Mild and cloudy. I wrote letters very industriously for the steamer of tomorrow and did not get through until quite late. Some time spent in reading a quantity of American Newspapers which did not give me much more satisfaction than usual. There is such a constant effort to make a sensation that shall sell off the paper, one is constantly dissatisfied on ascertaining the broad difference between promise and performance. Several persons to visit me but I declined almost every body on the score of preoccupation. Called at Mr Kuntse’s to give him his final sitting, but it had become so dark that he proposed to put it off until ten o’clock tomorrow. I then took a long walk to Bayswater. In the evening I read a late Diary which Mr Senior left with me. He had returned to London quite sick, and with most of his visits unaccomplished. This Diary is only a bout a visit to Tocqueville, where M and Mrs de Beaumont and M Ampère were assembled. The burden of the song was Napoleon, and his desperate policy. France is certainly in a very odd state. All the higher class detest and fear him. They look forward to the restoration of the Orleans family whilst the popular voice is clearly for the ruler. In the mean while, he is wielding a colossal military organization for purposes only known to himself. The conjecture is that it is to fall upon Great Britain. Yet how does Great Britain prepare for it? By a course of conciliation to other powers? not a whit. Let her policy to the United States stand as an example.