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

EVENING,

this successor in the Commandership-in-Chicc ene %never pas:eed his lips, even in his addresses to his soll
iColonel of the Ist Grenadier Guards. In March heiidiers. His entire ndature 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 tohn c reality.
surface
wHh ei
lived
yetent t.o
g-sleees things
en ;'''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,namony 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 and deed. His tempera
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-,ktive. 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 Dulee4l-'n
naainlyint a j.us.t perception. of the true relation in which
_e. stood
to htis antagonifsths.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 morelo 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 playerri
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 suceees. (Meer commandersp
friends, Lord Dudley, Mr. Charles Grant, and Lordi, have attained the highest pitch of glory when thoy dis-1
Palmerston seceded also. His late Majesty, Williamccitinsed of the colossal resources of empires, and headed
I.
,IV., too, taking offence at a remonstrance, mathilarmies 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 oflhids
,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 7lreeoletion, 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 power which 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
Clearnessre
ud 0 ofna discernment,ei n
do it I'll send you half-a-dozen pay sergeants that: d
panel elementsett in
theto
Duke's
without
will"—a hint that they did not fail to take. His
war,brilliantinhachievements 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 number 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 udn-
taught manliness and simplicity of style than:
on the following evening the Duke announced in the
the vast collection of his dispatches, written p
ae
ar 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 is more or less heard in every 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, ad,
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 arrangement,” received if These powers, which were unerring when 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;
mbresdeainriethde highest school of Tory politics, should have
which Lord Gough's successor might be selected. He ~ 1
which folloiwedh isthoepinaicocnessiiiofn t hoofs 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 threeforni in
" Then," said the Duke laconically, " I must go nay-tel 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, the Duke formed alcoPture in the Tory party, never afterwards entirely
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 he conceived
dramatic tone of our neighbours is not popular here,
moretebe popularclity the l aenelaoimura,
ofn no a men e
nevaettronrteocognised with
and though Wellington was often opposed to the .
development of its interests and its rights; nor were
gradual
w
people, he never failed to command respect and not services to the cause of liberty and improvementtehreele his
unfrequently elicited the admiration of his political great because they usually consisted in bending the will wl
opponents. or disarming the prejudices of their fiercest opponents.,.
The titles of the deceased are perhaps the most . Attached by birth, by character, and by opinion to the.
numerous and varied ever bestowed on an individual..l order and the cause of the British aristocracy, the 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 ceto the
turbulen and sedition
Class; Colonel-in-Chief of the Rifle Brigade; 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 determined to
e-
Chancellor of the University of Oxford ; Lord War- fend, 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 the 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 title of Parens
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 sudden. He
o t e people.
res ectful ratitnde and faith fhy '
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
.' platy, every solemnit v
of Douro, who was born in 1807. He is a colonel in ,
maeing, found him Adey, etorytakceerhe.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 presented 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 was 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 raised this country to hel
station on the earth, no name will remain more ccinsl3ir-1
cuous or more unsullied than that of Arthur Wellesley,'
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 gone from amongst us,an inheritor of 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
that 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
career was one unclouded longest 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 the 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
services, wo may learn to say with the Roman orator,
Satin diu vixisse dicito," since, 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, undisturbed
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 of
. 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 the arts which they indulged or cm-
. ployed. Unvanquished in 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 doubtful days of his Peninsular career; but inname his
eunceasful and triumphant pursuit 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
thewho
announcementof
thepainlessex-,
the common weaknesses and sorrows of humanity. IF
_what the world calls the highest form of a soldier's•
death
be cut off in the very hour of victory , andi
twrium 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 Marlborough,
household
and tfhaomhuaigishi
familiar as
the
andE 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 sort impertinent, in t•
this place and at this moment, to detail the career, or to
one is
lhZta°ll.forTmhede
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 Statesman. We should underrate that clia-'1
carter were we to attribute his military successes to a
fortunate we
and influence in the outset of his ca-,',-
veer; and we should equally less the lesson to be,.:
learned from his discharge of civic duties, if we con.
sidered his elevation in 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 much mistake the feelings of that
country, if a unanimity unparalleled, or nearly so, in
'i
social history, does not salute his tomb with words and 4
thoughts of blessing and gratitude. And this chieflyi
because the key-note of his character—one by no means
faultless, and, from the nature of the case, complex_
was that which after all addresses itself to the highest
estimate of humanity—was, in short, in all the substan-
tial relations of public life, his unwavering recognition .
of duty. Prejudice and obstinacy are, of course, the
forms under which we may expect a straightforward and!,
,elf-reliantmind occasionally to exhibit itself to partial,!
hservers. But the Duke 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-