Yesterday Wharncliffe came here; very low indeed; he says he never thought they were safe, though he owns that he was surprised and disappointed that there were no defections--not one--from the enemies' ranks when these measures were brought forward. He says he was with the King the other evening, and asked him if he was going back to Windsor. His Majesty said 'he could not go back, that he could not bear being there; there he had none of them (his Ministers) to talk to, and day and night his mind was absorbed in public affairs.' Poor wretch! he suffers martyrdom, and has more to suffer yet, for I expect they will have no mercy on him. Yesterday I had more proofs of the animus of the Tories. One of them, a foolish, hot-brained fellow certainly (but there is no such enormous difference between the best and the worst), told me that if Peel really did go out upon the Tithe Bill he would abandon his party; that he ought to let them alter the Bill as they pleased, wait till the House of Commons threw it out, and then dissolve Parliament. April 7th, 1835 {p.245} Each day elicits some new proof of what I have written above--the totally altered feelings and expressions of all conditions of politicians about Sir Robert Peel. It would seem as if his friends were suddenly converted into his enemies, and his enemies into his friends. The Tories still cling to the expectation that he will hold on to office; they say that if he goes out he abandons his party, abandons the King. They call to mind Pitt in 1784. 'Very slippery,' said one to me yesterday, when I read to him Peel's answer to the City address. On the other hand Mulgrave was last night enthusiastic in his praise; he owned that he had done admirably--given proof of his perfect sincerity and acted in accordance with all his declarations and professions. 'I am,' said he, 'astonished; nothing in Peel's past political career led me to expect that he would have done so admirably as he has. He has raised himself immensely in my opinion.' Such is the language of them all, swelling a choral note of praise; and then, to make the whole thing more ridiculous (if anything so serious can be ridiculous), the Tories, who abuse him lustily, are moving heaven and earth to retain him, by violence almost, in his place; while the Whigs and Radicals, who laud him to the skies, are striving with might and main to turn him out. In a state of profound tranquillity these Ministers are quietly transacting business with a perfect consciousness and an universal understanding that their Government is at an end, and the Opposition are redoubling their blows in the House of Commons, and waiting in the complete certainty of returning to office, for which they are already making all their arrangements. The parts are all so quietly performed, the catastrophe is so clearly before everybody's eyes and understanding, that it more resembles a dramatic representation than a mighty event in real life, big perhaps with incalculable