Another day passed in the midst of the bustle and excitement. I had barely time enough to finish my private letters, in the interval between letters and visitors. Mr Schleiden, Old Baron Brunnow, and the Duke de Chartres all came up to express their sympathy. The sentiment is universal, and several additional members of Parliament came to sign the brief address which Mr Potter took the opportunity on Wednesday to get up in the day Session. My poor fried Fitch also came in to beg for a little more comfort. Baron Brunnow made one remark which is worth recording. He said he had noticed on this occasion an English characteristic not altogether new, but now rather unusually developed. Whilst the general outburst of sentiment was singularly calculated to bring on a reconciliation in feeling between the two nations over the body of the deceased President, on the other hand it seemed as if they had caught at the opportunity of the accession of the new one, whose power it was now most important to conciliate, to load him with all sorts of abuse at the outset. It is certainly true that as it respects foreign nations, the English have the knack always to put themselves in an offensive attitude. It is however more obtuseness than malignity which prompts this. There is much real kindness and good will in the midst of it all. After hours, I walked with Mr Alward to Primrose Hill. The verdure and foliage are fine, but the season is dry. Dinner and evening alone. Read Lord Russell’s book.