th which he conducted both his own affairs and those of
the nation. "England," he used to say, "is strong enough to brave
consequences." Apparently, under Palmerston's guidance, she was. While
the officials protested and shook in their shoes, he would wave them
away with his airy "MY responsibility!" and carry the country swiftly
along the line of his choice, to a triumphant destination--without an
accident. His immense popularity was the result partly of his diplomatic
successes, partly of his extraordinary personal affability, but chiefly
of the genuine intensity with which he responded to the feelings and
supported the interests of his countrymen. The public knew that it had
in Lord Palmerston not only a high-mettled master, but also a devoted
servant--that he was, in every sense of the word, a public man. When he
was Prime Minister, he noticed that iron hurdles had been put up on
the grass in the Green Park; he immediately wrote to the Minister
responsible, ordering, in the severest language, their instant removal,
declaring that they were "an intolerable nuisance," and that the purpose
of the grass was "to be walked upon freely and without restraint by the
people, old and young, for whose enjoyment the parks are maintained."
It was in this spirit that, as Foreign Secretary, he watched over the
interests of Englishmen abroad. Nothing could be more agreeable for
Englishmen; but foreign governments were less pleased. They found Lord
Palmerston interfering, exasperating, and alarming. In Paris they spoke
with bated breath of "ce terrible milord Palmerston;" and in Germany
they made a little song about him--

"Hat der Teufel einen Sohn,
So ist er sicher Palmerston."

But their complaints, their threats, and their agitations were all
in vain. Palmerston, with his upper lip sardonically curving, braved
consequences, and held on his course.

The first diplomatic crisis which arose after his return to office,
though the Prince and the Queen were closely concerned with it, passed
off without serious disagreement between the Court and the Minister. For
some years past a curious problem had been perplexing the chanceries
of Europe. Spain, ever since the time of Napoleon a prey to civil
convulsions, had settled down for a short interval to a state of
comparative quiet under the rule of Christina, the Queen Mother, and her
daughter Isabella, the young Queen. In 1846, the question of
Isabella's marriage, which had fo