But Palmerston, busy with his plans, his ambitions, and the management of a great department, brushed all such considerations on one side; it was his favourite method of action. He lived by instinct--by a quick eye and a strong hand, a dexterous management of every crisis as it arose, a half-unconscious sense of the vital elements in a situation. He was very bold; and nothing gave him more exhilaration than to steer the ship of state in a high wind, on a rough sea, with every stitch of canvas on her that she could carry. But there is a point beyond which boldness becomes rashness--a point perceptible only to intuition and not to reason; and beyond that point Palmerston never went. When he saw that the case demanded it, he could go slow--very slow indeed; in fact, his whole career, so full of vigorous adventure, was nevertheless a masterly example of the proverb, 'Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre.' But when he decided to go quick, nobody went quicker. One day, returning from Osborne, he found that he had missed the train to London; he ordered a special, but the station-master told him that to put a special {153} train upon the line at that time of day would be dangerous, and he could not allow it. Palmerston insisted, declaring that he had important business in London, which could not wait. The station-master, supported by all the officials, continued to demur; the company, he said, could not possibly take the responsibility. 'On my responsibility, then!' said Palmerston, in his off-hand, peremptory way; whereupon the stationmaster ordered up the train, and the Foreign Secretary reached London in time for his work, without an accident.[2] The story is typical of the happy valiance with which he conducted both his own affairs and those of the nation. 'England,' he used to say, 'is strong enough to brave consequences.'[3] 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, {154} old and young, for whose enjoyment the