asked indignantly, “What do Sir John Burgoyne and his family and your Ladyship and others—­talking of old friendship—­say to the share which each of you have had in this transaction, which, in my opinion, is disgraceful to the times in which we live?” What Sir John Burgoyne and his family might very reasonably have said in answer to this formidable interrogatory is that, although no one can defend the conduct of Delilah, it was certainly most unwise of Samson to trust her with his secret.  It is consolatory to know that, under the influence of Sir John Shelley’s tact and good-humour, a treaty of peace was eventually concluded.  Sir John happened to meet the Duke at a party.  “‘Good-evening, Duke,’ said Sir John, in his most winning manner.  ’Do you know, it has been said, by some one who must have been present, that the cackling of geese once saved Rome.  I have been thinking that perhaps the cackling of my old Goose may yet save England!’ This wholly unexpected sally proved too much for the Duke, who burst out into a hearty laugh.  ‘By G——­d, Shelley!’ said he, ’you are right:  give me your honest hand.’” The Duke then returned to Apsley House and “penned a playful letter to Lady Shelley.”

It is not to be expected that much of real historical interest can be extracted from a Diary of this sort.  It may, however, be noted that when the Bellerophon reached the English coast “it was only by coercion that the Ministers prevented George IV. from receiving Bonaparte.  The King wanted to hold him as a captive.”  Moreover, Brougham, who was in a position to know, said, “There can be little doubt that if Bonaparte had got to London, the Whig Opposition were ready to use him as their trump card to overturn the Government.”

The main interest in the book, however, lies in the light which it throws on the Duke’s inner life and in the characteristic obiter dicta which he occasionally let fall.  Of these, none is more characteristic than the remark he made on meeting his former love, Miss Catherine Pakenham, after an absence of eight years in India.  He wrote to her, making a proposal of marriage, but Miss Pakenham told him “that before any engagement was made he must see her again; as she had grown old, had lost all her good looks, and was a very different person to the girl he had loved in former years.”  The story, which has been frequently repeated, that Miss Pakenham was marked with the smallpox, is untrue,[85] but, without doubt, during the Duke’s absence, she had a good deal changed.  The Duke himself certainly thought so, for, on first meeting her again, he whispered to his brother, “She has grown d——­d ugly, by Jove!” Nevertheless he married her, being moved to do so, not apparently from any very deep feelings of affection, but because his leading passion was a profound regard for truth and loyalty which led him to admire and appreciate the straightforwardness of Miss Pakenham’s conduct.  Lady Shelley exultingly exclaims, “Well might she be proud and happy, and glory in such a husband.”  That the Duchess was proud of her husband is certain.  Whether she was altogether happy is more doubtful.