The Duke was the best of company, telling stories of his old campaigns against Abd el Kader in Algeria and humming snatches of the songs with which the piou-pious were wont to enliven the night round the camp-fire. He had all the verve and dash of the French soldier, combined with vast stores of learning and a fund of ready wit. How the French army loved him! How they delighted in his _esprit Gaulois_! How they revelled in the story of his marching through Burgundy, and coming to a vineclad slope, asking what vineyard it was. “The Clos de Vougeot” was the answer. Out rang the word of command: “Halt! Front! Present arms!” Had the Duc d’Aumale been the eldest son of Louis Philippe, it might have made a difference in the history of France. Sir William Middleton was a great character, famous for his gardens, in days when gardening was less the fashion than it is now, and for his wigs, innocent frauds which deceived no one, except, perhaps, himself. He had a wig for every day of the month graduated in length. On the 31st of the month he went into Ipswich wearing the longest wig and came out again wearing the shortest—he had been to have his hair cut. One night there was a great dinner at Sir Anthony de Rothschild’s “to have the honour of meeting” a royal personage. It was a man’s dinner, and Sir William Middleton was sitting next to Mr. Bernal Osborne, who was as bald as a billiard-ball. In handing round some dish one of the gorgeously-liveried footmen caught Sir William’s wig in his aiguillette or a button: off came the wig. The unhappy footman lost his wits, and seeing two bald heads, crammed down the wig on the wrong one. B. O., as he was affectionately called, was delighted, and roared with laughter. To Sir William it was a tragedy. CHAPTER VII 1861 LORD LYONS Towards the end of November, 1861, there was a moment when it seemed as if a war between England and the United States was inevitable. By the prudence and tact of one man that dire calamity was averted. It may be doubted whether any diplomatist ever rendered greater service to his country than Lord Lyons did at that time. The part which he had to play would have been delicate in any circumstances, but in his case the difficulties were accentuated by the fact that on one side of the Atlantic he was instructed by Lord John Russell, a minister who seemed to delight in giving offence, while on the other side he had to deal with Mr. Seward, a Secretary of State who was never conciliatory and who introduced into diplomatic argument something of the bullying manner of a _nisi prius_ lawyer.