which Hudson Gurney made to the Chancellor, that if he persisted in his Bill he should send up 500,000 which he had in Bank of England notes and change them for sovereigns, and that all country bankers would follow his example. From this he found that it would be impossible to persist in his original plan. The great evil now is a want of circulating medium, and as the immediate effect of the measure would be another run upon the Bank, and that probably all the gold drawn from it would disappear--for men now are anxious to h.o.a.rd gold--this evil would be increased tenfold. The whole country is in distress from the absence of circulating medium for the common purposes of life; no country banker will issue notes, for they are instantly returned upon his hands and exchanged for gold. The circulation of country notes being generally confined within a very limited extent, the holders of them can easily present them for payment. The circulation of a quant.i.ty of Bank of England paper will relieve the immediate distress arising from this necessity, and the difficulty of exchanging them for gold will ensure the continuance of their circulation. When men find that they must take notes, and that gold is not to be had without so much pain and trouble, they will be contented to take the notes to which they have been accustomed, and will think the paper of their own bankers as good as that of the Bank of England, besides the advantage of being less exposed to the losses arising from forgery. This is the argument of the opponents of Robinson's Bill. It is generally thought that the Ministers have disgraced themselves by their precipitation and by the crudeness of their measures. Hitherto they have done nothing towards removing the present distress, or satisfying the minds of men, but the contrary. Robinson is obviously unequal to the present crisis. His mind is not sufficiently enlarged, nor does he seem to have any distinct ideas upon the subject; he is fighting in the dark.

[3] [On the 10th of February the Chancellor of the Exchequer moved in Committee 'That all promissory notes payable on demand issued by licensed Bankers in England or by the Bank of England for less than 5 shall not be issued or circulated beyond the 5th of April next.' Mr.

Huskisson made an able speech in support of the proposal, showing that the inflation produced by the small note paper currency had greatly contributed to cause and aggravate the panic ('Huskisson's Speeches,'

vol. ii. p. 444). Mr. Baring, afterwards Lord Ashburton, opposed the restriction of small notes, but with small success. The period allowed for the contraction of their circulation was, however, extended to the 10th of October.]

Everybody knows that Huskisson is the real author of the finance measure of Government, and there can be no greater anomaly than that of a Chancellor of the Exchequer who is obliged to propose and defend measures of which another Minister is the real though not the apparent author. The funds rose nearly two per cent, upon this alteration in the Bill before the House, on account of the prospect of an abundance of money. Still it is thought that nothing will be sufficient to relieve the present distress but an issue of Exchequer bills. So great and absorbing is the interest which the present discussions excite that all men are become political economists and financiers, and everybody is obliged to have an opinion.

February 24th, 1826 {p.081}

I have been since yesterday the spectator of a melancholy scene and engaged in a sad office. Arthur de Ros,[4] who was taken ill a fortnight ago, became worse on Monday night. After this time he was scarcely ever sensible, and yesterday, at a quarter-past two, he expired. After they had given up all hopes they were induced again to suffer them to revive from the disappearance of the most unfavourable symptoms; but this was only the weakness which preceded dissolution, and a few moments after his brother Henry had told me that he did not despair he came and said that all was over, and a little while after Rose announced that he had ceased to breathe. He died tranquilly, and did not suffer at all. I never saw such a distress. His father, mother, sisters, William, and his wife went immediately to Boyle Farm. Henry would have followed them, but I persuaded him to go home. He went first to Mrs. ----, to whom Arthur had been attached for ten years, and after a painful interview with her he came to his own house; he has since been too ill to move. I have never seen grief so strong and concentrated as his; it has exhausted his body and overwhelmed his mind, and though I knew him to have been much attached to his brother, I did not believe him capable of feelings so acute as those which he has evinced. William is much more calm and resigned, a strange, unaccountable thing considering the characters of the two men--the one so indifferent, and with feelings so apparently deadened to the affections of this world, and the other with a sensibility so morbid, and such acute susceptibility and strong feelings, that the least thing affects him more deeply than very serious concerns do other men.

[4] [Colonel the Hon. Arthur John Hill de Ros, born 1793, died February 1826. He was aide-de-camp to his Royal Highness the Duke of York.]

Arthur was an excellent creature, and will be regretted by the Duke and deeply lamented by all who knew him intimately. His talents were not brilliant, but he had good sound sense, and was besides modest, diligent, honest, and trustworthy in a high degree. There breathed not a more honourable man, and as his ambition did not extend beyond the sphere in which fortune had placed him and he was contented with his destiny, but for this illness his career might have been long and prosperous. I went last night to sleep at the house, that it might not appear to have been entirely abandoned to the care of servants. The only wish he expressed was that Francis Russell should succeed him, which I have no doubt he will do.

February 25th, 1826 {p.082}

Received a letter from the Duke of York (to whom I had written to announce poor Arthur's death) expressive of the greatest regret for his loss.

March 2nd, 1826 {p.082}

I am just come from poor Arthur's funeral. There were present William de Ros, the two Hills, Craufurd, Torrens, Taylor, Francis Russell, Campbell, and B. Paget. The Duke appointed Francis his aide-de-camp directly.

[Page Head: ILLNESS OF THE DUKE OF YORK.]

July 2nd, 1826 {p.083}

Four months since I have written anything. The Duke of York has been dangerously ill, and it is still doubtful whether he will recover. I was with him at Frogmore before Ascot; we went with the King to see Windsor Castle. His Majesty has since been very much annoyed about the Duke, cried a great deal when he heard how bad he was, and has been twice to see him.

The elections have been particularly violent and the contests very numerous. A batch of Peers has been made; everybody cries out against Charles Ellis's peerage[5] (Lord Seaford); he has no property, and is of no family, and his son is already a Peer. The King, when these other Peers were created, asked Canning to name somebody. He said he had n.o.body about whom he was interested but Charles Ellis, and the King consenting to his elevation, it was all arranged without his knowledge. However, it is thought very ridiculous, and that he would have done much better to have declined it. Clanricarde, too, being made a Marquis and an English Peer is thought an indirect exertion of Canning's influence.

[5] [Charles Rose Ellis, created Baron Seaford in 1826.

Lord Seaford was the father of Charles Augustus Ellis, who succeeded to the t.i.tle of Lord Howard de Walden through his mother, Elizabeth Catherine Caroline Hervey, granddaughter of the fourth Earl of Bristol, who was the last Baron Howard de Walden, as heir general of Thomas, first Baron. The son of Lord Seaford had married a daughter of the fifth Duke of Portland, and was consequently a connection of Mr. Canning.]

London, December 14th, 1826 {p.083}

The Duke of York very ill; has been at the point of death several times from his legs mortifying. Canning's speech the night before last was most brilliant; much more cheered by the Opposition than by his own friends. He is thought to have been imprudent, and he gave offence to his colleagues by the concluding sentence of his reply, when he said, '_I_ called into existence the new world to redress the balance of the old.' The _I_ was not relished.

Brougham's compliment to Canning was magnificent, and he was loudly cheered by Peel; altogether it was a fine display.

Yesterday the Duke [of York] told me that the late King [George III.] was walking with him one day at Kew, and his Majesty said, 'The world tells many lies, and here is one instance. I am said to have held frequent communication with Lord Bute, and the last time I ever saw or spoke to him was in that pavilion in the year 1764.' The King went over to breakfast with his mother, the Princess Dowager, and she took him aside and said, 'There is somebody here who wishes very much to speak to you.' 'Who is it?'

'Lord Bute.' 'Good G.o.d, mamma! how could you bring him here? It is impossible for me to hold any communication with Lord Bute in this manner.' However, he did see him, when Lord Bute made a violent attack upon him for having abandoned and neglected him.

The King replied that he could not, in justice to his Ministers, hold any communication with him unknown to them, when Lord Bute said that he would never see the King again. The King became angry in his turn, and said, 'Then, my Lord, be it so, and remember from henceforth we never meet again.' And from that day he never beheld Lord Bute or had any communication with him.

1827.

[Page Head: DEATH OF THE DUKE OF YORK.]

Friday night, January 5th, 1827, half-past one {p.084}

I am just come from taking my last look at the poor Duke.[6] He expired at twenty minutes after nine. Since eleven o'clock last night the physicians never left his room. He never moved, and they repeatedly thought that life was extinct, but it was not till that hour that they found it was all over. The Duke of Suss.e.x and Stephenson were in the next room; Taylor, Torrens and Dighton, Armstrong and I were upstairs. Armstrong and I had been there about half an hour when they came and whispered something to Dighton and called out Taylor. Dighton told Torrens and they went out; immediately after Taylor came up, and told us it was all over and begged we would go downstairs. We went directly into the room. The Duke was sitting exactly as at the moment he died, in his great arm-chair, dressed in his grey dressing-gown, his head inclined against the side of the chair, his hands lying before him, and looking as if he were in a deep and quiet sleep.

Not a vestige of pain was perceptible on his countenance, which, except being thinner, was exactly such as I have seen it a hundred times during his life. In fact, he had not suffered at all, and had expired with all the ease and tranquillity which the serenity of his countenance betokened. Nothing about or around him had the semblance of death; it was all like quiet repose, and it was not without a melancholy satisfaction we saw such evident signs of the tranquillity of his last moments.

[6] [His Royal Highness the Duke of York, second son of King George III., died on the 5th of January, 1827.]

In about a quarter of an hour Taylor and Halford set off to Windsor to inform the King; the Duke of Suss.e.x went to the Princess Sophia; letters were written to all the Cabinet Ministers, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of London, and the Speaker of the House of Commons. Orders were given that the great bell of St. Paul's should toll. The servants were then admitted to see the Duke as he lay. Worley[7] was very much affected at the sight, and one woman, the wife of Kendal, cried bitterly, and I saw her stoop down and kiss his hand. The room was then cleared and surrendered to the Lord Chamberlain's people. Thus did I take my last leave of the poor Duke. I have been the minister and a.s.sociate of his pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts for some years, I have lived in his intimacy and experienced his kindness, and am glad that I was present at this last sad occasion to pay my poor tribute of respect and attachment to his remains.

[7] [Worley was the Duke's stud-groom.]

[Page Head: ILLNESS OF THE DUKE OF YORK.]

After the October meetings of 1825 the Duke came to town, not in good health. At the end of November the d.u.c.h.ess of Rutland died, which was a great blow to him, and probably made him worse. A short time after her funeral he went to Belvoir, when the Duke of Rutland took him down into the vault, where he stayed an hour and returned excessively chilled. From that moment he grew worse till the time of the Ascot races. We went to Frogmore two days before the party began, and for those two days he led a quiet life. When the party was a.s.sembled he lived as he had been used to do, going to the races, sitting at table, and playing for hours at whist.

He slept wretchedly and seldom went to bed, but pa.s.sed the greater part of the night walking about the room or dozing in his chair. I used to go into his room, which was next to mine, the moment I was out of bed, and generally found him in his dressing gown, looking hara.s.sed and ill. He showed me his legs, which were always swelled. Still he went on till the last day of the party, and when we got to town he was so ill that M'Gregor, who came to him that night, thought him in danger. From that moment the illness was established which has ended in his death. They began by putting him through several courses of mercury, and they sent him to the Greenwoods' villa at Brompton. Here he continued to receive everybody who called on him, and went out in his carriage every day. They always said that he was getting better. In August he went to Brighton, and soon after his arrival his legs mortified. It was then that Taylor went down to him and told him that he was in great and immediate danger. He received the information with perfect composure. The gangrene, however, was stopped, and he came to town to the Duke of Rutland's house. The dropsy continued to make rapid progress, and some time in September he was tapped; twenty-two pints of water were drawn.

from him. This operation was kept secret, for the Duke did not like that his situation should be known. He recovered from the operation and regained his strength; no more water formed in his body, but there was still water in his system, and a constant discharge from his legs, which occasioned him great pain and made wounds which were always open and extending. These wounds again produced gangrene, but they always contrived to stop its progress, and put the legs in a healing condition. As often, however, as the legs began to heal the water began to rise, and the medicines that were given to expel the water drove it again to the legs, through which it made its way, making fresh sores and entailing fresh mortification. In this way he went on, the strength of his const.i.tution still supporting him, till towards the end of December, when the const.i.tution could resist no longer; his appet.i.te totally failed, and with loss of appet.i.te came entire prostration of strength, and in short a complete break-up. From that moment it was obvious that his recovery was impossible, but he continued to struggle till the 5th of January, although he had tasted no solid food whatever for above a fortnight. At all the different periods at which his state was critical it was always made known to him, and he received the intimation with invariable firmness and composure. He said that he enjoyed life but was not afraid to die. But though perfectly acquainted with his own danger he never could bear that other people should be informed of it, and so far from acknowledging it, he always told his friends that he was better, and his language was invariably that of a man who did not doubt of his recovery. He was particularly anxious that n.o.body should know he had been tapped, and it was not till many weeks after that operation that he talked of it one day to me. Up to the last moment that I saw him (the day week before he died) he told me he was better, and he desired me to tell Montrond, who had called upon him, that he would see him as soon as he was well enough. He held the same language to everybody until the day previous to his death, when he sent for Taylor and Stephenson into his room. He could then hardly speak, but he took hold of Stephenson's hand, and looking at Taylor, said, 'I am now dying.' He tried to articulate something else, but he was unintelligible. About a fortnight before his death, soon after his appet.i.te began to fail, Taylor had to announce to him his danger. He received the intelligence with the same coolness he had before shown, but it was not without difficulty that he admitted the conviction. A few days after he received the Sacrament, which was administered by the Bishop of London, in the presence of Sir H. Halford, Taylor, and the Princess Sophia. He was then very weak, but calm and collected during the ceremony. When it was over he shook hands with the men and kissed the Princess. The King saw him the next day, but he was in a lethargic state nearly the whole time that he was there. For many days before his death the physicians thought that every day must close the scene, but such was the natural strength of his const.i.tution that he evinced a tenacity of life and maintained a struggle which astonished them all, and of which they unanimously declared that their practice had never furnished them with a similar instance. It seems that three years ago, when he was very unwell, M'Gregor told him that unless he was more prudent he would certainly be afflicted with dropsy. He had been subject to spasms, and in consequence of them was averse to lie down in bed, and to this pernicious habit and that of sitting for many hours together at table, or at cards, they attribute the origin, of the complaint which has terminated so fatally. Had he been a more docile patient, from the amazing vigour of his const.i.tution he might have looked forward to a very long life. His sufferings in the course of his illness have been very great, and almost without cessation. Nothing could exceed the patience and courage with which he endured them; his serenity and good humour were never disturbed, and he never uttered a word or complaint, except occasionally at the length of his confinement. He not only saw all the visitors who chose to call upon him, even those with whom he was not in habits of intimacy, but he transacted the whole of his public business every day, and every paper was laid before him and every detail gone through as if he had been in perfect health. This he continued to within a few days of his death, till his strength was so entirely exhausted that he lay in a state of almost complete insensibility.

It is remarkable that from the beginning to the end of his illness I never saw him that he did not tell me that he was a great deal better, and he never wrote to me without a.s.suring me that he was going on as well as possible.

[Page Head: FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF YORK.]

February 12th, 1827

The Duke of York was no sooner dead than the public press began to attack him, and while those private virtues were not denied him for which he had always been conspicuous, they enlarged in a strain of severe invective against his careless and expensive habits, his addiction to gambling; and above all they raked up the old story of Mrs. Clark and the investigation of 1809, and published many of his letters and all the disgusting details of that unfortunate affair, and that in a manner calculated to throw discredit on his character. The newspapers, however, soon found they had made a mistake, that this course was not congenial to public feeling, and from that moment their columns have been filled with panegyrics upon his public services and his private virtues. The King ordered that the funeral should be public and magnificent; all the details of the ceremonial were arranged by himself. He showed great feeling about his brother and exceeding kindness in providing for his servants, whom the Duke was himself unable to provide for. He gave 6,000 to pay immediate expenses and took many of the old servants into his own service. There appeared a few days after the Duke's death an infamous forgery, purporting to be a letter or declaration written by him a short time before his death (princ.i.p.ally upon the subject of the Catholic question), which, however, was disavowed by Taylor, but not till after many thousand copies had been sold. I dare say many people believe still that he was the author of this pamphlet. All his effects either have been or will be sold by auction. The funeral took place a fortnight after his death.

Nothing could be managed worse than it was, and except the appearance of the soldiers in the chapel, which was extremely fine, the spectacle was by no means imposing; the cold was intense, and it is only marvellous that more persons did not suffer from it. As it is the Bishop of Lincoln has died of the effects of it; Canning has been dangerously ill, and is still very unwell; and the Dukes of Wellington and Montrose were both very seriously unwell for some days after. The King was very angry when he heard how miserably the ceremony had been performed. I have been this evening to hear Peel move the address of condolence to the King, which Canning would have done if he had been here; and it is a pity he was not, for Peel did it very ill: it was poor and jejune, and undistinguished by eloquence or the appearance of deep feeling. I was greatly disappointed, for I expected to hear a worthier tribute to his merits. Canning was very anxious to have been here to have performed this duty himself. The letters which he wrote to the Royal Family abroad announcing the event of his death were admirable and gave great satisfaction to the King.