“Full of vivacity, she surprises and interests; she finds her chief pleasure in conversing with persons of worth and reputation, and this not so much to be known to them, as to know them.”

Lady Palmerston was one of the favourites of fortune. Born of a distinguished family, sister of one Prime Minister and wife of another, the trusted confidante of both, endowed by nature with beauty and charm, with keen intelligence and sprightly wit, she was a queen of society from eighteen to eighty, and for the last thirty years of that period an important factor, through her husband, in the great political affairs of the world.

Emily Mary Lamb was born in 1787. She was the only daughter of Peniston, first Viscount Melbourne, by his wife, Elizabeth Milbanke, a remarkable woman who exercised a great influence over the members of her family and of her immediate circle. Lord Byron had great respect and admiration for her. “If she had been a few years younger,” he used to say, “what a fool she would have made of me had she thought it worth her while.” As it was, she remained a valuable and most agreeable friend to him. Emily Lamb’s brother William, who was later, as the second Lord Melbourne, to play so great a part in his country’s history, was eight years her senior. Her education was chiefly directed to perfecting her in those accomplishments that would add to her charm and gracefulness, and render her fit to take her place in society. To dance well, to sing, and to play some musical instrument, to read aloud in a pleasantly intelligent manner, to have knowledge enough of books to be able to converse easily on most subjects, to write a letter in a clear hand and with grace of expression, to understand the use of the needle and the keeping of simple accounts, would be deemed sufficient. All this could be accomplished by a governess of modern attainments, but the best education of girls highly placed in society was obtained from the conversation of those around them, of the distinguished men and women who frequented their parents’ houses, and that sort of education Emily Lamb had in perfection. The young people of that day had a merry time. At Brocket, the Melbourne’s country house, there were plenty of outdoor amusements and occupations; the girls did not play hockey and cricket like their twentieth-century descendants, but they rode and hunted, fished and walked. In the early years of the nineteenth century there were the new dances, waltzes and quadrilles, to be learned, and Emily Lamb must have joined the parties given at Devonshire House or in her own home, Melbourne House, for the purpose of practising them. They would assemble at three o’clock in the afternoon at what was called a “morning” dance, with a cold dinner laid in one of the back drawing-rooms. The Tango teas of the twentieth century are not quite such an innovation as has been supposed.

In those days girls married young, and on 21st July 1805 Emily Lamb was married to the fifth Earl Cowper. Though only eighteen she at once took her place as one of the leaders of society. The others who with her ruled the world of fashion were Lady Tankerville, Lady Jersey, and Lady Willoughby. They all lived to be over eighty, and were friends to the last. These ladies had such power as leaders of society that it was said they could even get an important debate in the House postponed if one of them had fixed a grand dinner on that evening. Lady Cowper was beautiful, intelligent, and accomplished, and soon became the most popular of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s, the most exclusive and brilliant of fashionable assemblies. When the number of hostesses entertaining on a large scale was comparatively small, need was felt of some way of meeting more often, and so in 1764 a man known as William Almack built a suite of Assembly Rooms in King Street, St. James’s,24 where for a subscription of ten guineas a series of weekly balls were given for twelve weeks. But only those who knew the saints who guarded its heaven could pass through “Almack’s holy gate.” A contemporary writer thus describes the Committee which ruled affairs at Almack’s, and bestowed happiness by granting the vouchers of admission, or despair by withholding them, as:

“That most distinguished and despotic conclave, composed of their High Mightinesses the Ladies Patronesses of the balls at Almack’s, the rulers of fashion, the arbiters of taste, the leaders of ton, and the makers of manners, whose sovereign sway over ‘the world’ of London has long been established on the firmest basis, whose decrees are laws, and from whose judgment there is no appeal.”

The Committee was presided over by Lady Jersey, and included, besides Lady Cowper, the Ladies Castlereagh, Sefton, and Willoughby, and the Princesses Esterhazy and Lieven. Almack’s was the “seventh heaven” of the fashionable world, and people would almost sell their souls to gain admission. Its exclusiveness will be understood when it is realised that of the three hundred officers of the Foot Guards only six were admitted.25 Quadrilles were first danced there in 1815. The rules as to punctuality and the costume to be worn, especially by the gentlemen, were extraordinarily strict, and had to be obeyed by all, without respect of person. One of the rules, that seems, however, to have been relaxed later, was that no one was to be admitted after 11 p.m. One night shortly after its enactment that hour had already struck when an attendant announced that the Duke of Wellington was at the door. “What time is it?” asked Lady Jersey. “Seven minutes after eleven, your ladyship.” She paused a moment, and then said with emphasis and distinctness, “Give my compliments—give Lady Jersey’s compliments to the Duke of Wellington, and say that she is very glad that the first enforcement of the rule of exclusion is such that hereafter no one can complain of its application. He cannot be admitted.” This occurred in 1819. Lady Jersey is described in Disraeli’s Sybil, under the name of Lady St. Julians, as one of the great political ladies who “think they can govern the world by what they call their social influences.” Almack’s made a very brilliant scene: the halls were large, beautifully lighted, and the music and the floor of the best. All the arrangements tended to ease and comfort, there was no ceremony, no regulations or managing—that is to say, once within the charmed circle, there were no hindrances to perfect enjoyment and perfect freedom within the limits of good breeding. It may be mentioned here that Lord Palmerston, considered to be something of a dandy in the second decade of the nineteenth century, was at that time one of the leading lights of Almack’s, and a special favourite of Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper. Bulwer, the novelist, who as a young man was a frequenter of Almack’s, wrote a poem entitled “Almack’s, a Satiric Sketch”26 in which he pays testimony to the beauty and charm of Lady Cowper in the following lines:

Both at Panshanger, the Cowper country seat, and in London, Lady Cowper gathered round her a varied and interesting coterie; among her guests were the Princess Lieven, the Duchesse de Dino, Talleyrand, Pozzo, Alvanley, Luttrell, Lord and Lady Holland, Panizzi, and Lord Palmerston, who from 1809 to 1828 was Secretary-at-War, but without a seat in the Cabinet. It was not until 1830 that he became Foreign Secretary and a Cabinet Minister. Lady Cowper was, in fact, his Egeria. He was attracted by her grace and charm, her intelligence and quick perception. The letters he wrote to her at this time were chiefly on political matters, and it is known how he relied and acted on her judgment. Her brother, Lord Melbourne, whose career she followed with the deepest interest,—indeed he had few political thoughts apart from her,—had an equally high estimate of her discernment and sagacity, and he too asked and acted on her counsel. Thus she was, from the first, intimately acquainted with politics and affairs.

She bore Lord Cowper three children—one son and two daughters. The eldest daughter, Emily,—both the girls were beautiful, but especially the younger, Frances,—married, 9th June 1830, Lord Ashley, eldest son of the seventh Earl of Shaftesbury. All the men, we learn, were in love with Lady Emily, and it took her some time to make up her mind to accept Lord Ashley, who was handsome and attractive. Lady Cowper liked him immensely, indeed she declared in joke that she was more in love with him than her daughter was, and the girl’s indecision caused her mother much perturbation of soul. “I shall really break my heart,” she said, “if she decides against him.” One of Lady Emily Cowper’s accomplishments as a girl seems to have been recitation, and Princess Lieven complained how, when on a visit to Panshanger in 1828, one evening Emily was shouting “Bethgelert” three rooms off,—the Princess was playing whist,—and that as she had already had to hear “cette terrible Chanson,” containing thirteen stanzas, twice, she had no wish to hear it again.

Naturally, Lady Cowper had many admirers, among whom, however, Lord Palmerston held the chief place, and it was inevitable that a certain amount of gossip should get about. One day a curious incident caused Lady Cowper to overhear a conversation about herself. She had, because the house was full, turned her dressing-room into a bedroom for Rogers. Luttrell, another guest, came in to talk to Rogers, and neither realising who was in the next room, began to discuss Lady Cowper and her “beaux.” Rogers’s voice was too weak for her to hear what he said, but she heard distinctly Luttrell’s replies, two of which were: “Oh, come, come, women will have their beaux.” “Well, I really don’t know, but I have loved her from a child.” It is a warning to guests not to discuss their hostess when on a visit to her, even in the privacy of their bedchambers.

Lord Cowper died on 27th June 1837.

No one was greatly surprised when Lady Cowper’s engagement to Lord Palmerston was announced. Her children disliked the idea of the marriage, but were ultimately reconciled to it, and became devoted to their stepfather. The wedding took place on 16th December 1839.

It was only now that Lady Palmerston fully entered into her own, as it were, and became a real force in public and political life. True, she was fifty-two years of age, but she had in marvellous fashion preserved her beauty and even her youth. Indeed, old age itself when it came scarcely impaired her qualities of mind and heart or her beauty. Moore records meeting her in June 1839, at a large party, in the sentence, “Lady Cowper looking as young and handsome as any daughter,” and Lady Lyttelton, who met her at Windsor in October 1840, mentions that Lady Palmerston was “in beauty and in great agreeableness and grace.” That kind of testimony meets us in all the letters and memoirs of the time. Everybody found her handsome and intelligent and interesting, and to many men she was associated with their first beaux jours and early tickets for Almack’s. Her beauty and charm appear in all her portraits, from the delightful picture of her as a girl by Lawrence to photographs taken of her as an old woman. She had fair hair and bright blue eyes, with a clear pink-and-white complexion. Her expression showed her good-nature and kindliness of temper. Lady Palmerston had no idea of making herself of importance. She was deeply and sincerely in love with her husband—to the end of his life she began her letters to him, “My dearest love,” and thought it a terrible thing to be separated from him even for a few days—and it was his career alone that filled her mind. It and it only was the fixed purpose of her life. She spent herself in helping him, in furthering his interests and upholding his political views and acts. She employed her wit and charm and good taste to justify all he did, and sometimes to soften the bitterness his acts provoked. She conciliated those whom it was well for him to have on his side, and sought where possible to render opposition less hostile. Lord Palmerston took his bride to Carlton Terrace, and in March 1840 he writes: “We have been giving some dinner and evening parties which have had a very good political effect, have helped the party, and have pleased many individuals belonging to it.”

Disraeli, in his striking fashion, has described the difference between society in Lady Palmerston’s day and in the last decade of the nineteenth century:

“The great world then, compared with the huge society of the present period, was limited in its proportions, and composed of elements more refined though far less various. It consisted mainly of the great landed aristocracy, who had quite absorbed the nabobs of India, and had nearly appropriated the huge West Indian fortunes. Occasionally an eminent banker or merchant invested a large portion of his accumulations in land, and in the purchase of parliamentary influence, and was in time duly admitted into the sanctuary. But those vast and successful invasions of society by new classes which have since occurred, though impending, had not yet commenced. The manufacturers, the railway kings, the colossal contractors, the discoverers of nuggets, had not yet found their place in society and the senate. There were then, perhaps, more great houses open than at the present day,27 but there were very few little ones.

“The season then was brilliant and sustained, but it was not flurried. People did not go to various parties on the same night. They remained where they were assembled, and, not being in a hurry, were more agreeable than they are at the present day. Conversation was more cultivated; manners, though unconstrained, were more stately; and the world, being limited, knew itself much better.”

Lady Palmerston’s salon became the headquarters of the Liberal party and the best barometer as to affairs. She took care, however, that, while her gatherings retained their exclusiveness, they should not be limited to politicians of her husband’s party. Distinguished foreigners, the whole of the diplomatic circle, a sprinkling of men of letters, were to be seen at her Saturday evening receptions as well as at Broadlands, Lord Palmerston’s country seat. Lady Palmerston’s drawing-rooms were neutral ground where men and women of all shades of opinion met in friendly intercourse. It was this neutrality that foreigners found so remarkable. A French diplomatist once said to Disraeli at Lady Palmerston’s reception, “What a wonderful system of society you have in England! I have not been on speaking terms with Lord Palmerston for three weeks, and yet here I am; but you see I am paying a visit to Lady Palmerston.” She knew all the State secrets, and often acted as her husband’s private secretary, copying the private letters with her own hand. The work was enormous, but she never flinched from it. Such was her discretion that there was no fear of revelations, though she would sometimes quarrel with the ambassadors or their wives. On one occasion28 Persigny, the French ambassador, had to apologise to her. She talked quite freely about affairs, and wrote of them to her friends, but always with great astuteness. Thus she would reveal just enough in order to draw her interlocutor on, knowing full well how and in what direction the information she gave would work. Many discussions took place in her drawing-rooms that influenced European affairs. Her tact and intuition were infallible, and Lord Palmerston always paid attention to her suggestions.

She had, moreover, keen insight into character. People soon came to know her influence with her husband, and when they wanted anything of him, tried to accomplish it through her. She said impatiently in 1846 that they had nothing to give, but were tormented with applications. Yet she was sometimes instrumental in obtaining posts for those who sought them. It did happen now and again that her outspoken comments on current affairs gave annoyance. In 1860, when the Paper Duties Bill was under discussion, she was present in the gallery during the debate, and openly expressed her wishes that it might be rejected by a large majority. Her language so shocked some of the Whigs that the Duke of Bedford was asked to remonstrate with her on the way she talked. But there was method in her madness, for when her husband thought as she did, and was debarred from speaking openly, she voiced his opinions as her own, and so gained a hearing for them. It will be remembered that the rejection of the Bill by the House of Lords caused a collision with the Commons, and Palmerston had, as his biographer puts it, to vindicate “the rights of the Commons while sparing the susceptibilities of the Lords.” The duties were repealed in 1861.

In 1841 Lady Palmerston’s daughter, Lady Frances Cowper, who was a great beauty, and had been one of the train-bearers at Queen Victoria’s coronation, became engaged to Lord Jocelyn, eldest son of the Earl of Roden, a clever handsome young man of twenty-eight and a great traveller. He had been in love with her for three years. He sent his proposal from Calcutta, but could not wait for the reply, as he had to start at once for Chusan. He did not return until a year and a half later, and reached Liverpool without knowing whether he might not find her married to some one else. But his fair lady had loyally waited. Lord Jocelyn’s father was a great Tory, but Lady Palmerston did not allow herself to be disturbed by what she called a trifle, since she put her daughter’s happiness first, and declared that “love and politics do not go together.” The marriage took place on 25th April, and the same year Lady Jocelyn was appointed extra Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Victoria. It meant, of course, that the bride and bridegroom would be much separated, but the Queen promised that the waiting should be as much as possible in London.

Lady Jocelyn was early left a widow. When, in 1854, her husband’s militia regiment was quartered at the Tower there was an outbreak of cholera. Finding him unwell one morning, the doctor advised Jocelyn to join his wife at Kew, where they were living. In the cab he felt so much worse that he stopped it at Lady Palmerston’s house in Piccadilly. He had taken cholera, and died in the back drawing-room. Lady Jocelyn, who had by chance driven into town, found him in a dying condition.

In the autumn of 1844 Lady Palmerston made a tour in Germany with her husband, dining with the King of the Belgians at Laeken, with the King of Prussia at Berlin, and the King of Saxony at Dresden. The next year her friend Lady Holland died, leaving her £300, a portrait of Lord Melbourne by Landseer,29 and all her fans.

A pleasing incident, which showed in what estimation Lady Palmerston was held by the party, occurred in 1850, when a hundred and twenty Liberal Members of Parliament presented her with a full-length portrait of her husband by Partridge. She was extremely proud of the compliment paid her. The painting, now at Broadlands, was hung on the staircase of their town house.

Lady Palmerston could not bear, as I have said, to be separated from her husband. In January 1851 she went to Brighton with Lady Ashley and her children, leaving him in town, and her letters to her “dearest love”—she was sixty-four and he was sixty-seven—show how not to see him even for the space of a fortnight was unthinkable. One day she wrote: “Whenever you write me word that you have opened your carpet bags I shall make a bonfire on the Steyne.” When he was away from her her letters to him are filled with adjurations to take care of himself, not to go sailing on Luggan Lake, or if he bathes, not to go out of his depth.30

She wrote to him nearly every day while she was at Brighton, and the following extracts from her letters are of interest:

“Brighton,
17th January 1851.

“I got down very safely yesterday, but I never was in a more shaky train, however. The Ashleys and I were together, and we got down in an hour and ten minutes, but I think for the future I shall always avoid express trains. There is something so awful in the notion of not stopping anywhere, so that if unfortunately there should occur anything wrong about your carriage you would have to go on fifty miles without any help or the least power of getting your distress known. It is like the horror of a bad dream to imagine the possibility of such a casualty.”

Some persons will sympathise with her feelings in an express train.

In the following letter she refers to the Bull issued by the Pope in September 1850, creating Roman Catholic Bishops in England. It roused great excitement and hostility in the country.

“31st January 1851.

“I hope you read the Times leading article yesterday on the dangers of Popery, so very true, and all so well described. It is impossible for the well-being of any Protestant country to allow the system which the Pope is trying to introduce here. To have such a band of conspirators leagued together to overthrow Protestantism in England, and leaving no means untried to compass their ends and to work on the weak-minded by the most unscrupulous agents.... The Pope starting a new Pope in Ireland after all the rout made about bishops here shows that he is not inclined to go back an inch, but rather to force on and increase his aggressions.”

The Ecclesiastical Titles Act declaring the Papal Bull null and void was passed in July 1851. As a legislative measure it was, however, a dead letter, and was repealed in 1871.

In December 1851 Lord John Russell, the Prime Minister, required Lord Palmerston to resign his office of Foreign Secretary, on the ground that he had exceeded his authority as Secretary of State in his communications on his own authority to France with reference to the recognition of the coup d’État of Louis Napoleon. Lord Palmerston had personally expressed his approval of the action to the French ambassador in London. The affair has passed into history and only concerns us here because Lady Palmerston fancied her husband was the victim of a conspiracy. She wrote angrily to this effect to Lord John, whom she had known since 1830, and who was one of her oldest friends. In his reply he told her that the tone of her letter would justify him in not answering it, but it was necessary for him to assure her that there had been no conspiracy, that he had acted alone to save others from responsibility. He further said that the loss of Lady Palmerston’s friendship added to the weight of his regret at the whole business. As a matter of fact, Lord Palmerston was soon asked to go back, and it is quite certain that it was Lady Palmerston who contrived to let it be known in the proper quarter that he was willing and anxious to do so. In 1868 Lady Palmerston asked Lord John, as Palmerston’s oldest and best friend—the italics are hers—to unveil the statue and window to Lord Palmerston’s memory in the town and abbey of Romsey. Lord John was only prevented from acceding to her request by the death of his brother-in-law, Lord Dunfermline. So that the difference between Lady Palmerston and Lord John was not very serious or lasting.

Lady Palmerston thought her husband always in the right, and when he resigned in 1853 because he did not consider the Government’s policy towards Russia sufficiently decided, she wrote to Charles Greville to explain his reasons. Greville called on her, and found her in high good humour, and pleased at the testimonies of approbation her husband had received. But she was again careful to make it known in the right quarters that he had acted hastily and was ready to return, and thus it was in great measure due to her that the difficulty was adjusted. She had written to Monckton Milnes on 2nd December 1853: “Nobody looks very comfortable here; the Turkish question worries a great many, and Reform others, and I believe both might have been avoided.” She used to say that every event in which her husband was concerned left him standing higher than he did before. She was immensely proud of him, liked him to be first, was provoked at Gladstone’s enormous success in 1853, and always hated the idea of her husband being out of office. Therefore, notwithstanding the far harder work entailed both on himself and on herself, she was greatly elated when he became Prime Minister for the first time in 1855. Yet later on she confessed, “I would rather that my husband was only Foreign Minister or Home Secretary, for since he became Prime Minister I see nothing of him. He never comes to bed till four or five o’clock.” Except on Saturdays and Sundays, he hardly ever dined with her. He had his dinner at three p.m., went down to the House at four, and except some tea had nothing till he came home, seldom before one a.m.

Every Saturday evening in the season Lady Palmerston held a reception. In 1858 they left Carlton Gardens for Cambridge House, 94 Piccadilly,31 and both she and Lord Palmerston took the greatest interest in fitting up and arranging their new abode. At her parties were to be met the best society, consisting almost entirely of distinguished people, for in those days there were not more than about five hundred persons who were what is known as “in Society.” Indeed, Lady Palmerston always wrote the name of the guest on the invitation cards with her own hand, so that she really did know who came to her receptions. Yet, in spite of these precautions, there occasionally appeared a few people who had not been invited. She never betrayed herself, and used to say that, if it amused them to come, they were quite welcome. She was good-natured and patient with bores. But if any member of his own party spoke or voted against Palmerston in the House, he would receive no invitation, and his name would not be replaced on the list until he had thought better of his disloyalty. She could also be very angry with any one who caballed against Lord Palmerston or overstepped the bounds of fair party warfare in attacking him. But even so her anger was shortlived, and she was quick to pardon. Lady Palmerston took much trouble to please the wives of those it was politic to conciliate. Disraeli in Sybil ironically summed up the general rules by which political hostesses were guided when he wrote: “Ask them (i.e. Members of Parliament) to a ball, and they will give you their votes; invite them to a dinner, and if necessary they will rescind them; but cultivate them, remember their wives at assemblies, and call their daughters if possible by their right names, and they will not only change their principles or desert the party for you, but subscribe their fortunes, if necessary, and lay down their lives in your service.”

If there happened to be a political crisis the greatest excitement would prevail at these parties. Sometimes the lion of the evening would be a man who was not generally to be met at fashionable gatherings. In 1859 Cobden was present one evening, and the fashionable ladies stared at him through their glasses as if he had been some strange curiosity, and brought up their friends to stare also.

The Palmerstons also gave dinners which were noted for the sumptuousness of the fare and the distinction of the guests. The only drawback was the extraordinary unpunctuality of the host and hostess. It was useless to arrive at the time stated in the invitation; neither would be ready, not even if it was a big diplomatic dinner. How the cook managed to send up an excellent meal all the same seemed a miracle to the waiting and long-suffering guests, but it is to be supposed that Lady Palmerston named one hour to her guests and another to her cook. A guest relates how, on arriving at 8.30 p.m., he found Lord Palmerston just going out for a ride before dinner in Rotten Row. The grey horse that Palmerston always rode was his wife’s despair, for she had four grey carriage horses, and feared lest people should think he rode one of them. Similar unpunctuality was practised by the Palmerstons when they dined out. At a dinner given by Guizot, when he was Ambassador in London, Lady Holland was a guest. It happened that she had had no lunch and was dying with hunger. All the guests were assembled except the Palmerstons. Lady Holland was at first out of temper, then in despair, and lastly subsided into inanition. When at last the defaulters arrived and a move was made, Lady Holland asked Lord Duncannon to take care of her, as she was sure she should not reach the dining-room without fainting.

Perhaps the social side of Lord and Lady Palmerston was seen at its best in the country-house parties at Broadlands. Broadlands is near Romsey in Hampshire. The house is situated in a fine park, and the river Test flows through the grounds, passing near the house, and adding greatly to the charm of the view from the windows. The architecture is Elizabethan, one room still preserving the beautiful oak panelling, but in the eighteenth century the front was cased in classic architecture with huge porticoes. The interior is commodious and comfortable, and the rooms, which are all of a pleasant size and shape, are full of treasures. The present owner, Mr. Wilfrid W. Ashley, M.P., great-grandson of Lady Palmerston, has arranged the library as it was in Lord Palmerston’s day, with the high desk—he always wrote standing up—and other articles by which the great statesman was habitually surrounded. A billiard-room is a feature of the house, for Palmerston was very fond of the game, and liked to win if his wife was looking on.

In the country Lady Palmerston was a perfect hostess. She understood that foreigners expected to be entertained and not to be left more or less to their own devices, as is the English custom, and was always ready to drive or walk with them. The habit of leaving guests in a country house to look after themselves has grown now almost to an abuse, and sometimes, except that there is no bill to settle at the end, it often seems almost as if one had been staying at an hotel where one chanced to know a few of the other visitors. The parties must have been very interesting. Among the guests at different times were all the ambassadors to Great Britain and their wives, members of all the great English families, and writers like Laurence Oliphant, Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton), and Mrs. Augustus Craven, author of RÉcit d’une soeur.

The same unpunctuality, however, prevailed at Broadlands as in London. Dinner was nominally at eight, but was seldom on the table before nine. This indifference to time seems to have been innate in Lady Palmerston’s family, for even at Panshanger in 1841, when Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were on a visit there, it is recorded that though there was an agreeable absence of formality, everything was immensely unpunctual, and the poor Queen was made to wait for dinner and drives “till anybody but herself would be furious.”

Besides managing the household at Broadlands and Cambridge House, Lady Palmerston had her own property to look after: Brocket, left to her by her brother, Lord Melbourne, and her Scottish estates. She saw into everything herself, inspected all the accounts, and never left anything to servants that was not properly within their province. This gave her constant occupation, and the business connected with her possessions was often of an arduous character. In 1860 there was a good deal of correspondence and trouble over the sale of a mill at Brocket, and in 1862 she paid a visit to her “Scotland estates,” which she had not looked over for nine years. She described it as “something like the treadmill,” with the talking, “walking, inspecting farms and fields and mines, making the agreeable, and listening to all the various conflicting reports on the same subject.” Her labours, she declares, were much increased by “all the glorification and popularity of Palmerston, which burst out on every opportunity.”

In 1861 Palmerston was made Warden of the Cinque Ports. Lady Palmerston evidently went to Walmer Castle, the residence belonging to the office, before her husband had seen it, for she wrote to him that the place was splendid, “so large a house and such a quantity of gardens and trees. I am sure you will be delighted with the place, and the sea is covered with shipping and a beautiful setting sun to light them up.” The beauty of the gardens at Walmer Castle is proverbial.

Lady Palmerston was fond of the theatre, and it is interesting to find in 1863 the following impression of a new play that was to have a great vogue:

“Such a good play, written by Tom Taylor, called The Ticket-of-Leave Man, so affecting that everybody in the theatre was touched by it, some quite crying.”

In old age the Palmerstons were devoted to each other. To the end of his life Palmerston’s attitude to his wife was that of an ardent lover; he was always full of loving attentions. He had few intimate friends; her close companionship seemed to make it unnecessary, and it is most probable that no other person at any time shared his confidence. His consideration for her was pathetic, and he did all in his power to conceal from her how ill he really was during the months before his death. He always assumed cheerfulness in her presence. He died on 18th October 1865 at Brocket, and was buried in Westminster Abbey near the grave of Pitt.

Lord Palmerston left his property to his wife for her life, and it was then to go to William Cowper. She gave up the house in Piccadilly, and Bulwer Lytton sold her Breadalbane House, 21 Park Lane, where she settled in February 1866. She was now seventy-eight, almost unaltered in appearance, indeed a very handsome old lady, and, though subdued at times, she preserved her cheerful spirits. Age had not dulled her sensibility nor her susceptibility to impressions of more than ordinary keenness. She took the same vivid interest as of old in things and in people. Very rarely did she show any sign of the despondency common to age. In thanking Abraham Hayward for his pamphlet on the Junius Letters, a subject in which she had always taken great interest, she wrote: “There are so many disagreeable things nowadays in every way that it is pleasant to be able to take shelter in the past.”32 She liked at all times to surround herself with young and pretty people. The very year of her death she would go to her grandson Jocelyn’s room between eleven and twelve at night, taking with her the Times or some other newspaper, and read out to him long speeches without spectacles, with only a couple of candles for light. She was keenly opposed to Gladstone’s Bill for the Disestablishment of the Irish Church,33 and would talk about it, standing the while, with all the fire and energy of a young girl.

She was saddened by the deaths of her old friends, Lady Jersey in 1867 and Lady Tankerville in 1865, intimates of more than fifty years’ standing, for Lady Palmerston was loyal in her friendships.

She was only ill for a fortnight before her death, which occurred at Brocket on 11th September 1869. She was buried in Westminster Abbey by the side of her husband.

Lady Palmerston affords an example of the influence wielded by a woman of intelligence, beauty, and charm through the first half of the nineteenth century. She had “l’habitude et l’intelligence des grandes affaires” that were openly discussed before her. She was past-mistress in the art of conversation, and thoroughly understood that a good talker must both originate and sympathise, must impart information and elicit it from others. Her tact was perfect. While she had a passionate feeling for her own party, she could be gracious to those opposed to it. Her salon was for a long series of years the pleasantest and most brilliant in London. She had many friends and few enemies. Her influence on society was direct, that on politics indirect, because it worked through her husband. When a woman is already in so high a position that no one can think she is seeking her own advancement, when she is eminently high-minded and warm-hearted, when she is never petty or false or ungenerous or uncharitable, then such an influence as she may exercise either directly or indirectly can only make for good. There is no doubt that Lady Palmerston, by her personal amiability, her vivacity of mind, charm of manner, and experience of the world, helped to strengthen the position of her husband.