After making up the arrears of the week I fixed upon this leisure day to execute a duty perhaps too long deferred, that of paying a visit of respect to the old Queen and the other members of the royal exiled family at Claremont. My son Henry accompanied me. We went to the Station of the South Western Railway, and thence to Esher. Here we tried a vehicle and drove to Claremont, which looked pleasant in the summer’s day, and in profound repose somewhat contrasted with the bustling of a few weeks since. I left my name with all the family, seeing only the Prince de Joinville, who talked with as much interest of our affairs as ever. Then back to Esher where we waited for a train forty five minutes over due. This brought us back to London so late, that on my way home I though I could do no better with my remnant of the day than to stop in and make my annual review of the pictures in the National Gallery. There are a few new ones of the early schools. But the old ones I see with increased delight. I wonder that I do not visit them more. What a contrast with the feeble mannerism of the neighboring royal academy. I speak however only of the master pieces. There is much trash here as in every gallery. In the evening, all to a reception at Lady Palmerston’s. Most of the talk about the narrow escape of the Ministry on a division in the commons last night. They can trust only in their luck to get through. The America news parading a great defeat of General Grant made less sensation. As usual this magnified the truth, which only amounted to a failure of an assault on Lee’s lines. I asked Count Wachtmeister how they went on at the conference today. His answer was “very bad.” How I was to construe this remained the question. The impression grows stronger that nothing will be done, and Great Britain will drift into war. It may be so, but I still doubt.51