Many thought that he ought to have allowed more time to pass before publishing diaries which affected so many people who were still living. It must be borne in mind that he was already an old man of sixty-two or sixty-three when the first volumes appeared, and he might well think that as the precious papers had been committed to his charge he was bound to see that there should be as little risk as possible of their falling into the hands of others less discreet than himself. It is difficult to call up these ghosts of the old happy days without a passing mention of Henry Calcraft—a much younger man. His power of repartee was great, and I once heard him absolutely crush Buckle, the author of the “Civilization,” who had been rather boring a very smart party at Baron Lionel de Rothschild’s with one of his interminable monologues. Unfortunately it was uttered after the ladies had left the room, and cannot be repeated here. To name all the wits and men of mark with whom Lord Granville used to salt the somewhat ponderous utterances of the big political guns and social magnates whom he invited, would fill many pages. But however sparkling the talk might be, the host himself was always the choragus. Lord Granville never had but one mission abroad, and that was when he was sent as special Ambassador to the Coronation of the Emperor Alexander the Second in the month of August, 1856. It was in every way a brilliant Embassy, Lord and Lady Stafford, she in the zenith of her young beauty, Lord Hartington, Lord Ward, Sir Robert and Lady Emily Peel, Lord Ashley and others. The Duke of Devonshire had caused his famous collection of gems to be mounted for Lady Granville’s use, and had placed his plate at Lord Granville’s disposal; the horses and carriages were superb, and so great was the sensation created that it was still alive when I reached St. Petersburg, seven years later. The Duc de Morny was the French representative, and he, too, made a dazzling show. His liveries were gorgeous, but when someone said that they quite outshone the less gaudy Leveson Gower footmen, Tutchef said, “Oui c’est vrai—les livrées du Duc de Morny sont plus belles, mais ce pauvre Lord Granville n’a pas comme lui les coudées franches. Vous voyez il a eu le malheur d’avoir un père.” As a rule, these tinsel and gewgaw complimentary missions are entrusted to some peer of moderate, or perhaps no, attainments—that is a matter of indifference—who is glad to undertake the job and return home with a ribbon and star as an acknowledgment of the discretion with which he has fulfilled his important task. These are what may be called the carpet knights of diplomacy. A Foreign Office Clerk is told off to dry-nurse them and to see that they are guilty of no compromising incongruities.