CLIVEDEN, March 16th, 1873. 3rd Sunday in Lent.
—The decrepit old Prime Minister walked us off to Burnham Church (3 miles) at a killing pace, and likewise sallied forth again with wife and daughter (who drove before) in drenching rain to another church a mile off in the afternoon. Georgey Grenfell came to dinner with Lena, who sang delightfully. After dinner came despatches from Windsor, including a long letter from Dizzy to H.M. definitely backing out. As the D. of Argyll and Uncle W. put their noses together on the sofa over the box, the faithful Willy and Fred hovering near, I thought it was a fine thing to assist at a Cabinet Council. No one can regret his being obliged to take up office again, but it has its keen disappointment to him, loving the prospect of a holyday as he had been doing, and having ticklish business to carry through in a rather dislocated House.
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