Lord Danesbury’s post at Constantinople had not been filled up, except by the appointment of a Chargé-d’Affaires; it being one of the approved modes of snubbing a government to accredit a person of inferior rank to its court. Lord Danesbury detested this man with a hate that only official life comprehends, the mingled rancour, jealousy, and malice suggested by a successor, being a combination only known to men who serve their country. ‘Find out what Brumsey is doing; he is said to be doing wrong. He knows nothing of Turkey. Learn his blunders, and let me know them.’ This was the easiest of all Atlee’s missions, for Brumsey was the weakest and most transparent of all imbecile Whigs. A junior diplomatist of small faculties and great ambitions, he wanted to do something, not being clear as to what, which should startle his chiefs, and make ‘the Office’ exclaim: ‘See what Sam Brumsey has been doing! Hasn’t Brumsey hit the nail on the head! Brumsey’s last despatch is the finest state-paper since the days of Canning!’ Now no one knew the short range of this man’s intellectual tether better than Lord Danesbury--since Brumsey had been his own private secretary once, and the two men hated each other as only a haughty superior and a craven dependant know how to hate. The old ambassador was right. Russian craft had dug many a pitfall for the English diplomatist, and Brumsey had fallen into every one of them. Acting on secret information--all ingeniously prepared to entrap him--Brumsey had discovered a secret demand made by Russia to enable one of the imperial family to make the tour of the Black Sea with a ship-of-war. Though it might be matter of controversy whether Turkey herself could, without the assent of the other Powers to the Treaty of Paris, give her permission, Brumsey was too elated by his discovery to hesitate about this, but at once communicated to the Grand-Vizier a formal declaration of the displeasure with which England would witness such an infraction of a solemn engagement. As no such project had ever been entertained, no such demand ever made, Kulbash Pasha not only laughed heartily at the mock-thunder of the Englishman, but at the energy with which a small official always opens fire, and in the jocularity of his Turkish nature--for they are jocular, these children of the Koran--he told the whole incident to Atlee. ‘Your old master, Mr. Atlee,’ said he, ‘would scarcely have read us so sharp a lesson as that; but,’ he added, ‘we always hear stronger language from the man who couldn’t station a gunboat at Pera than from the ambassador who could call up the Mediterranean squadron from Malta.’ If Atlee’s first letter to Lord Danesbury admitted of a certain disappointment as regarded Speridionides, it made ample compensation by the keen sketch it conveyed of how matters stood at the Porte, the uncertain fate of Kulbash Pasha’s policy, and the scarcely credible blunder of Brumsey.