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Andalusian costume, had brought it out to drive Mr. and Mrs. Cobden, who at that time were travelling in Spain. This civility, as he afterwards told me, was much to his annoyance, for the jolting, dust, and noise were ill-suited to his frame, exhausted by his journey from Madrid. He, indeed, seemed little equal to all the fatigue his foreign admirers entailed upon him. I was delighted to make the acquaintance of a man I hold in such admiration.1

The Cathedral at Seville is said to be no longer the resort of lovers, but it certainly was still the resort of beggars. They pestered one in every direction. The last day I was there, a well-dressed woman said something to me which I took no notice of but passed on. She shouted out "Hombre !" which is a Spanish oath, ran after me, and gave me a smart tap on the shoulder with her fan. I stopped, and the old story began again of sickness and a distressed family. The beggars in Spain, from the picturesque old man with his tattered brown cloak and staff to the broken-down gentlewoman with her fan, all claim charity as a right, and if you give it they receive it as if you were paying them a debt. They were difficult to get rid of except by the use of the words I had often read of, but whose magical effect I had hardly believed. If you said respectfully to one of them, "Perdone Usted, por Dios, hermano!" ("Forgive me, brother, for God's sake!"), he would invariably retire.

I got fond of our inn with its little Moorish

I got afterwards to know him well.

court.

Vaughan undertook to look to look after the cooking department, and it was amusing to watch his endless conferences with the inn-keeper, the Welshman making fun of the single-minded Spaniard. One day there were great preparations for a dinner, to which Foley had invited the Capitan-General, a pompous man and a distinguished officer. The whole household was thrown into commotion. Vaughan was at his post the whole morning, worrying the poor innkeeper, whom such an honour and its attendant responsibilities were nearly too much for. We hurried home early to receive the great man; but alas! at the very last moment a note arrived with the General's excuses on account of pain from his wounds. I could not help laughing, and had the satisfaction of eating an excellent dinner; but the waiters were angry, and Pedro re-echoed to me their indignation.-"Je vous assure, monsieur, qu'on trouve cela très peu poli."

Our guide, with his anecdotes and quaint remarks, amused us, but we had reason to find fault with him when, after promising to get gypsies to dance before us, we found he had only engaged some ballet-dancers whom we might have seen every night at the theatre for comparatively nothing. They came with an immense following of fathers, mothers and brothers, some very handsome, particularly La Campanilla, so called from living in the Giralda, the beautiful old Moorish tower at one end of the Cathedral. She had a fine figure, which her dress, consisting of a black velvet corset covered with spangles

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and a cherry-coloured petticoat, set off to advantage. She danced with vivacity and grace. It was a regular ball, with refreshments and sugarplums to be handed round to the performers.

From Seville we went to Cadiz and from Cadiz to Lisbon! How beautiful is the entrance into the Tagus and the first view of Lisbon! Our fleet was anchored opposite to it. It was an exciting time to arrive there, as the town was surrounded by rebels who were expected every minute to take it by storm. We were unable on that account to go to Cintra. There is little to be seen in Lisbon, which is inhabited by the ugliest, filthiest population in the world. I have since been there several times and it always gave me the same impression.

From Lisbon we had a pleasant passage home by sea.

my

SOCIETY

1846-50

my

brother and his wife

UPON father's death apartment on the

were reluctant to leave their

ground floor in Bruton Street, to which they had become attached. They consequently let the first floor to Mr. Charles Greville, a relation and intimate friend. Mr. Greville was the son of Lady Charlotte Greville, a daughter of the third Duke of Portland, who had married the sister of the fifth Duke of Devonshire. She was therefore my mother's first cousin. In society Mr. Greville was inclined to be silent, and never spoke unless he had something to say-to my mind a merit. But when the topic discussed interested him he became very

animated.

It, of course, perfectly suited Mr. Greville to live in a charming and spacious apartment in the centre of the most social part of the town, and where he had on most evenings only to go downstairs to find. himself in the midst of the pleasantest company possible. My brother and Lady Granville had on their side the advantage of living in close proximity to so agreeable a person, with whom they were always on the best of terms. Mr. Greville was a

1846-50]

CHARLES GREVILLE

91

remarkable man. He was intimate with the principal politicians. He had a literary turn of mind. He was a frequent contributor to the Times and a friend of its distinguished editor, Mr. Delane. He published some clever books and pamphlets; but what has chiefly contributed to his fame are his admirable journals, which he left to Mr. Henry Reeve1 to edit after his death. They have become classical, and I know of no book of my time which has been as much referred to by those who have dealt with the history of the period. He was broad-minded, but not always quite accurate or consistent in his views. I should say that it was on this account that in spite of his ability he never had any political influence. His complaint of my brother was that, although they lived in the same house, he would never divulge to him what took place in the Cabinet, and was less communicative than some of his colleagues. The truth was, my brother did not entirely rely on his discretion. He was a great reader on every subject, and even liked to dabble in theology. He was as well up in the Bible as he was in the Racing Calendar. I cannot say that he was a happy man, for he had no strong family affections, and was, as can be seen from his journal, much dissatisfied with himself.

His best point was his readiness, when any occasion arose for it, to spare no effort to serve a friend. But honesty obliges me to add that he dearly loved to have a finger in every pie, which

1 For many years editor of The Edinburgh Review.