The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-16 00:00:00

Vincula, the church of the fortress, was tolled at
int
rvals during the day.
OXFORD, SEPT. 15.—Great sensation has been
produced here by the intelligence of the lamented
death of the Chancellor of toe University. It is
true that his Grace was not in the habit of visiting
the place, or of exercising any direct influence in
academical affairs ; still, to a body so intimately con-
nected with the Church of this land as is the
University of Oxford, it cannot but be matter
of extreme importance to be provided with a head
who shall be a worthy representative of her spirit,
alive to the necessities of the age in which we
live, capable of seeing his way clearly in the midst of
difficulties, and possessed of courage to maintain her
essential and unalterable principles against the oppo-
sition either of false friends or avowed enemies. Tbe
selection of a worthy successor to the Duke is, of
course, a subject not new to men's minds who had re-
flected on the great age which had been attained by
the late Chancellor, and the merits and demerits of
several candidates have probably heen discussed in
most common rooms. Among these we may specify,
the Duke of Newcastle, Lord Derby, Mr. Sidney
Herbert, Lord Redesdale, Lord Harrowby, and Lord
Ellesmere.

LivutrooL.—The tidings of the death of the Duke
of Wellington caused a general feeling of depression
in Liverpool yesterday. The reports received by
telegraph late on Tuesday night were vague and
contradictory, but the dispatch of yesterday morning
was decisive. The flags on the various public
buildings were lowered, and the shutters of many of
the shops closed, in testimony of respect to the late
Duke.

MANCHESTER.—The chief topic of conversation
upon 'Change yesterday was the death of the great
warrior; the shutters of the building were partially
closed in respect for his memory, and the flag was
hoisted half-mast high. It is expected there will be
a general mourning on the day of the funeral.
BIRMINGHAM, SEPT. 15.—The intelligence of the
death of the Duke of Wellington, received by
electric telegraph last night, and generally known
after the arrival of the London papers this morning,
has, as might have been expected, notwithstanding
the extreme age of his Grace, excited mourn•
ful interest in this town and neighbourhood.
A feeling of regret, apparently unmixed with any
alloy, pervades all parties. The Duke of Wellington
was little known in this vicinity, and on the occasion
of his only visit to Birmingham, in 1830, when Prime
Minister (that we recollect), in company with the
late Sir Robert Peel, was rudely treated by an incon-
siderate mob. Those manifestations of hostility, whe-
ther in public or private, have, however, as regards
the late Duke and his then distinguished colleagues,
long subsided, and whatever differences of opinion
might have existed with regard to the public policy
of England's great warrior and his lamented friend,
they had for many years past won and enjoyed per-
sonally, as honest statesmen the respect and confi-
dence of the people of these districts. The bell of the
ancient church of St. Martin's has throughout to-
day, by direction of the churchwarden, tolled a muf-
fled peal, and it is intended that this testimony of re-
spect and admiration shall be continued daily until
after the obsequies of the illustrious deceased. The
form of ceremonies which may be adopted on the day
of interment will remain undetermined upon until
more is known of proceedings elsewhere.
(From the Times.)

There are few persons of any reflection at all in this
country who have not frequently—we might say con-
tinually—speculated on the event which now occupies
all minds. The solemn announcement, "Death of the
Duke of Wellington," accompanied with the usual signs
of national respect and concern, has long been as fami-
liar to the British imagination as the inscriptions we
have read a thousand times on the walls of our churches.
The gap that the Duke would leave in our councils or
our arms, the universal solicitude that would surround
his deathbed, the grief and dismay all would feel should
he die at some crisis of national peril, and the magnifi-
cence of the obsequies with which England would carry
to the grave the noblest of her sons, are thoughts that
have occurred over and over again, not only to us, but to
our fathers, and to multitudes who have long since them-
selves been gathered to the grave. Eighteen years ago
we remember that it was commonly said that the work
of the Peninsula was beginning to tell on that iron
frame, and since that men have predicted—till they were
wearied or ashamed of predicting—that each Waterloo
banquet would prove the last. Of late years increasing
infirmities—manifest, though energetically resisted—
the treacherous ear, the struggling utterance, and
the tottering step, all told their tale, and sug-
gested even a fear that the greatest man of his age might
live to illustrate the decay from which no greatness is
secure. Yet the event, so long in sight, as it were, has
come upon us by surprise. More than that, we venture
to affirm that the reality, in its impression and effect,
will prove very different from the anticipation. When
a man of high inventive and original powers is with- 11
drawn from us in the full swing of his activity, we miss
a forward spirit, a dexterous debater, or an eloquent
tongue. We know exactly what we lose, and we can
measure our loss; but it is not so when a pillar of the
State is broken, and a tower of strength crumbles to
dust. In that else time alone reveals the diminished
strength of the social fabric and the increasing strain on
the remaining supports.
The leading quality of this remarkable man, that which
seemed the stun of his other qualities, and which ren-
dered him in the judgment of the great French diplo-
matist " the most capable man" of his time, was
that he always knew what was best to be dene in
the actual state of affairs, and had the wisdom
and courage to do it. In this there was but little
show, and sometimes not a little obloquy. There was
no personal pride, no egotistic glory, in discerning and
obeying the dictation of circumstances. The exercise of
this quality in the face of adverse circumstances and an
overpowering foe afforded frequent occasion to the terror
of alarmists and the malice of detractors during the
changing fortunes of the Peninsular war. The Duke
always knew when to advance, and when to give way,
and when to rest content with a purely defensive posi-
tion. But the grounds on which he thus acted could
not be always so apparent to others, who saw no courage
except in resistance, and recognised no genius except in
its triumphs. The same trials, the same necessities,
have characterized the Duke's long political career, and he
has always met them and mastered them with his old
rule of doing the best that could be done. This was not
to lead a party or to represent a principle. Of course, it
failed to satisfy those who think the prosperity of the
country not worth concession or compromise. Hence it
is that the Duke's military and political life have so often
been compared to the disparagement of the latter, by
critics who are not aware, or who forget, that
the former also was exposed at the time to precisely the
same attacks. Posterity will pronounce. the Duke one
and the same in all the stages of his varied career; ever
ready to give up positions no longer tenable, and objects
no longer attainable; to sacrifice his predilections and
himself, and do only what was best for his cotunetr,,yE.
First
is this very characteristic, so humble and inglorious,
which has rendered the Duke of Wellington the great
arbiter of factions, the chief of the Senate, h
Consul" of this Republic, and " the father of his coun-
try." It is this that has given him a constant place at
the right hand of the Throne. Ever ready to give his
advice without favour or prejudice, he has been appealed
to at the most difficult junctures, with the unanimous
concurrence of all parties. It was not that the Duke
had no opinions or predilections of his own; he had them
as strongly as other men, and they were of a decidedly
aristocratic origin; but he freely gave them up for the
good of his country.
This, then, is what we have lost, and what may not
be so easily supplied even by the fresh memories and
living traditions of a wise policy. In the collision of in-
terests and the dead lock of parties we may some day
want a man, not to proclaim a principle, or to preach a
crusade, or to goad on a faction, or perhaps to drive the
Crown itself, as once in our annals, to fatal extremities,
but to tell all plainly the best thing to be done. We
may become painfully sensible of our loss long before
the recurrence of even such an ordinary Ministerial crisis
as that of last year. The enthusiasts that have bowed
to this authority, the turbulent and ambitious who have
feared it, and the timid who have relied on it, may now
give way to their several instincts. The great Duke is no
more. The constitutional aristocracy has no longer its
chief. The living oracle of a just and patriotic expediency
is silent. The finger of caution that pointed to danger,vehen
others were for pressing onwards, will no more be raised.
The Argue-eye that scanned every weakness in the
State, and perceived the dire contingencies of a dark
future, no longer watches for us. The man who gave
timely warning of an ill-starred expedition, who advised
the choice of commanders for services of difficulty, who
planned the secret defences of this metropolis in an hour
of need, who was believed to be capable of meeting at
once any danger from within or from without with equal
promptitude and success, and whose vigour of action no
one could doubt, is no longer among us. Nor is the loss
ours alone, for the Duke of Wellington was the greatest
man and the most potent name in the whole world.
Foreign as well as internal foes will feel a weight off
their souls; foreign friends will feel our alliance the
weaker. The mere presence and example of such a man
‘, wasw hfeltile totu be e
Dukesecurity
liv for our
has goodlo order deb r
e e
na n
favouritestability.
expression with those who feared or desired a change.
" And the land had rest for 40 years, we read in
the sacred annals as the natural result of some
great deliverance, followed by the rule of the deliverer
himself. That rest we have had. Looking to the im-
portant advice he has given at critical periods, and the
incalculable weight of his standing authority, it may be
said of the Duke, more than of any British statesman,
that he has judged Israel, and that for a term of patri-
archal duration. The conclusion of such a moral reign
cannot be regarded without a degree of awe and even
apprehension. But it is only when the occasion comes
that our want
thiswilltom
mbefeelso. The p
.t Noristhreeolri haspioeltica a great
l horizon
very clear at
windfall of places and dignities to dispose of; bat he
may soon be made to miss the great man whose uni-
versal powers were faintly expressed its the accumula-
tion of his offices and honours. Happily so energetic
a mind has left not merely its impress on the age, but
worthy successors, in a race of men who have already
had ample opportunities of illustrating, in
.peace as in
war, the example of their illustrious chief. Happily,
also, it seems a law of Providence that the death of one
great man should be the raising up of others, encouraged
by his example, and vieing for the inheritance of his
virtues and his name.

(From the Morning ehrunicTe.)
The Duke of Wellington's career C 3 a General ex-
tended only over twenty-eight years; hut hi 3 life was
prgloged beyond 1154 eighty-yhirci birai.doy. be

THURSDA

greatest conquerors and commanders have always done
their special work rapidly. The last campaigns of
about the period of the energy of middle life; Frederick
Alexaeder, Cozier, and Napoleon
of Prussia and Marlborough each commanded in the
affords almost a solitary instance of a great warrior
field utter the age of fifty;
ty puoulteothnewDeruekecloos: dwbeenfi7gete:
whose life was prolonged—and that for every active
duties in other departments of State service—nearly
forty years after his last battle was fought. The Duke's
actual career as a soldier was shorter than his public
life as a statesman. But what was that career, from
eighteen—Arthur Wellesley's age when he received
his first commission—to six-and-forty, when he was
hailed Prince of Waterloo? We cannot better esti-
mate it than by reviewing the difficulties which the
Great Captain had to face, and by contrasting
his achievements with those of his most illus.rious
In this place it were alike impossible and undesirable to
write a military memoir. All that we can attempt is to
indicate those leading features of the Duke of Welling-
ton's generalship which illustrate personal character,
and which, as we think, elucidate those general views
of his inner man which we yesterday ventured to sketch.
The military
at the close of the eighteenth century. The glories of
Blenheim and Nlalplaquet only
fame of England was at a decided ebb
survived as rapidly de-
caying traditions; and, in truth, Marlborough's career
itself was exceptional, and but an evanescent burst of
triumph. Fifty years ago, England was unknown or
forgotten on the Continent as a European military
power. All antecedent presumptions were against us.
We had been ignominiously defeated in our American
colonies. The conquests of Clive—the real basis
of our coming grandeur—were so recent and
indistinct as to be c mperaiively unappreciated.
We had subsidized Hessian mercenaries for '
our internal defence. Our Canadian conquests
had, indeed, for a time, revived in the French nation
some memory of our ancient fame; but the conquest of
Wolfe was too distant to be influential. Our last conti-
nental general, the Duke of Cumberland, bad not led
the world to expect much from our re-appearance on the
field of European strife. It was reserved for Wellesley
to inaugurate his military career in the Duke of York's
calamitous and impotent expedition to Holland. And it
was well for his training, moral as well as professional,
that it began in the presence of disaster and defeat. Ad-
versity is a safe school in which to educate a conqueror.
gained in the swamps of Holland was his first, and,
The experience of military incapacity which Wellesley
perhaps, his most valuable lesson in war.
The scene changes. The willow bank is succeeded by
the palm-tree grove. From the mists of the Low Coun-
tries, Colonel Wellesley is launched on the burning
plains of South India. The calmness and patience
learned in Europe are soon, and beneficially, to be
a
chequered by the impetuous energy which must decide
Oriental battle. Assaye and Seringapatam are the
complement of the dull, but salutary, service on the
Weser and the Meuse. The general has now received
his perfect training—the man of Waterloo has been
moulded in the most opposite schools of discipline. He
has learned how to handle a defeated and disheartened
corps—he has also had glorious experience in launching
the successful thunderbolts of war.
Yet his next campaign must be undertaken under
different, but still most trying, circumstances. The
expedition to Portugal was all but a forlorn hope. A
previous attempt under Sir John Moore had, indeed,
revealed—but only to gifted and very keen eyes—that
there was true stuff in the British soldier. The army
was unpopular, both at home and abroad; and a general
feeling prevailed that we were an invincible naval, but a
was not likely to inspire
Y divided, but was
contemptible military power. The Ministry of the day
was unable to equip anything like an imposing
ation which ren-
dered; and the discredit-
able force.
subjected Ct Command
on!
pwl
eaxsi
tyn not
smuebroerld n
unity Convention of
confidence or hope. Sir Arthur Wellesley en-
tered on his first responsible European command under
aocftiocniuitmruposws
every conceivable combination of
disadvantages.
Happily, we had forgotten the old chess-board strategies
of military professors; but we bad not substituted any
system of war in the place of discarded scientific
theories. The daring and immoral method of Napo-
leon, which had already practically reduced the heart
of Europe into one imposing province, was such as no
British general either would or could imitate. It was
left to the English commander in Portugal to originate
an art of war, and then to apply it as he best could.
And, with that simplicity of character and single-
ness of aim which were the soul of his power, he
made it his first duty to create an army, and his
next to fight with it. Throughout his Peninsular
campaigns, this was the foremost thought with
Wellington—to husband his army; and this, we may
confidently say, is the solitary secret of his eventual
success. It was the application of a high conscientious
sense of moral duty. It was in this respect that he
formed so remarkable a contrast with his great rival;
and the final triumph of Wellington over Napoleon only
illustrated the victory of principle over unscrupulous-
ness. Wellington kept his army by his own military
chest—Napoleon made war pay its own expenses. The
Emperor used his men as he would use cannon balls—
the English Commander knew that no money could re-
place the loss of a single disciplined soldier. Welling-
ton's dispatches discuss the commissariat, the supplies,
the arms, the equipment, the very shoes of his men—
Napoleon's proclamations deal in glory, honour, the
" witness of the ages," conquest, blood, and terror. If
Colonel Gur wood's publication smacks of the War-office
clerk, the Victoires et Con qiietes has an undeniable twang
of the minor theatre. The result was, that Marengo and
Austerliiz collapsed into Waterloo, whilst Corunna ex-
panded into Vittoria and Salamanca.
.e.

We are not writing a military Plutarch—so we need
not pursue the parallel in all its details. But we are
proud to remember that, when Napoleon was profuse in
his distribution of crosses and embraces, Wellington was
at work at his hospitals and his depots. Napoleon won
personal enthusiasm—Wellington earned universal confi-
dence. Napoleon was the idol of his soldiers—Welling-
ton was the friend of his army. Napoleon made men
aspire to the Legion of Honour or to a Marshal's baton
—Wellington knew no higher reward ,then the thanks
of the two Houses of Parliament. Wellington fought
for his country—Napoleon for himself. Between them,
as commanders, there was not, technically speaking,
so much to choose. Each knew how to wield
his masses—each was perfect in maneeavres—
each was a general of absolute science. The
British Commander was slow in acquiring confi-
dence—the French Emperor was headstrong and un-
manageable in defeat. Time and experience did their
work differently on each, Is,:eause they represented dis-
tinct moral principles. Wellington, in his final charges
and his pursuit of victory on the slopes of Mont St.
Jean, equalled the most brilliant and impetuous attacks
of Napoleon in his best days
; but at Waterloo Napo-
leon had neglected a general's first duty, for be had not
made the slightest provision for a retreat. And that
mighty conflict of principles, as well as of armies, has re-
sulted in a thirty-seven years' peace, Waterloo was as
much a moral as a military victory.
A single further illustration will show this cardinal
difference of morals in the two men and will
account
for their opposite fortunes.
- • e allude to the contrast
between the French and the
English treatment of raw
levies. Napoleon used them up for the occasion—
men were to him as muskets, and nothing more. Wel-
lington saw in his recruits W
not only materials for
his immediate purpose, but
responsible beings,
whom it was his duty to train into efficient soldiers. An
utter recklessness and disregard of human life was the
characteristic of the one (3--
n ti
• q—a painful and anxious
solicitude for the health and consequent usefulness" of the
whole dis
men was the guiding principle of the other. Napoleon
fought battles, stormed towns, and laid waste
tricts with fire and sword to paralyze a nation—Welling-
ton never fired a cannon but as a step in a planned cam-
paign. Torres Vedras is the type of the British—Jaffa
but too faithful an illustration of the French mind. _
Nor is this moral contradiction confined to the merely
military contrasts developed by the careers which we
have been contemplating. Soult made a splendid fortune
by robbery; but there is not a picture or a jewel in the
halls of Wellington or Beresford, or Hill,
which was not
a gift or a purchase. Wellington saved Paris from the
barbarian threats of Blucher—Napoleon murdered the
Due D'Enghlen. And even in the smallest matters we
trace a like contrariety. Wellington endured patiently the
associated incapacity of Cuesta and his Spanish colleagues,
if not without a murmur, at least without pique; while
Napoleon ostracised the talents of Bernadotte. Welling-
ton had the art to conciliate, by ptable of allies—he r©-
rudent temporising and
the most intractable
duced the Junta of Cadiz and the obstinacy of Madrid
to a harmless dependence; while Napoleon could not
retain the train of monarchs who were in league with
him.

on.
Finally
—for these things are not without their
abiding and eternal lesson to mankind—the great
avenger. and reconciler has awarded to each of these
which, at and retribu-
lighty rivals his appropriate end
in his own house and at a social
the bitterness of unre by leaving a legacy
Napoleon died an exile and a prisoner—venting
anted envy
; but it was reserved for Wellington to the wretch who attempted the assassination of his
enter-
taincopqueror gton to
ablest
;most indignant satire, banquet, the
of the French' captains who had years before
opposed him in the field. Napoleon has left a name
curse whilst one universal
of his country' ;
acclaim of blessing and honour from every British heart
this moment, works as the substantial
salutes the euthanasia of our noble chieftain. Until re-
property
motest time the fate of Napoleon will point the moralist's
"ness, vileness, and failure of ambition and tyranny;
but the most distant generations will bound with delight
at the recollection of him who best illustrated, under un-
paralleled difficulties and temptations, the common vir-
tues of honesty and duty and reverence for law, right,
ambition
and truth, and lo and patriotism. The one is the
to the calm dignity of historic fame. Blasted laurels
fell on the solitary tomb of St. Selena; but the patriot's
whaistelf. The highest
of a fitful and luridroraance--the other belongs
best reward of Wellington,
myrtle and the civic oak shall wreath the bier of our
hero. And justly; for Napoleon lived but for himself—
Wellingtonof worked e
Napoleon
for
in allhis
fallht t
after all his military
" To drag a world into the mire with him."
The
glories, was but
" To return home into life, and to become
A fellow-man among his fellow-men."
By (From the Daily News)
the Duke Wellington's death a rich batch of
places falls into the lap of the Minister—places of the
richest, and honours of the most showy and most co-
veted class. With the disposal of some of these wind-
falls_ the public have but little right to meddle—iu re-
ference to others, it is their serious and urgent duty to
interfere. Who shall have the newly-vacant Garter—
whether my Lord This or his Grace of That shall wear
it is not the affair people. The blue ribald is one
of those
i . of the
.
ostinctions much prizefor its rarity; intended
d -
for,, the aristocracy, and in the disposal of which the
Crown and WO Minister are exclusively entitled to decide,

EVENING, SEPTEMB

The same may, perhaps, be said of the two Lord-Lieu-
tenancies of Hampshire and of the Tower Hamlets. Three
are offices in the peculiar gift of the Sovereign, and of her
advisers for the time being—offices which can and may
be allotted as seems best to those in whose gift the law
places them. The coloneley in the Grenadier Guards,
with its 1,200/. a year, will be a military perquisite—the
Mastership of the Trinity-house concerns Tower-hill,
and the Chancellorship cf Oxford will give a topic and
a duty to the Dons of that ancient scat of unreformed
learning. But after this concession, we must draw a dis-
tinct line, and declare that all the other appointments
now vacant have a peculiar character which renders the
re-disposal of them au affair of vital importance to the
well-being of the country. Whilst the Duke of Wel-
lington lived nobody over seriously thought of disturbing
any of the offices in his peculiar possession. The country
seemed never tired of rewarding biro, as the round sums
one after another voted to him by Parliament sufficiently
testify. After Badajoz and Salamanca they gave him
100,0001. to buy him an estate; after Toulouse 400,000/.
more; and after Waterloo another round sum of 200,0001.
—besides voting him a pension for his own life and for
the lives of his two next male heirs of 2,000/. a year,
subsequently raised to 4,0001., and paid from the Conso-
lidated Fund. This pension will now be paid to the pre-
sent Dnke of Wellington, and, since he has no children,
afterwards to Lord Charles Wellesley, should be stir:
vivo his brother, and, if not, to his heir male. Inheriting
their father's titles, pension, and great
private.
wealth,the children of the late Duke require nu favours from
the Ministry, and hence the disposal of the vacantappointment is quite unfettered by any personal claim o;
behalf of the Wellington family. Would that no other
private influences were in the way; but since such things
do exist, they must be met boldly and openly. Teo
public service must not in this case he sacrificed to aid
the wheedle of the courtier, or to enhance the bribe of
the partisan.
The important post of Commander-in-Chief must bo
given to a thorough veteran soldier. We are told every
now and then that our coasts are in danger; if they
really were so, what we should do if a carpet knight,
an aristocratic routineist, or a mere martinet of the drill
held the chief post of military power? We have seen
in the career of the great soldier who has just passed
away the vast importance of sterling practical ability for
the active operations of war. Sir Arthur Wellesley
became Commander-in-Chief because be was a victorious
general; the history of the late Duke of York shows
what come of appointments based on claims of another
sort—claims of pedigree and family position. The Duke
of York became Commander-in-Chief because he was
son of a King. The one is known by Waterloo—the
other by his melancholy failure in the Netherlands
and his disgraceful proceedings with Mrs. Clarke.
Nothing is more truly practical than war; in nothing
is incompetence more fatal. Not only the safety of a
great empire, but even the progress of civilisation
itself, may be perilled by entrusting to wrong
hands the military machinery organized for national
purposes. To command armies veteran soldiers, not
amiable princes, are wanted. We want, too, not only
military experience and efficiency at the Horse Guards,
but active military energy. We want army reform. We
need real changes in present plans, not showy oe experi-
mental alterations of buttons and facings, but bona fide im-
provements in the dress and arming of our forces. The
last thirty-seven years have made great military reforms
abroad, some portion of which it would be well to have
adopted here. These a new Commander should from
old experience be able to appreciate, and with cam-
paigning promptitude bo ready to adopt. Our loss of the
Duke of Wellington must be, as far as possible, made
up by the wisdom exercised in the appointment of his
successor at the Horse Guards. Prince Albert and the
Duke of Cambridge have both been named by rumour
as possible candidates for the vacant command. But
Prince Albert already enjoys the military title of Field
Marshal, and is too well provided for to need the
161. Bs. 9d. a day which falls to a Commander-in-Chief
of hie rank. The solid good sense he has hitherto shown
must surely point out to him why he should not aspire to
wield the baton resigned by the victor of Waterloo. In-
deed the rumour is too absurd. The Duke of Cambridge,
too, must surely be content with the many advantages
which his elevated birth has already secured to him. lie
Would never do.
Other vacancies suggest other evils that may come
of improper appointments. The Lord Wardenship of
the Cinque Ports should remain open till the jurisdic-
tion of that ancient office has been reformed; the post
of Constable of the Tower must now, in accordance
with former plans, be placed on proper footing. Need-
ful and proper changes being made, the first of these
appointments may probably fall to the lot of the Prinoe
Consort, and Walmer Castle become a second Osborne

House.
But this is a matter for the future—at present the
chief need is, that Lord Derby should be reminded of
the onus now weighing upon him. This shower of pa-
tronage brings its duties equally with its gratifications;
and whilst we concede to him the fullest freedom in the
bestowal of the more honorary distinctions, he must re-
member the national responsibility undertaken by the
Minister who has to provide for national honour, secu-
rity, and welfare, and to guard against political opposi-
tion and personal disgrace.
(From the Morning Post.)
The Duke of Wellington is no more. One of the
greatest, noblest, and best lives that history has ever
been charged with recording for admiration and example
has closed in such calmness, amid universal love and ho-
nour—after such long and steady preparation for death
—as Providence seldom grants to those whom it employs
as the leaders of men, the defenders of nations, the heroes
of the battle field.

The wide space of time during which this wonderful
mind was allowed to devote itself to the service of its
country, anal to brighten our age with great achieve-
ments, has had the effect, among other benefits, of bring-
ing men to one opinion as to the love, the reverence,
and the gratitude, due from England to one than whom
none has ever served;her with more honesty, wisdom,and
courage—more with his whole heart—with purer mo-
tives—or with a sounder conscience.
To the great man himself this appreciation was of
little moment. He looked for no sentence from others
to convince him that he had done right. The perfect
sagacity which prompted, the decision which nerved, and
the resolution which supported, all hisactions, sprung
from a perfect clearness of mind, admitting of no after
doubts, as it allowed no previous hesitation.
Bat, for the friends of the great principles and high
feelings which the Duke of Wellington upheld through-
out his long and unblemished life, it is a matter for
thankfulness that be should have been spared to gain
that general recognition of his tree worth and nobleness
—that verdict from the justice of time which the states-
man must too often be content to hope for rather than to
enjoy.

Time was when envy, party hatred, the spirit of mis-
chief, the pen of libel, and the tongue of calumny were
busy enough about a name which, ere its owner left us,
had become the most popular in England, the most
honoured, as well as the most famous, in Europe.
Another very rare and very great privilege enjoyed
by this illustrious person was the unclouded and undis-
turbed state in which, to the very last, he retained the
use of powers such as are rarely bestowed on humanity,
and yet more rarely used with the constant and unrelent-
ing energy which were demanded by a career, including
within its limits the rise of our Indian glory, the mas-
tery of our greatest military epoch, the lea ing and the
responsibility of a war of giants, the chief conduct of
the settlement of' Europe, and the first voice in home
statesmanship, during years of fierce struggle, and
through the stages of momentous change.
Not only did the Duke of Wellington retain to the
last his peculiar sagacity and steadiness of judgment,
but he was able to the last to employ those qualities in
the service to which they had aver been conscientiously
and loyally devoted—that of his Sovereign and his coun-
try. Removed for many years, as the Duke had been,
from all possibility of personal ambition—untainted by
any possible suspicion of the petty motives of mere
party politics, his part had long been that of an arbiter
and adviser in the Senate—of a most wise and faithful
servant in his important office.
It is happily nearly forty years since war, on a great
scale, has demanded from this country the exercise of
the unequalled military knowledge and qualities of
command which the great Duke held at her ser-
vice; but we believe that, as regards those partial hos-
tile operations in which England has during that time
been engaged, no steps were taken without the advice
of this highest living authority.
Knowing how completely this has bean the case, it
can scarcely be doubted that the same mature mind
which triumphed at Assays will have had its weight and
influence on the conduct of what we may hope will be
the closing campaign of that long series of triumphs
wbich is destined to complete our empire in the East.
If this be so, and if, as we have heard, some of the very
latest working hours of the great Statesman and Con-
queror were busied with the progress of the Burmese
war, we may feel that the same head and hand that were
active about the foundation of our mighty successes in
India have mainly contributed to that completion
which will probably carry the circle of our
success to the very verge of the Chinese Empire.
Another and a very different service of the Duke's
veteran wisdom will readily occur to most of our
readers. They will, without doubt, remember how, en
that memorable 10th of April, when England showed
the world ,how little chance democratic madness had
against the sound sense and strength of her people, all
men looked to and trusted in " The Duke " as the re-
fuge of law and order, the safeguard of authority, if by
any strange and unlooked-for tarn of events, the name-
less dangers that wait on the triumphs of a mob had
threatened London. Few will fail to call to mind now
what was generally known then, that, under the super-
intendence of the Commander-in-Chief, the military
defence of every quarter and every street in London
was organized wite the utmost perfection of detail, in
such a manner, that the unseen force could at a mo-
ment's notice, have been brought into irresistible action.
We will dwell no more on the particulars of a great-
ness so fresh in all men's minds, nor will we dilate on a
loss which all will feel who are not incapable of under-
standing the Noble and the Good. The Duke was a
household word among us. He was among the holnours
and possessions of which his country was truly.. and
justly proud. It is true that he bad reached his
Peacefully
fulness of time—that we lose him gently and Pe oe
under every possible condition that can
console the familiar
as tor
the loss—yet we shall miss for many” cl?
We dayyshall
sight and knowledge of .• The Duke.
many a day how much of wisdoma feel for
and goodness are gone
from among us. We shall wonderformany a day how
long it will be before God vouchsafe again to give to any
nation to serve them a mind
so powerful and keen--a
heart so loyal and true—so
incapable of the least double-
ness of purpose, or the slightest deviation from strict
and absolute integrity.

LORD JOHN RUSSELL AND THE BURGH OF STIR..
LING. --The freedom of this ancient burgh is intended to be
conferred on Lord John Russell, who is residing near Cal-
landar, p/1 mw,day meat.—dinbur,gh Courant.