nistration, and still more the few who have access to the secret
history of Lord Grey's Cabinet, will acknowledge that seldom was a
prediction so entirely fulfilled, or a character so accurately read.
And that it was not a prophecy composed after the event is proved by the
circumstance that it stands recorded in the handwriting of one who died
before it was accomplished.

"January 3, 1832.--Yesterday Tom dined at Holland House, and heard Lord
Holland tell this story. Some paper was to be published by Mr. Fox, in
which mention was made of Mr. Pitt having been employed at a club in a
manner that would have created scandal. Mr. Wilberforce went to Mr. Fox,
and asked him to omit the passage. 'Oh, to be sure,' said Mr. Fox; 'if
there are any good people who would be scandalised, I will certainly
put it out!' Mr. Wilberforce then preparing to take his leave, he said:
'Now, Mr. Wilberforce, if, instead of being about Mr. Pitt, this had
been an account of my being seen gaming at White's on a Sunday, would
you have taken so much pains to prevent it being known?' 'I asked this,'
said Mr. Fox, 'because I wanted to see what he would say, for I knew he
would not tell a lie about it. He threw himself back, as his way was,
and only answered: "Oh, Mr. Fox, you are always so pleasant!"'

"January 8, 1832.--Yesterday Tom dined with us, and stayed late. He
talked almost uninterruptedly for six hours. In the evening he made a
great many impromptu charades in verse. I remember he mentioned a piece
of impertinence of Sir Philip Francis. Sir Philip was writing a history
of his own time, with characters of its eminent men, and one day asked
Mr. Tierney if he should like to hear his own character. Of course
he said 'Yes,' and it was read to him. It was very flattering, and he
expressed his gratification for so favourable a description of himself.
'Subject to revision, you must remember, Mr. Tierney,' said Sir Philip,
as he laid the manuscript by; 'subject to revision according to what may
happen in the future.'

"I am glad Tom has reviewed old John Bunyan. Many are reading it who
never read it before. Yesterday, as he was sitting in the Athenaeum, a
gentleman called out: 'Waiter, is there a copy of the Pilgrim's Progress
in the library?' As might be expected, there was not.

"February 12, 1832.--This evening Tom came in, Hannah and I being
alone. He was in high boyish spirits. He had seen Lord Lansdowne in the
morning, who had requested to s