The Sun. — London, England, 1852-09-15 00:00:00

THE SUN, DEATH London, and absolutely struc k it clarnb. Its effect; 2, was like that of the opening g uns cf Waterloo, at ; 'Brussels, for there were OF THE G at h er i ng tears and t , remblings of distress, btI ICE OF WELLINGTON aand lips all pale — every household to which the heavy tidings arrived .. . :iTo-day the journals will he perus ed b y man y a sor s ixth Edition of The Sun, last evening, ::irowitig and an awe-struck man. When . the ashes . of eXClllAiVely, the announcement of the cleat:. the mighty dead shall have found their last resting hl5 Grace the Duke of Wellington, which .melan-'„ place, then it will he our . time . and our duty, as jour. %oly ev ent took place at his marine residence,; nalists, sadly, but impartially, to trace the life,' i h r ner Castle, yesterday afternoon. the ' character, and the exploits, both in the th e Previous state of the Noble Duke's health up' field and „ in the senate, of the great Duke of Wel key' ''''' r ning of the day of his death had not been lington. Itti as to give any warning of so serious a result,. klly 4°4e of his immediate circle entertained; ° PPro aPPehensi°ll of the painful event that was fast ttall R Yesterday morning his Grace rose,l te ade aPPearance, in his usual good health, and fact to complaint o f any i n di s position. In thel ta 1 .:,. °4 he walked out to take his customary! oh o 5e in the groun d s attache d to th e Castle, buti tlttle 'Y aft er his return home he was seized w i t h a; that Violent epil ept i c fi t. I t was th oug ht, however, 1 4 th 'e att ac k arose from some temporary di sor d er e at°lala ch, which the system would soon throw th,: r a ttd his Grace's medical attendants, Dr. Macar-i hea n iii Walmer, and Mr. Hulke, surgeon, of Deal, they ! be en immedi a t e l y sen t f o r, on their arrival ta a4 ej eti cribed a n emet i c. Thi s , h oweve r, was ad tfta s ere cl without pr o d uc i ng the desired effect, and 'fia,,i l i ffer ing from a rap id succ ession of convulsion , Pia c i " a r violence, to the first, the Noble Du ke ex tqat q u arter past three o'clock in the aftern oon. IN; ' ' re his death his Grace appeared to be insen l. , a s ) an d Was unable to articulate. About nine % t a g° his Grace experienced an attack of the C 'tlte tci atilr el but his system was then better able to r , Ltd succes sfully against the malady. Ta mil ' h arks, and Lady Charles Wellesley and qter the re no w on a visit at Walmer Castle. Shortly '6e N oble Duke had breathed his last, a tnes 'l)o,l4,, dispatched to the Marquis and Marchioness • oEh t .° ; w ho are now staying at Frankfort for the °;;, th e waters, to apprise them of the decease "instrio us ..aleatately atia, parent. The painful tidings were • transmitted by telegraphic dispatch h il l l i es tY and to the Earl of Derby at Balmoral plloWing are additional particulars of the I. '4 tr a ° t \ ,.: e hington's death, which will be found tc ' 4 lea ted ° reports already circulated concerning th, °ccurrence • for ~..atIOTIS whatever had prepared the public . • 4 t4 /1 , sudden an event, and the melancholy oc a' b ° w e e p wa t entirely unexpected by those persons I ' l q r ."' nnanediately attached to the Duke's person. a lt kla,, ce took his customary walk in the grounds the-`4 tmorning. 8 the Castle early yesterday Yt aptora, D: N o b ! -` had appeared up to that time, and • rt,: e ora e D uke even inspected the stables, and e ll that arrangements should be mad, r ece ve ra ey to Dover, where he intended Nei 4 Lady W es t more l an d, who was ex 1 % 4,„ "" arrive th ere i n the afternoon. On l'klietj' ' es return to the Castle, however, he was ~alm e 9elZe d with an epileptic fit. Dr. M'Arthur,algeo. and Messrs. William and John Hulk, of TN 4, 1 t tars Deal, were immediately sent for, and on 1 1 ,, '51 Y -14.111 an emetic was prescribed, but nnfortu ' e ve ` any favourable result. Even then, ► ki t r, it wa e tt, ato s not anticipated that danger was lin -111(1 ‘ 4 h opes were entertained that the attack 114 BPeedil Y pass away. Unhappily these favour 'tletk''Pectations were y d ' oomed to disappointment ; I,., l Pire c i ra f Pidl Y succeeded attack, and his Grace finally u L t bt r°°7l exhaustion at a quarter-past 3 P .9 t t a 4h ent of his death the Duke appeared to pre la-ii;aci°Usness though unable . to speak. • iNta , gratifying to the public to learn that his 7° 1 , b4 lit:; a st , moments - were calm, and that he passed O res " l thout suffering or pain. L.i .q4 qp a " were immediately dispatched to Lord fa" , So merset his his Grace's Military Secretar y , • Varkinson, his Grace's solicitor, is pending Ik lcl wo riv al no steps can be taken. It not yet therefore, when the funeral will take place. ;: 411 :1 - : 4 , Perso ns, in addition to the medical gentle -14-,,ead 1 , attendance who witnessed the Duke's death, 4 4 1 . ' butler, and Mr. Kendall, valet to tk e. 4 , teh es were also forwarded to her Majesty FLordDerby; and to the Mar a 4 tt , , and to Nta tt 4 Tarchioness of Douro, who are staying at 4 0 tC•qt ha shop in Deal and Walmer were im p °t ahli , upon the announce ment of this de- . tat ; 1 4 %4, and a perfect stupor appeared to seize q ZS 4c) , i nhabitants, who did not seem able to important an occurrence. tr4a r,iel,aufortunate andimmediate kai l tit ,also prevails in the i house tad 'utter Castle. Lord Charles Wellesley a visit to %(` Well. and family onweree his Lordship 11 4 "ra a, Wellesley, tta l ) aaa a`'' On the preceding day. . a ire r, 1 , 1 - 0 quantly conversed, with his illustrious t "usual indications appeared then, and 4 tl la ad P h thewhat moment of the attack nothing of a PP e ned to cause any alarm or feeling ess . he , u • noir, b t, sea rvatio e n ronide Chronicl e con t a ins the followi n g on the sudden remo val from itb a us of the great Captain of the age t• or s ~udden tiding s of the departure of the great 1 , 44 c 1 4+e,i4.01t Statesman,osPirinon which will to-day fall like and Europe,ite a tt ota to nature—so are of so overwhelming an re—so powerfully calculated, for th t ‘4t th e uori nnib the faculties and agitate t he soul ts °st wisest and the calmest, the m ost clear and t v eppt ec t s ober of i ntellects natura ll y demand m enn te, grasp f ully to we i g h, an d fully to the De9af e' l se heY e Proceed to study and to sea? s character, and the fame of the Illust riou s 4: 14 d; 4e ) it ma y be said, his end was to be expected. ''''lst• -11 his eight -fourth year. Iron as was lo kt44 eci ltilti . °n, it ha Y d to bear the weight of a tta life, passed . 'ha l in the extremest mental V,, s arn " e raost harrowing of anxieties —first tO ha to t ' 3 C h ext, and only in a small degree dimi t 4 l t l eal e : senate. Of late years, too, it was no 'tl 4 , that his frame, both physical and mental, t t o, Lis of submission to the inevitable and uni kith~~it T he unst ea d y ga it a nd the faltering th °ccasional t h oug h momentary, dim - VI of aa c i °s° f acultie s w hi c h overthrew the greatest I , , p t , h t %e \ ‘'llorai prostrate Europe ever gr oaned o r s told, from time to time, of the gradual t hose cold fingers which hav e closed at th closed i n St. H e l e na. eY txl, a b e , Yet the were, 'lla t ver 412 aaie—th e c h ange w hich has, asit Thal h e n or dinary every-day ideas —the b o eeri S truck at ou r councils, both of peace social significance —its vast ' l l 4 he `'e its deep emotional interest to every t titki~ t llio rt ~ Ca nnot but render us, for the moment, t an! ha ll we usually are to treat at once, , the~~lgleattDtr'°ns°m 9 d y, life . and the reputation who has just left us. While °f Wellington's ashes are yet hardly li N ti 'pt bee:, greatest life which was amongst us; ; . ' l4 ll nut barely offered up—it seems to us h bit ' ha t ? ' and ungenerously and 4 1 01, 4 arigiii to treatShia the career which has ith eo a hurried and impromptu literary . ' 'kla i w hich befits I tl an ordinary great man (1 no common event, and it has h 4° odi that() as b o , r n ary period. O u r l oss i s gr i evous , ti m a e l . len us in dark, unsettled, and stormy t; "Itla th At this moment we think more of the all of the life of the statesman-hero. We tea e , e thea„ 4, "'merlon of that vast military genius on °cb . 1)(4 Bible event of a European war, we Mai l 11 '0 ela n Such fond reliance. We think of 4 .4 t ' taa -g ° f that brain which, in civil matters ‘lia„'st h ig h well % 4 -41, h Pring of the shrewdest sense and th e t f t souled honesty ; and, in the immediate t ltt 1) he be t ., a,troih at , 11 , 1:e at; .. wel a i v in e g m t e o n o t , , , when the words " Death C are as yet strange, an t th e terrible in our ears, we naturally con), 3 he st ill alou raful tenor of our thoughts around 1 1 1 4,1_ 4.1 g catastrophe. i ll 141 o e eti sir I . Wellin g t on di ed as suddenly as thong t i , l it it ijah tn. uck dow n a t t h e head o f hi s con quer-I \N'it , er eo. e4 on the fi e ld of battle. Perhaps it'' thqll ll po He suffered no ill ness —h e languished] tt po il ,47. d arkening o f th e soul, Thank God,l 41 4 "a of I V not die as M ar lb oro! igh die d . Likel l ed, "-- audd la c i °s% great victories, ame the tidings' , at pia ea n 44e - -overwheltning- -but, alas, un 44 n quests were ne ver pu bli c sur prises L • 43 t ti ght the neN vs flew through' Arthur Wellesley, fourth son of the second Earl of I Mornington, who married the eldest daughter of the !first Viscount Dungannon, was born at Morningtoni House, Merrion-street, in the city of Dublin, on the; 29th of April, 1769. The year is memorable as„ having given birth to his great rival in the field 4 Napoleon Bonaparte, to his atter opponent and subse-A quent guest and friend, Marshal Soult, to George./ Canning, and to Cuvier. At an early age the futurda conqueror of the " child of destiny," the arbiter of 4 nations, and councillor of Sovereigns, came to Engi land. After a few years of domestic instruction 1)0 wss sent to Eton College, and from thence proceeded,4 being intended for the military profession, to Angiersii (Maine -et-Loire), and entered at the Military College 2 there as a pupil of Pignerol , to w hom French engi neers have applied the epithet of " the modern Vaubon." At this period Napoleon was pursuing similar studies at the Schoo l of Brienne. At 4 the age of eighteen the name of " Arthur Wesley " was gazetted as ensign in the 73d Regiment, and in December following promoted tk ro a Lieutenancy in the 76th Foot. In January, iA 1778, he exchanged into the 41st, and in June of theß same year was appointed to the 12th Light Dragoons. He received his company and commission in June 11 1791, and in October of the follow in g y ear was a p -'1 pointed to a troop in the 18th Hussars. In 1790 the .1 family influence of the Morningtons sen t him into the' Commons' House at the general election, where he represented the borough of Trim. The Gazette of April 30, 1793, contains his name as Major of the 33d Foot, and five months afterwards he became Lieu- , tenant-Colonel of that regiment. In 1794 the 33d,._, under orders for Lord Moira's e x p edition to the coast, of France, was embarked , whe n counter-orders sent the troops to reinforce the Duke of York, then makings, nis blundering coup d'essai in the Netherlands. The , future Field-Marshal here saw he deadly shock of nettle ; the fate of the war was ecided, and s tenant-Colonel Wellesley, in command of three bat- ,f rations, covered the retreat. On the 6th of July, "4 - 1794, at Alost, he repulsed the advanced guard of the;;. French, and on the 10th, at Mechlin, he checked'' heir forward movement with much loss. In March, - f: 1795, the regiment embarked at Bremen for England, l and in July, four months later, Colonel Wellesley :tad reorganised his regiment, and reported it fit for '.• iervice. In October, 1795, he embarked at South- ampton for the West Indies, but the transport was.' shattered by stormy weather, and driven back tot: oort. In April, 1796, the 83d sailed for India, and Wellesley, gazetted as its colonel, on the 3d of May • joined his regiment at the Cape. In 1797 his" brother, the Earl of Mornington, now known to his-' . tory as the Marquis Wellesley, was appointed to the Governor -Generalship of India, whilst French in-' I,rigue, French aid , F rench officers, p ervaded and agi- D'rated the court and camp of the Sultan of the Mysore, the renowned Tippoo Saib. That portion of his life. is but so much of the history of the nations which ' formed for the time the theatre of his exploits. Mal- I s iavelly and Seringapatam were followed by Conag-', ball, and by the Mahratta wars in 1803, where at A.ssaye he crushed the fierce and hitherto in- . sincible cavalry of central India. Honours: were now showered on the victorious General -. Wellesley. The inhabitants of Calcutta presented him with a sword of the value of 1,000 guineas, .„ A gold vase and services of plate, and in 1805 the , '• tanks of the King and Parli am e nt w ere voted for his services in the Deccan ; the same year be re turned to England, and on the 10th of April, 1806,:_ . ' married Catherine, the third daughter of the second Earl of Longford. In the same year he commanded s' A brigade in Lord Cathcart's Hanoverian expedition ; but the battle of Austerlitz had crushed all hope of a junction with the Austrian and Russian armies, and ; A ug ereau was hastening with 40 , 000 men t o meet ns. - Cathcart called a council of war, whereat the young I llndian general was almost the ju nior officer. H ,e, in 1 -he face of all the older officers, delivered his opinion, hat beating the enemy was practicable, at a minimum';; of risk, with the sea open. His rashness was cen sured, -. and his advice rejected. Soon afterwards he vas returned for Newport. In 1807 his administra-,s ive career opened by his appointment to the Chief secretaryship for Ireland. [n the same year,t in the expedition against Copenhagen, under Lord 1 , Cathcart, he was second in command. The result Z ?was, after an attack planned in the most strategics?`manner, the complete overthrow of the Danes and 4 - surrender of their fleet, of 16 sail of the line, 9 fri- . gates, 14 sloops, and numerous smaller vessels, with ss 90 transports filled with naval stores. In 1808 Sir Arthur Wellesley again received the shanks of Parliament, and on this occasion made a - nrief and manly reply. After a few months of ad ministrative activity in Ireland, the Government: : : sonsidering the determined, though ill-conducted re- :- ,istance of the Spaniards to the Fr en ch invasion de served assistance, dispatched Sir Arthur to Corunna with an auxiliary force. The conceited and silly Junta ; ,_a• i n t ox icated by the news of Dupont's surrender Aug, B ay l en , fancied themselves able to cope with Bon at 'r J arte, and rejected his co-operation. He departed : a- '' for the Tagus, and landed at Mondego Bay on 3, where he was joine d b y General S pencer. l e.,. marched with 20,000 men rapidly along the coast,:- .. ' without waiting for his superior officer, Sir John Moore, fought a fierce battle with General Laborde at .. Roleia, and was hastening to confront Junot, whose r t mission was declared to be, "to drive these Engli s h 0 into the sea," when he was superseded in the coin-:'t mend by Sir Harry Burrard, an old, cautious, do- .s nothing disciplinarian of a bygone school, then on - 4 1 nig way out from England. Sir Harry arrived in time to see the victory of Vimiera, and prevented t its being followed by the occupation of Lisbon. The i . disgust of Wellington at the contemptible convention ' of Cintra, to which, from respect to the etiquette of 4 seniority he reluctantly assented, followed. Again, he applied himself to his duties as Irish Secretary,M an d won respect from his ri g id punctuality, untiringN assiduity, and business habits. y- Sir is ohn Moore's disastrous campaign intervened:s Portugal fell, and in 1809, Sir Arthur Wellesley, ,s resigning his Irish secretaryship, and making a sti pulation against the then ridiculous jobbery of fre-,' quent supercessions, took the command of the army 'F of liberation, which landed at Lisbon on the 22d of• April, 1809. And now began that brilliant series of T. military exploits which have rendered the name of'. Wellington imperishable. Soult retreated after he had captured Oporto and Galicia, with 25,000 men, without cannon, baggage, or stores. Marshal Victor, j with King Joseph and Jourdan, joined Sault in June, with a reorganised army of vastly superior numbers. With 17,000 men Talavery was won, after a terrific strugg le. A peerage, by the style of Baron Douro and Viscount Wellington was con• cerred on him. The defence of Lisbon by the lines of Torres Vedras are " familiar in men's mouths as household words ;" admitted by all mili tary authorities as the most surprising effort of sci ence which the art of war, ancient or modern, has produced. Massena, with 85,000 men, advanced to. drive the British to their ships; alas for " the spoilt child of Victory," his fortune had deserted him. i. Against that impregnable rampart his skill availed , ! nought, ahe retreted after several months, pur- , sued by the h er tier Wellington across the frontier of Spain. Fuentes d'Onor, Albuera, were fought. - Massena was recalled, and Marshal Marmont, with . 70,000 men, came up with Wellington and 14,000 troops, who effected " a masterly retreat," says the French historian of the Peninsular war—Foy. The marvellous campaign of 1812—wherein a penniless, shoeless, often dinnerless army of brave men fought, while the profligate Administrations of Percival and Co. were raising enormous subsidies, and consuming the substance of unborn generations on wretched foreign mercenaries—followed. Not withstanding this damning record, perpetuated on the indignant, terse, and always lucid communications' of Wellington, Soult and Marmont were baffled, deceived, or conquered at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Salamanca. Again and again public thanks were awarded him, and this year a more solid testk monial of 100,0001. for an estate,-,and 2,0001. per an num, followed. In 1813, came the victories of Vit toria, San Sebastian, and the passage of Nivelle ; in 1814, Orthez, and Toulouse. 400.0001. from Par I hament, in addition to former grants, and the ap-i pointment of ambassador to the Court of France,l proved the high estimation taken by the nation of their distinguished commander. Napoleon's escape from Elba, and the 100 days) once more called for the sworl of Wellington, andl for the last time the Corsican Mars looked over ti, ;field desti ne d a t sunse t to see the la st eclipse of his 'glory, and in July Paris capitulate d to Wellington ;and Blucher. In 1815 the E ng li s h fi e ld-marshal was appointed to command the army of observation, and on the final evacuation of Fr ance i n N ovem b e r, 1818, the Duke i lof Wellington returned to England- Th e rest of the, illustrious Duke's c areer b e l ongs to civil history. He assisted at the Congress o f Vienna and of that of Aix-' , / la-Chapelle, and entered L or d Liverpool's Cabinet as 1 Master-General of the Ordnanin Ordnance. In 1826, to St. Petersburgh on a special embassy ; and 1827 was busily engaged in Parli,amentary affairs. He was also appointed with Sir Robert Peel one of, the Commissioners for India. On the death of the, Duke of York in &wry, the ihke wits PppOilltedi EVENING, this successor in the Commandership-in-Chicc en e % never pas: e e d hi s lips, even in his addresses to his soll iColonel of the Ist Grenadier Guards. In March heiidiers. His entire n d ature and character were moulded' of the Towee' °cut° g was appointed Constable of the Tower, with a; salary of 1,0001. per annum, and Custos,, Hamlets, with a yet larger salary. On the 10th 01, ,,,, ' .April Lord Liverpool died, and the King having named Canning as his successor, the Duke and sin„ In war, other old members of the Cabinet retired, his Graced 1 t o h n c reality. surface w H h e i lived y eten t t.o g-sleees things e n ;'''i.ca: they and cool gm pierced at env throug.) the sympathy of the feelings. Truth 'inetion or kindles . a - s ho loved her, i, i ,, to be reached by a rougher neth and b sterner minde 1 in politics, and in the c , namon y transactions o' were. His . life, the Duke of Wellington adhered inflexibly to thi "resigning the command of the army on the 30th. most precise correctness in word an d d ee d . Hi s te mpera Lord Godericb, introducing Mr. -Canning's Cortirment abhorred disguises and despised exaggerations. Th_ • Bill into the Upper House, it was firmly opposed by 4 fearlessness of his actions was never the result of specula-, }the Duke, whose amendment was carried by a ma-, k tive . confidence or actions presumption, but it 13y • jority of eleven. Canning died on the Bch of' 1 August, and Lord Goderich, with Huskisson US h Colonial Secretary, succeeded him ; the Dulee4 l- ' n naainlyin t a j . us . t perception . of the true relation in which _e . stood t o h t is antagoni f st h s . m . the field or in the Senate. theegrea es, exploitso is life, such us the passage of Douro, followed by the march on Madrid, the batty ''becoming Commander-in-Chief, but with-4 f sonce more l o Waterloo, and the passing the Catholic Relief Bill, Goderich soon gout a seat in the Cabinet. Lord • ~. , were performed under no circumstances that could in ei Nresigned, and the Duke was called on to form . et ‘ • spire enthusiasm. Nothing hut the coolness of the playerr i Cabinet. He resigned his command to Lord Hale . could have won the mighty stakes upon a call appal I,Mr. Huskisson was dismissed abruptly, and Irently so adverse to his sucee es . (M eer comman dersp friends, Lord Dudley, Mr. Charle s G rant, and Lord i , have attained the highest pitch of glory when thoy dis - 1 Palmerston seceded also. His l at e Ma j est y , Williamc c i t insed of the colossal resourc es o f empires, and headed I. ,IV., too, taking offence at a remonstrance, mathi l armies already flushed with the conquest of the world.i iby the Duke of Wellington upon the expensiveness . The Duke of Wellington . found no such encourageine iof his habits, also resigned his (Alice of Lord high-.nit any part of l hi d s , career. At no time were the meant, Admiral. His Grace's mode of life as Pritne`ia meat his disposal his designs. to steady eready and certain ex( cu Minister was such as might have been expected froinej 1 . . progress in the Penin• tesn ar campaigns went . on against the current of fortune. [his previous career. He slept on a mattress spreads, that current was itself turned b regularly at seven 4 , • y perseverance and on an iron camp bedstead ; rose 7 lr e eoletion, Ue had a clear and complete perception of ibreakfasted at eight, and immediately commenced!, the dangers he encountered, but he saw and grasped the ;his official duties. He was the terror of the idlers eAlatent p ower w hi c h baffled those dangers, and surmounted !at Downing-street. On one occasion, when the Aresistances apparently invincible. • rhat is precisely the 'Treasury clerks told him that some mode of making ,et highest degree of courage, for it is courage conscious, /up the accounts was impracticable, they were', enlightened, and determined. Inlet with the curt reply, " Never mind, if you can't& 1 Clearness re ud 0 of na discernment, ei n do it I'll send you half-a-dozen pay sergeants that: d p an el elementsett in the to Duke's without will"—a hint that they did not fail to take. His war, br illiant inh achievements it ( and of his vast authority Ipolicy has always been to cling to the old institu ;country, as well as in the conferences tofeEcounneils of hip tions and systems so long as they could safely be he: to to his determination an originality and viEurope. They', akiil maintained, and then to accept the new. Thus he 4 to that of genius, and sometimes imparted to his lan-'• lopposed Catholic Emancipation, which he lived to guage in debate a pith and significance at which more ' 1 carry. This latter feat reduced the num ber of his brilliant orators failed to arrive. Hismind, equally care- . supporters, and he was unable to resist the agitation less of obstacles and of effect, travelled by the shortest 'for a measure of Reform, of which be could never, road to its end; and he retained, even in his latest years, all the precision with which . he was wont to handle the approve. On the 15th November Ministers were de. ?.- • subjects that came before him, or had at any time n.- feated on Sir Henry Parnell's amendment,. appointing e , e• grossed his attention. This was the secret a Select Committee to inquire into the Civil List, and . that u d n- taught manliness and simplicity of style tha n : on the following evening the Duke announced in the the vast collection of his dispatches, written p a e a r v they:,a e s i .. House of Peers that he had resigned office. The were amidst the varied cares and emotions of war; an, passing of the Reform Bill may be said to have of that lucid and appropriate mode of exposition hich, formed the termination of his active political life, al-'' never failed to leave a clear impression on the minds of though his name i s more or less h ear d i n eve ry politi- those whom he addressed. Other men have enjoyed, cal crisis. During the late Sir Robert Peel's life he; even in this age, more vivid faculties of invention and• always acted with him, and stood by him on both his. contrivance, a more extended range of foresight, a d , two corn-law policies. His acceptance and retention ; more subtle comprehension of the changing laws of of the command-in-chief under Lord John Russell ,* society and the world. But the value of these finer perceptions, and of the founded shows, however, that his first thought was of his . policy upon them, Sovereign. On the 10th of April, 1848, when the - has never been mere assured than when it was • tried and ' 4 ' admitted by the wisdom and patriotism of Chartists were to overturn the empire, the defences k . able mind. His superiority over other me that vener of London were entrusted to the Duke. The special rather in the perfection of those qualities whicehensisted constables' baton, however, were amply sufficient. seminently possessed than in the variety o he pre- extent of his A distinguished member of the Government suggest- other faculties. ing several points of military ar rangement, ” received if These powers, which were unerring wh en applied to in each instance the reply, " Done already, " Done definite and certain facts, sometimes failed in the '•.- appre three hours ago." elation of causes which had not hitherto come under After the battle of Chillianwallab, in which Lord their observation. It is, perhaps, less to be wondered atk Gough was accused of indiscretion and superseded, that the soldier and the statesman of mu; ----, born andi the Duke was asked to furnish three names from; m bre s d ea in rie th d e highest school of Tory politics, sh ou l d have which Lord Gough's successor might be selected. He ~ 1 which folloiwedh is th o e pin a i c o c n ess iii o f n t h o o f s e William times wrote—" Sir Charles Napier, Sir Charles Napier, Sir than that the defeated opponent of IV., Charles Napier." Sir Charles declined the post.:- in 1831 should have risen into th r e eforni in " Then," said the Duke laconically, " I must go nay - t e l senator of 1346 and 1851. Yet the Administrationpatriot self." Space fails for innumerable illustrations of this;, of 1828, in which the Duke of Welling occupied the simple and noble idea of public duty superseding ally first first and most responsible place, passed the Catholiel: questions of difficulty or danger. In proclamations,' , Emancipation Act, and thereby gave the Signal of aE orders of the day, and dispatches , t he Duke formed alcoPture in the Tory party, never afterward s ent i rel y style equally unostentatious and void of displaye" healed, and struck the heaviest blow on a system which Englishmen admire simple words, and great, simple, the growing energies of the nation resented and correspondent deeds. The bombastic and melo- , and condemned. Resolute to oppose what h e conceived dramatic tone of our neighbours is not popular here, more tebe popular clity the l aenelaoimura, of n no a men e n ev a e tt r on r t e o cognised with and though Wellington wa s often o pp osed to the . development of its interests and its rights; nor were gradual w people, he never failed to command res p ect and not services to the cause of liberty and improvementt e h r e e le his unfrequently elicited the a dmiration of his p olitical great because they usually consisted in bending the will wl opponents. or disarming t h e p re judices of their fiercest opponents.,. The titles of the decease d are p erha p s the most . Attached by birth, by character, and by opinio n to the. numerous and varied ever bestow ed on an individual..l order and the cause of the British aristocracy, th e Duke . Duke of Wellington, and of Ciudad Rodrigo, and de ' of Wellington knew that the true power of that race of Vittoria, Prince of Waterloo, Marquis of Torres Ve- . nobles lies, in this age of the world, in their inviolable drag Conde de Vimiera, and Field-Marshal of Eng- attachment to constitutional principles, and their honest )recognition of popular rights. Although his land (date 1817) ; also a Field-Marshal in the Armies t 1 ion and his experience personal of Russia, Prussia, Portugal, and the Netherlands ; - resolution than an military qualified him other men be chamio f ' Captain-General of Spain, and Grandee of the First .. o resist ance to popular ce to the turbulen and sedition Class; Colonel-in-Chief of the R ifle Bri g ade ; Con- by his preparations in May, 1832, and ipaBnnApher April, 848 showed stable of the Tower and Dover Castle ; Lord-Lieu- yet wisdom and forbearance were ever the handmaidensl, ' tenant of Hampshire and of the Tower Hamlets ; , of his courage, and while most firmly determin e d to e- Chancellor of the University of Oxford ; Lord War- f en d, if necessary, the authority of the State, he was the den of the Cinque Ports ; Master of the Trinity ant to set an example of conciliatory sacrifice to the House ; President of the Military Academy ; Go- reasonable claims of th e nation. He was the Catulus of Ivernoe of King's College, &c., &c. ; Commander or our Senate, after having been our Cow in the field; ,Knight of 17 foreign orders, and D.C.L. His and, if the commonwealth of England had ever saluted 'Grace completed his 83d year, on the Ist of , one of her citizens with the Roman titl e o f P arens Patric, that touching honour would have been added to May last. the peerage and the baton of Arthur Wellesley b the His death may be said to have been sudd en. He o t e people. res ectful ratitnde and faith fh y ' died after a " succession of fits." It is known that respectful gratitude , Though singularly free from every trace of cant, his • for some years he had been subject to brain attacks, mind was no stranger to the sublime influence of reli and had undergone the inconvenience of using gious truth, and he was assiduous in the observances oil " counter irritants" to repel them. The cause of his.' the public ritual of the Church of England. At times, death was natural decay, but the immediate agency even in the extreme period of his age, some accident described in the word " fits" was doubtless an effu- . would betray the deep current of feeling which he never sion of water upon his brain. Gradual stupefaction >, ceased to entertain towards all that was chivalrous and would be the result, and also convulsions, but it . benevolent. His charities were unostentatious but ex is probable that his death was without pain. He', • tensive, and he bestowed his interest throughout life expired at half-past three in the afternoon. • upon an incredible number of persons and things which • ' ed his notice and solicited hi ' social The Duke is succeeded by his son Arthur, Marquis ,:. s aid. Every .' p l aty, every solemnit v of Douro, who was born in 1807. He is a colonel in , maeing, found him Ad e y , etory tak c e er h e . mony, every Hmeerhrayd the army, and married in 1839 a daughter of the "s a smile for the youngest child, las compliment in it for the Marquis of Tweeddale. $ prettiest face, an answer to the readiest tongue, and a lively interest in every incident of life, which it seemed , beyond the power of age to chill. When time bad some what relaxed the sterner mould of his manhood, its effects were chiefly indicated by an unabated taste for the amusements of fashionable society, incongruous at times with the dignity of extreme old age, and the recollec• tions of so virile a career. But it seemed a part of the Duke's character that everything that presen t e d itself was equally welcome, for he had become a part of every thing, and it was foreign to his nature to stand aloof from any occurrence to which his presence could con tribute. Ho seems never to have felt the flagging spirit or the reluctant step of indolence or ennui, or to have recoiled from anything that remained to be done; and this complete performance of every du, however small, as long as life remained, was the same quality which had carried him in triumph through his paigns, and raised him to be one of the chief M —inisteeatT-of England and an arbiter of the fate of Europe. It has been said that in the most active and illustrious lives there comes at last some inevitable hour of melancholy and of satiety. Upon the Duke of Wellington that hour left no impres sion, and probably it never shed its influence over him; for he never rested on his former achieve ments or his length of days, but marched onwards to the end, still heading the youthful generations which had sprung into life around him, and scarcely less intent m their pursuits than they are themselves. It wa s a finely balanced mind to have worn so bravely and so well. When men in after times shall look back to the annals of England for examples of energy and public virtue among those who have ra i sed this coun try to he l station on the earth, no name will rema i n more ccinsl3ir-1 cuous or more unsullied than th a t o f Art h ur W e llesley,' the great Duke of Wellington. The actions of his life' were extraordinary, but his character was equal to his actions. He was the very type and model of an Eng' lishman; and, though men are prone to invest the wor thies of former ages with a dignity and merit they com monly withhold from their contemporaries, we can select none from the long array of our captains and our nobles, who, taken for all in all, can claim a rivalry.with him who is gon e f rom amongst us,an inheritor o f imperish able fame, (From the Times.) If aught can lessen this day the grief of England upon the death of her greatest son, it is the recollection just th a t the life which has closed leaves no duty incom plete and no honour unbestowed, The Duke of Wel llington had exhausted nature and exhausted gl from ory. daw His caree r was one unclou ded lon g est day, filled n to nightfall with renowned actions, animated by unfail ing energy in the public service, guided by unswerving principles of conduct and of statesmanship. He rose by a rapid series of achievements which none had surpassed to a position which no other man in this nation ever en joyed. The place occupied by the Duke of Wellington in the councils of the country and in the life of England can no more be filled. There is none left in the army' or th e Senate to act and speak with like authority. There is none with whom the valour and the worth of this na tion were so incorporate. Yet, when we consider the fulness of his years and tho abundance of his incessant service s , wo may learn to sa y with the Roman orator, Satin diu v ixisse dicito," s i n ce, being mortal, nothing could be added either to our veneration or to his fame. 'Nature herself had seemed for a time to expand her inexorable limits, and the infirmities of age to lay a • lighter burden on that honoured head. Generations of men had passed away between the first exploits of his arms and the last counsels of his age, until, by a lot, unexampled in history, the man who had ' played the' most conspicuous part in the annals of more than half a century tecame the last survivor of his contemporaries, and carries with him to the grave all living memory of his own achievements. To what a century, to what a country, to what achievements was that life successfully dedicated! For its prodigious duration —for the multi plicity of contemporary changes and events, far out numbering the course of its days and years—for the in variable and unbroken stream of success which attended it from its commencement to its close, from the first flash of triumphant valour in Indian war to that senatorial wis 'dom on which the Sovereign and the nation hung for counsel to its latest hour—for the unbending firmness of character which bore alike all labour and all prospe rity—and for unalterable attachment to the same lob jects, the same principles, the same duties , undi sturbed by the passions of youth and unrelaxed by the honours and enjoyments of peace and of age—the life of the Duke of Wellington stands alone in history. In him, at least, posterity will trace a character superior to the highest and most abundant gifts of fortune. If the word " heroism" can be not unfairly applied to him, it is be• cause he remained greater than his own prosperity, and rose above the temptations by which other men of equal genius, but less self-government, have fallen below their destinies. His life has nothing to gain from their destinies. of panegyric, which would compare his military exploits or his civil statesmanship with the prowess of an Alexander or a Crow, or with the astonishing career of him who saw his empire overthrown by the British General at Waterloo. They were the offspring o f . passion and of genius, flung from the volcanic depths of revolutions and of civil war to sweep with meteoric splendour across the earth, and to collapse in darkness before half the work of life was done. Their', violence, their ambition, their romantic existence, their reverses, and their crimes will for ever fascinate the in terest of mankind, and constitute the secret of their fame, if not of their greatness. To such attractions the life and character of the Duke of Wellington present no ana logy. If he rose to scarce inferior renown, it was by none' • of the passions or th e arts which they indulged or cm . ployed. Unvanquished i n the field, his drawn for territorial conquest, but for the independence of Europe and the salvation of his country. Raised by the universal gratitude of Europe and of this nation to • the highest point of rank and power wore which those a subject of the British monarchy could attain, he digni ties and he used that influence within the strictest limits of a subject's duty. No law was ever twisted to his will, no right was .ever sacrificed by one hair's; breadth for his aggrandizement There lived not a man' either among his countrymen or his antagonists who could say that this great Duke bad wronged him; for his entire existence was devoted to the cause of legal' authority and regulated power. You seek in it in vain for, those strokes of audacious enterprise which in other' great captains, his rivals in fame, have sometimes won the prize of crowns or turned the fate of nations. But his whole career shines with the steady light of day. It has nothing to conceal, it has nothing to interpret ... by the flexible organs of history. _ Everything in it sis manly, compact, and clear; shaped to one rule of t, pnblic duty, animated by one passion —the love of Eng land, and the service of the Crown. 1 The Duke of Wellington lived, commanded, and go verned in unconscious indifference or disdainful aversion to those common incentives of human action which are derived from the powers of imagination and sentiment. He held them cheap, both in their weakness and In their strength. The force and weight of his character stooped to no such adventitious influences. He might have kindled more enthusiasm, especially in the early and doubtf ul da y s of his Peninsular career; but inname his e unceasful and tr ium p hant p ursuit of glory ibor One who Wellesley, fame is now the property of history. (From the Morning Chronicle.) 1 was yesterday foremost in the ran k 3 ks of living the who announcementof thepainlessex-, the common weaknesses and sorrows of humanity. IF _what the world calls the highest form of a soldier's • d eath be cut off in the very hour of victory , andi t w rium ph— Wellington, 'yet. has been denied to " our own last, e have been spared the sight of a great man sinking into: analyse exempt, throughout life, fronp childishness. Neither the splendid death of Nelson, nor I been settled de complete arnpl Marlborou g h , household and tfhaomhuaigishi familiar as the and E in some sense the greatest, of the triad of our later nglish heroes. If we have lost the brilliant, we have been spared _ the lington, painful spectacle. , . the character, of the Duke of IV: It were superfluous, and in some so r t impertinent, in t• this place and at this moment, to detail the career, or to one is l hZ t a ° ll . for T m h ed e a matter of household words —the other has long i a conception and moral judgment of the Duke of Wel-, every child pos., leases in the written records of his achievements as Ge-'.: neral and St a t esman. W e s hould und errate that clia-'1 carter were we t o attr ib ute his milita r y successes t o a fortunate we and influence in the outset of his ca-,',- veer; and we should equally less the lesson to be,.: learned fro m hi s d i scharge o f civic duties, if we co n . sidered hi s e l evat i on i n the State as formal an accidental or result of his military renown. Both as Com mender of her Armies and as First Minister of State, the Duke of Wellington has deserved well of his,' country; and we muc h mistake th e feelin g s of tha t country, if a unan i m i ty un paralleled , or nearl y so, in 'i social history, does not salute his tomb with words and 4 thoughts of blessing and gratitude. And this chieflyi because the k e y- note o f his character —one b y no me ans faultless, and, from the nature of the case, complex_ was that whi c h after all addresses itself to the highest estimate of humanity—wa s, in short , in all the substan tial relations o f p u bli c life, his unwavering recognition . of duty. Prejudice and obstina c y are, of course, the forms under which we may expect a straightforward and!, ,elf-reliantmind occasionally to exhibit itself to partial,! hservers. But th e D u ke of Wellington's reluctance to! .;hange with, or to acknowledge, the advancing spirit of, he times, must not be set down to a hard and sullen re-; liance upon himself. When a man has achieved un-1 exampled general, he successes—when, as a aever fought a battle but to win it—when,' . esem experience, he knew both the apparent weakness and the eventual victory of the arms,' he men, and the principles which were indentified with himself—We may attribute to a higher motive than un- LONDON, WEDNESDAY 1852. SEPTEMBER 15, reasoning bigotry th a t con fid ence i n hi s ow n system, and in his own vi ews , w hi c h h e was never b ac k wa rd in pro -I_airning. If a system, as a fact, produces the gloriet 1 -f a Peninsular war and of a Waterloo campaign, r. Wellington's individual confidence in it justifies itself. Nor can we be surprised —nay, we can deeply appreciate the loyal sentiment—if, after seeing the social, and ma • terial, and commercial energies of the State arise creel: (he depression censeq qa u m en e t upon , the cessation of the .' lee 'European war, the political traditions which pr".•iaallianil viewed, in thi. had raised himself and Sir R') • Bert Pee! to the Government, Stat T e h p e ol D i • ey susc , zntibl(li of little, if of any 1 improveme a nt. k of 'W leP Eington's celebrated declaration againstailrefo^rm, wh . i e cl is usually pointed out as his cardinal .f blunder in politics,!, may be understood and estimated, n i it cannot he alto-Z ,ther justified, by the consideration ternporis anti was also the illustriouso reasonably, that te t r h n e po i r aLd n a c tu ti rl And that fact was one which might so .i n tn ab i l i y e , it in him-1 '`self at least, inspire a confidence all but . k But, us we have said, the leading and P ' • of " the Duke's" mind was the snse of p c e l r u v ty li . ia ln id th a % common meaning of the word, the Duke was not a maoi , of prejudice. He might have a distinct and very impreg, ,nable personal sense of what was right and reasonable,. but::, k iti t o h n, atei: Jhe always accepted facts and a changed worked in deference to them. He might tEi o n s gain a bad one, and be might say so in language tic and intelligible to a fault; but ho always lidioms-;? madee bt . ~i best of the bargain, He was just as likely tol l'''''' served tinder Richard Cobden, had the demanded it, as he did serve with the worthless and service demanded digenous generals of Spain. He asked, and with no. little bitterness, the famous question, How was the Queen's Government to be carried on? and yet he knew`' it to be right, and honest, and loyal to help to carry it,.. on, and to keep in office the very men whose prin c ipl es .' had, as he considered, made all government an impossi•lei bility. And shallow talkers think this an evidence of in- l i consistency or they point to it as a proof of the Duke ot 4 ' Wellington's selfish desire to appropriate power. Till nobler, and we believe the truer , view — the reconciling t , and the mellowing estimate—is to believe that, in all; suc h cases, Arthur Wellesley saw but plain intelligiblek duty. If the University of Oxford deemed him likely to be a good and useful C h a ncellor, he acce p ted the office, ,' b ec ause it was, or because he thought it was , his duty.. So with his Premiers hi p —so with his various offices and' commands, subordinate or paramount. He would haye!A defended London ag ainst the Chartists, or have taken Emil Affghan command, or have mustered the Kentish Fen- c ibles, or have bored thro u g h the dr u d gery and foppery of the Trinity Board , or have p resided at an uncon g enial Oxford Encania—or, if nobody else had been ready, he i: wou ld have sailed in the C hannel fleet, or have become ai Poor-law Guardian —all on the same simple, if uninquir-N ing, principle of duty. He fought the Spanish cam- 4 paigns, not because he had confidence in Down ing-street or in his commis s ar i at , or in his recruits or allies, but because it was his definite i, personal work. Ile went to the Chapel Royal in thet rev m orning, because he knew it to be rig h t; a nd he was present at every levee—and was ever the earliest , and the foremost at every ceremonial and pageant, at 1 drawing-room, and at opera and wedding—because it was expected of him, and he thought it his duty not to disappoint legitimate expectation. In others, this ap- ' parent love of the monstrari digito would have easily de generated into the common-place passion for distinction; but in the Duke of Wellington it was sustained by s high ~ and elevating principle. The Duke was above vulgar vanity. One who recognises duty in minute particulars, , and who answers all calls, however trifling or onerous, on that true-hearted, self-devoting sense of duty, must , obviously make himself prominent, and fill the public ' eye. And never did he fill it too largely. Never were . those grey hairs unwelcome to any assemblage of Eng- ', I lishmen. Never was that stately presence, even when overcast by the shadow of toil and anxiety, seen in public, but it was cheered as that of our common friend. ' and councillor, and defender. Can those who witnessed it ever forget his ovation at the opening of the Great Exhibition? And it is no small praise to recollect that, to flattery as to misunderstanding, his iron character , was alike invulnerab le. 1 . Such solidity and s in g leness of aim in the Duke ofi. Wellington were eminently happy in securing popular appreciation. If the Duke did not win the lower and 4 • the common feeling of love, ho commanded the very rt highest universal respect and reverence. The character Ni we have attempted to analyze, so rigorous and large in 1 its own appreciation of personal calls for exertion and it work, was not likely to be other than imperious and ex _ act in demanding duty from others. A worker will ad mit no standard of excellence but work. He can sym pathise with but a single order of character—but that the most generous. A disciplinarian does not attract the; mere affections. The Duke was too inflexible, too severe,w too exacting, to be, in the vulg ar sense, popular. The conqueror of Napoleon could afford to move in a some- :: what solitary sphere. And, as years did their inevitable ~,'• work, and gnarled what was always angular in the Duke '' of Wellington's mental and mor al conformation, the ' , British public had the good sense and t he g ood fee l i ng' , ' to go below the surface, and to view that great inner heart of the true man beating and animated with patriot- ism, and, beneath the ice of character , to detect the fires ' of genuine and self-sacrificing principle. i A nation's tears will bedew the hearse of Wellington, -- even though not from the same causes which poured , i . them on that of Nelson. The Great Duke—the Iron Duke—was not the man to feel, nor to call out men , `,' 4 sensibility. But he will be appreciated. His fame is a growing one. The Hero of Waterloo had neither thee splendid weaknesses nor the warm emotional spirit of' the Hero of Trafalgar. But the Duke's is a higher, a • more complete, and a nobler character. If less amiable, it possesses the consistent, cohesive, solid elements ou which philosophy and history will delight to dwell. For , some years the Duke of Wellington's influence has sur- vived as a great tradition—he has lived as the witness of a , memorable, if imperfect, past, Now that he has actually*. been removed, we may, perhaps, have occasion too judge of the actual power and influence of his presence, when it is finally taken away. A sort 4 of tacit truce has perhaps been submitted to upon - some, and not unimportant, questions of policy and ad ministration, from a decorous deference to one whose name and worth could never be lightly, though they might possibly, on some occasions, have been justly i questioned. But are we wrong in forecasting a sterner strife of politics, and a more developed application of liberal views, now that the last and noblest representa tive of an older policy no longer controls even the highest sources of legislation by the resistless magic of , his mighty name? Yet, to repel evil, the sword and the name of Arthur will, we trust, ever prevail, in the Se- nate which he dignified with his wisdom, and in the' State which his military skill preserved in the very crisis'', of its fate, even when its great owner sleeps in Avalon.; Be this as it may, lot us conclude with words of good omen—in a sentiment which we are assured will be that of the whole British nation : Peace to the memory, and blessings on the name, of Arthur, Duke of Wel lington. (From the Morning Herald.) The foremost man of all our age" is gathered to hisl fathers. The D u k e o f W e lli ng t on , so l e f oun d er o f a (name and title which will never be forgotten while 'England itself shall remain, is now numbered with the dead. With his removal from amongst us we have this solace—no one could desire that he should occupy a space in such lines as those which tell us how " From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow ; And Swift expires a driveller and a show." All the service which one man, during a long public life, could render to his Sovereign and his country, the Duke of Wellington had rendered. Nothing remained but a peaceful death, which has now closed the most important life which any man of modern times has been permitted to spend. It was peculiarly an English life the life of an English soldier and statesman. A brief contrast with that of his mighty rival in arms will ex plain our meaning. The governing principle in the career of Napoleon Bonaparte was that of selfish ambition. The greater warrior, who at last subdued and bound him, owned a higher motive. Duty was the guiding star of his career. His ambition was to serve, net himself, but his country and his Sovereign. Naturally a grateful nation ac lknowledged his services; but there is not a trace of sor did self-seeking in the whole of the Duke of Wellington's history. This noble principle led him oven to self-sacrifice, and that of no ordinary kind. Called, in times of peace, to serve his Sovereign at the Council Board, he would, if left to the guidance of his own noble heart, have left as splendid and as unblemished a fame in civil as in military history. That ho did not ought rather to command our greater admiration. Twice controlled by the devices of the tempter, he surrendered his own unerring judgment end consented to give up his own convictions, because he thought that duty commanded the sacrifice. In 1828' and in 1846 the same evil influence twice prevailed. He knew that Romish emancipation ought not to have been granted, and that the corn-laws ought not to have been repealed. But the associate on whose aid he most relied each time contrived to place him in such a position as to make it appear that duty required him to surrender his own opinions. Thus, in 1846, the Duke explained to the House of Lords that his own ! opinion had been, " That it was desirable to avoid mak ing any alteration which was essential in the present corn-laws." And that he had preferred seeing Sir R. Peel resign, rather than make such a proposal. But then, when Lord John Russell failed to form a Govern ment, and Sir Robert Peel returned to office, he suc ceeded in making the Duke believe, " That the forma tion of a Government in which her Majesty would have confidence was of much greater importance than the opinions of any individual on the corn -laws." And so, as in 1828, his Grace preferred surrendering his own predilections, rather than allow any danger to exist that " the Queen's Government could not be carried on." Such characters as those of Wellington and Colling wood are thoroughly English. An avoidance of glitter and show, an indomitable perseverance, an unhesitating loyalty, and a constant reference of everything to thel dictates of duty. Long may these qualities bo well known among us. And that they may be so, let us not fail to do all due honour to the great names of such as Wellington. (From the Daily News.) The Duke of Wellington is dead! The conqueror of Napoleon the First is removed from the world, ju t as Th® Napoleon the Second is entering upon the 6 event is the closing one of the greatest cyicslceoeornyfe:events The that has yet been completed in modern b t (pall of the " Great Duke" covers a y the shadowy past, and the future may now develop itself undisturbed Ipresence of the great soldier who. influenced so largely the destinies of the generation just gone by. Robert It may be said of the Duke with more truth thant (even of his great political friend, the late Sir !Peel, that he has been fortunate in veliving j so lon ments g th on att 'the w or ld h a d t i me to merge any ad e udg some f eatures o f hi s political career in his life, neunanimons verdict upon the wonderfu l grandeur of s taken as a whole. As his uncompromising political op ponents on many occasions, we can now well afford to award him the full measure of praise for those qualities of his mind and spirit—and those features of his public conduct—which command las- Fj ;pee,. If by birth, education, conviction, he was a Tore. :he was at least honest, high-minded, and open to frsil argument in he discussion of his principles. Ho mode •11 Seined his opinions as Lo would have defended a foe tress, precisely as long as they were tenable—and tie 4 longer. He gave up the defence of his position in title - to make an honourable retreat; and while his friend, could not with justice complain, his enemies were coo : 'strained to respect him. ..,, The Dnke of Wellington's life affords one of the: - ' few specimens in history —a career thoroughly dew ,• loped;—a thread spun out to its full and natural lengti - . • Many great and original man have been cut off in thei. activity—thwarted by extraordinary obstacles—and so compelled, in divers ways, to leave imperfect images of themselves in their deeds and in their personal memoir'. ii W e llington leaves a full-l engt h portra i t o f hi mse lf il human history. He had his due and his entire influence,el ;in his generatioa, at every stage of his life. Hel ?sistered early in the course for which /calurf A peculiarly intended him; had, in due time, his task.-:' 7 ,i Aout upon him; achieved everything that lie untie , : 'a :stook, and was in the best sense a successful mat • ''': .1 : His reputation to the last, was the paramount reputa-1 '''. tion of his day. When he fought a battle, he generally ', won it, and always made a successful campaign; whet , el 4 he spoke in the House of Lorris, his words were re ceived and repeated throughout the country with a pe-, is culiar interest and authority such as attached to few! iother men. As " the Dike" he was in himself an in-1 : stitution; and to praise him on all duo occasions, west , one of the natural ways in which many men showed their patriotism. • It has been ver y com monly—perhaps too invidiously —dwelt on , t h at ho was pre-eminently a great soldier. For th e di st i nctness and uniqueness w i t h w hich his per sonality sonality stamped it se lf on a ll he said and did, shosq clearly enough his originality of character. When ' i he spoke or w ro t e as we ll a s when he actedi he stamp e d his image on the work as on a 0 medal. As General Conqueror Conservative —I , dealing he u o— or " Noble Lord " addressing the Peers, ner. whichi s . woreS that, the 1 eidveenaswolean, equally made a distinct, personal impression, sui ge• party, ho gave th em new force from approbation] People concluded that he ti a v d in them his more it; 'them than they had been able to withpo th li e ti m cg a l n id e e n s ! found something mor as i a !force of moral integrity about him w c h o i v e e h r. extend re d w itself to everythingihe did, and invested smaller things e well as great ones with veneration. The English people as w 4 - not so ready as other nations to worshipa soldier ar as a great military commander. But everything merely Wellington showed that the predominant feeling about military career was that of the duty which hvva in . his performed by the work in progress. The English etteing i mired and respected him for that element, more ad than for his commander's qualities. They felt that heeven, than was a great man among them, he had a man's- right to be so; and that it was because he was a great man, that he was a great soldier. He had—combined in himself—in a singular degree, the national qualities on which the English people pride themselves—clear practical honesty of intellect, patience 1 ,probity, fidelity of character. He had the qualities l ( which make Englishmen, not perhaps more personally :attractive at first sight, but which make them a histo rical people, and will keep their name alive in the latest annals of the world. He had the qualities which found colonies—establish commerce—which make great towns, and roads, and canals—which make men suffer hardships submit to labour, and which make them " pay." You could calculate him like a planet. The compare tltively trivial circumstance which we all felt to he so characteristic of him—we mean his formal punctuality in answering all manner of notes, and which people smiled at as the characteristic ways of some old and loved friend—was itself a significant symbol of his whole life. He always did what ought to be done, because it was his business. He destroyed an army or took a town with the same punctuality with Iwhich ho arrived at a dinner party, and marched into al , teritory as he would have done into the Horse Guards. What else was he there for?—you may fancy to be his' first question. It has been admitted that war was never conducted so purely, so decently, with so much regard to the considerations of the social rectitude of civilization, as under him. Who has done such work, and come away with hands so clean? What soldier could you ever be so safe in expecting to achieve the " came, saw, and conquered"—with the most perfect .certainty? The work to be done was with him the primary consideration, for the sake of duty and England; and he expected rigid subordination in others, to him, as he acted with rigid su b or di n ation to principles) . himself. He had less of the showy and graceful quell- , ties, which attach romantic interest to great names, than most famous men. But all work in the main is an earnest and grave thing; and fighting, the most earnest and grave species of work. His war bulletins do not read as if they had been written by a novelist; but one may be sure that they are true; and there is no baseness to record. He having done the work—others might let off the fireworks. He was thus, from his position, his successes, his wealth, and his character, essentially a moral force in this country; and we see accordingly, that after a long peace had removed great prospect of his being again employed in war, the national interest in him, far from abating, was ever on the increase. He had not the dubious fame, the clouded glory, of to many fine soldiers. In the days of Radetzkys and Haynaus, no shudder occurred at the mention of the name of Wel- lington! No priest shrank from associating it with prayer—no woman from mentioning it with honour. For we know that what he had to do had been done in ill sincerity, and in a cause which he had at heart fully as much as a man as a soldier. His terrible battles wert remembered as necessary, if awful, events—and the crop of fame he reaped from his battle-fields was as stainless as the waving grain that now grows on the plains of [Waterloo. _ _ He was a Conservative by instinct and habit, rathtr than theoretically or speculatively a Conservative poli tician. Theorising regarding mankind was not his forte. Ile was not a thinker proper, so much as a man of ac tion, and he acted in politics, from the instinct of ' holding fast by the good,"—(or what ho believed good) —but with regard to political changes, he disliked them rather instinctively as changes, than from insight into . their ultimate tendencies and significance. However, military life had early brought him into contact with fact, and hence when changes became inevitable, no man a more decisively conceded to them. His invaluable intel• i lectual sincerity mad e hi m s ee, what danc es could not • 'see, and knaves would not see, to have become part and parcel of the life of England. Hence, he knew when to concede—and conceded, when the time was right and the concession honourable. He bowed to Catholic'. Emancipation, and Reform, and Free Trade; and it would, indeed, be a pity, and something worse, to confound this great man, with such " Tories"—as the knot of shuSers and dullards, impostors and quacks, who are now allowed to play at governing the country. The comparison between the Duke and the great Sir Robert holds with remarkable force when we consider the nature of the political creed with which each entered upon public life, and the mental power which each pos sessed to correct and modify his creed. Each of these remarkable men had the faculty of reading the great book of the present, and marking accurately where new phases of moral and political life were on the point of appearing. Each recognised the fact that the world is not a dull mechanism to be explained by some few rigid formula, and to be kept eternally dependent upon the revolution of the same wheels. Each recognised a prin cipal of growth in the world, a necessity for develop ment. Each was prepared to adapt himself to the change, which the fulness of life in the world determined and brought forth. Sir Robert probably, and the Duke certainly, would have preferred the old Tory adjust ment. Both would very possibly have been content .at one time to wind up the old machine, and provide for its easy working, by a little oiling of the parts. Both, I. however, saw clearly when the old mechanism must give place to a new form of life. Neither of them was • mad enough to suppose that an oak planted in a porce lain vase would be less certain to develope itself if y • changed the porcelain for cast iron. It was the posses "- y ou sion by the two of this quality of mind in c extensive reforms recently carried out in this o y common which enabled them to be powerful agents in the n" . Nurtured in the aristocratical faith, both were enabled to country.' command the sympathies of the aristocracy —a sympathy whichcapabilities, the other b w y h i t c h h e the greatone f b o y r c h e i of s h his intellectual character, converted into a The oligarchy kicking ob. mt source ienraete Ipy o u t of andli e ignorantly practical opp os p e o d w er them,. .against the before the oppositio , n Duke explained to which they, in • resisted. their dull ' wall, as long as the crouched penitently ) When Sir Robert and the them the nature of that power ignorance of its magnitude, bad It is the completeness and steadiness of Wellington's. character which mar k s him as one o f the true gr eat characters of his age. His rival, Napoleon, v ' s ! P n e e- Ipetually losing his balance. Bonaparte allowed hsisuper lpieetfuialall per stition. During the , later years of his life L e „ulses, if h y i g m iv se in lf g a w nd ay his star to degenerate into was his plans—however w to ild th ly e laotseg f i r t o ß m its duct during the retreat from Moscow,n__a.. 1 He issued ,of a spoiled child than of a great a ge_ 6 r orders impossible toi i'overwhelmingewailedh i his fate emonoseteiPveridss—i°flled7His con ': a n tffiteheerisr with ill-s ucce bitters s, — r beetphreee: seel:lest: d ' th in: •if -n e e d forgot also, what greatest genius, in Wellington never forgo.tai that power u f p a o st n er w a h n ic d h f a i s t ter ac a ta s ;proportion becomesen a la s r t g h o e d ra , own immediate opera materials stretch away_ _ ---, -------- Um. It He accepted it, an d by . stifled the revolution —and Wellington's mission was Napoleon's accepted the mission and mission to carry out the revolution. miscalculation of his resources ruined himself. It was to oppose the revolution. Ho also performed it as far as the the age would permit him. When ho found that pirit of . e could achieve no more, he bowed to circumstances. No man ever knew so well the extreme capabilities of the forces which he had to manage. No man ever hau l Bed those forces with more consummate skill. The Duke of Wellington has passed away, and at a ime when regret for his loss will be mingled with some ' Anxiety. For though the Duke had passed that time of life when any very active military service could be ex..- pected from him, he was yet known •to Possess—almost in its original clearness and power—that strong C o mmon Isense—that sagacious prudence and ability for separating essentials from non-essentials which become invaluable 1 at times of danger, emergency, or confusion. C a l m, clear, self-reliant, and full of experience, his mind was of an Jrder that secured the confidence of those with whom he acted, and on each occasion when of late years this country has been told that danger surrounded her—the nation always turned with confidence towards " F. M. The Duke," as one whose judgment in any hour of paril was sure to be equal to the occasion, and whose ripe m ilit ar y genius would successfully direct those P younger and more active Englishmen ever ready to sus tail: the weight of any personal conflict. To secure this confidence his whole career had tended, and it was na- digital" 7,`ural that England should rest with thorough confidence upon tho soldier who had driven the best armies of France before him in th ,- . Peninsula, and had finally roverthrown Napoleon at Waterloo. I The knell that tolls for this great man's death I 1 tolls also the death o f a remarkable period of history. lie was one great spirit in this period, and he leaves us to a future in which we may want such men as he. He leaves us to the working out of princi ples which he once vainly sough to oppose, but which he had the wisdom afterwards to recognise. He leaves 'us to the development cf serious problems, the solutions of which have been preparing during his eventful life. We shall have our sulutions of these problems opposed by our adversaries. Would that they were all like him— grave, courteous, earnest, honest. I - His death will occasion a great ch asm i n that world Ito which public admiration is directed. With the ex ception of the Sovereign, no one has for years enjoyed so great a share of the national respect. It is impossible !not to be in some measure affected by the grief which will take so firm a hold on the minds of thousands. ilia brothers in arms will have lost the great lodestone which has enchained their admiration for years, His apolitical friends and enemies will each mourn the de parture of one who has commanded the irrepressible Ideference of both. The universal public will meurn one ,who has carried the military glory of England to a height which has seldom been equalled, never exceeded. ,Peace to his ashes. _ _ kl. - -- - (From the Morning Advertiser,) The whole country will participate in the profound :,, regret with which we have this day to announce the melancholy death of the Duke of Wellington. His Grace expired yesterday at half-past three o'clock, at Walmer Castle. Though the death of the illustrious Duke, considering -his very advanced age, ought not to excite surprise, the public mind will be startled at the announcement, inas much as no previous intimation of his illness had been given. Until within the last few days, the public jour aals contained the usual brief paragraphs respecting his movements, and nothing had transpired to indicate that he was comp laining, even in the slightest degree, of in disposition. For the particulars of the circumstances ander which his Grace closed his long and eventful earthly career, we refer to another part of our paper. A great man has fallen in the person of the Duke. As a general, his reputation is too well established, and coo wide spread, to require that we should say a word Jn the subject. His name, as the most successful mili tary genius of the age, will be transmitted to the re •• As a general, he has seldom b een sur p as sed in any age or country. de brilliancy. of Wellington nt mo test posterity. As " the hero of a h un d re d fi g h ts, " of th t e ra Duke nscen the name of Wellington can never p er i s h so long as the page of history exists. N or was it only as compared enjoyed j t o h y h e i d s a contemporaries, military rep ut • at t i h on at But it was not in the field alone that the illustrious deceased played a prominent part, end acquired a repu tation which has seldom fallen to the lot of man. O n the political stage also he has, for more than a quarter )f a century, been one of the most influential and emi nent men of his day. Though to the character of a statesman, in the highest acceptation of the term, he tied no pretensio ns , yet he possessed a masculine under standing, and a fund of solid practical information, which rendered him a valuable member of the upper branch of the Legislature. Fur a time he filled the office of Prime Minister, and though never displaying any brilliancy in his concepti ons , nor ti° eloquence of a lofty order in the exposition of his vie ws , acquitted himself in that im portant office in a manner far exceeding the expecta tions of his warm es t an d most There was one feat ure i n the sanguine friends. Noble Duke which command There character of the though a Conservative, as the ter m univer sa l a d m i rat i on . under stood, he could never bo regarded as ais generally was thoroughly honest, thou g h doubtlessP party m an . H e often in his conduct. He never adopt e d a particularf mistaken simply because it was proposed and f o ll owed by the party course, with whom he usually acted. So far from th at h opreferred on various occasions to sacrifice his party to hisco ' scientious convictions of what was most condu c i ve to tEe "oast interests of the country, and the stability of the Throne. Two memorable instances of this will occur to the mind of the reader. The bold and fearless manner "in which he gave practical effect to his altered views on the question of Catholic emancipation, though thereby incurring much odium from the Tory party, and even severing for ever some long-existing and warmly che rished personal friendships, constituted an instance of self-sacrifice to his convictions of what was right, which will not be forgotten by the present generation, nor fail to be remembered with admiration by generations to come. The same may be predicated of the course which the Noble Duke adopted in reference to the corn-laws. His opinions on that great and vital question changed contemporaneously with those of Sir Robert Peel, whom he has so soon followed to the grave, and with that dis tinguished statesman he had the moral courage to avow and act on the change, altogether irrespective of personal consequences. He zealously and ably supported, in the House of Lords, the measure for the repeal of the corn-laws. We well re meember hearing him address the Peers in favour of the second reading of the Bill between four and five o'clock in the morning; and never did he speak with greater energy, or with a seemingly deeper sense of the importance of the question, than he did on that memor able occasion. His appeal to their Lordships was power • ful, as well as earnest, not to jeopardise their own legis lative position by rejecting a measure which the inter ests of justice, and considerations of expediency, alike called upon them to sanction. And here let us do the memory of the illustrious de ceased an act of justice, which, so far as we know, was • never rendered to him during his life. We say advisedly, ;that but for the support which the free trade measures of Sir Robert Peel received from the Duke of Wellington, those measures would not have been carried. That the corn-laws would stoner or later have been repealed, even bad Sir Robert Peel never proposed the extinc tion of the bread monopoly, no reflecting person will deny ; but that the duties on the people's food would not have been remitted, when Sir Robert Peel in troduced his measure with that view in 1846, had it not been for the zealous support of the Duke of Wellington, is a point about which there can be no doubt. As it was, the measure was only car ried by a small majority. Had the Duke been neutral, it would not have been carried at all. Had he been ad verse, the second reading would have been rejected by a large majority. It is due, therefore, to the memory of the illustrious man who has just been snatched away from an admiring country, that the fact should be known—that but for him Sir Robert Peel would have failed in his efforts to carry his free-trade measures. In thus rapidly glancing at the political career, as well as the military character of him whose loss the country has been so suddenly and unexpectedly called to deplore, it would be an unpardonable oversight were we to omit a reference to the exalted sense of duty by which be was invariably inspired with regard to everything con nected with the public service. There was no man in the branch of the Legislature of which he was so bright than the Duke. Ile was unif orm l y among an ornament who was more re gu l ar i n his attendance the first of the Peers to take his seat, and among the last to leave the Ho use . Nor was any one in the Upper Hou s© more closely and conti nuously attentive to what was said, or more watchful with regard to what was done. He invariably acted from a sines of duty. Legis lature, he was laid under obligations which, Ile felt that, • being a member of the hereditary branch of the Legie iownesr e imperative,and matters whichgive his oa mbest mind , to his thoseown the the die and he was accordingly scrupulously faithful in the charge of his Parliamentary duties. In respectthi be held illustrious deceased may, with great propriety' legislators, whether they up as a model to all our present of Parliament. belong to the Upper or Lower House s houldproceed any But it is not necessary that we se_ p the the character of Noble beforeattention tkolouse further in the effort to sketch as better known, and none Duke. No man's character w A by his country. Ile was held more highly universalappreciatee, esteem. His name was never in profound and u ot respect. His presence in mentioned but with the laces evoked manifestations of the streets or publ iv ic to P the meet popular man of his public regard. kie spoke of his Grace with other feelings age. No on e ever th a n those of th e greatest respect. He was without a • personal An d y now that the grave is about to close for ever over enere- his earthly remains his memory will with an amount of reverence which has be c herished se ldom been displayed on the departure of distinguished men f rom the scenes of earth to that invisible world into v ehic e h all shall Boone r or later be ushered. NEW CRYSTAL PALACE COMPANY. TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. Sir,—l am requested by the directors of the Crystal P a l a ce Company to beg that you will be so go o d as to correct a misstatement that appears in you r art i cle upon the Crystal Palace this morning, and which is calculated to leave an erroneous impression on the minds of the shareholders of the Crystal Palace Company. The article in question states that the plans of the di rectors " already contemplate an expenditure probably not much under 1,000,0001, sterling." So far from this being the case, I am auth or i se d to state that all the estimates of the company are com pleted, that all the larger contracts (with one exception) are let, and that the whole of the works will be finished within the subscribed capital of 500,0001. Begging you to be so good as to insert this correction of an involuntary errcr, I am, Sir, your obedient servant, G. GROVE, Secretary . 3, Adelaide-place, London-bridge, Sept. 14. —From the commencement] will be quite a new CHAMBER BUSINESS OF THE COURT or CHANCE"' r e : - ricementj of Dfich or ae t business will transacted eat the ImofasChancery. This equity p r oceedings. By the 26th section of the new uA:cet,mabolishing.the office of Masters (15th and 16th Victoria, ca p. SO), it is prov ided that the 'business to be disposed of by the Bl as ter of the Rolls and Tice•Chancellors respec tively, while sitti n g at cha m b ers , shall consist of such of the following matters as the Judge shall from time to time think may be more conveniently disposed of in chambers than in open court, viz., applies. tions for time to plead, answer, or demur; for leave to ,amend bills or claims; for enlarging publication, and also applications for the production of documents ; applications ' • relating to the conduct of suits or matters ; applications as to the guardianship and maintenance of infants ; matters con. property, and such other me to time see fit , matters wai eachtsh t he s T c a h n a j g u e d in g e e n ni t a o y f , f rom ti or as may from time to time be directed by any general order of the Lord Chancellor. PowER OF LETTERS.—Which three letters in the English alphabet are the most forcible? NR G (energy). •. Which two are the most hateful? N V (envy). Which two contain the least? M T (empty), Which four the most corpulent? 0 B C T (obesity). Which two the most faded? D (decay). Which four have a title of honour? LWhich three are most wearis ome? Which five are a popular doct rine? X xs PLIT N D E CN( (ennui). n x (u c p e (excellency). d c y i e ). n y Which three are a mournful poem? LEG (elegy). be The a be w t,o, $0- 1 5 bees : 7 e;'" 1 in' Tr