The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-18 00:00:00

S ,19 SEPTEMBER 18, 1852.

somewhat stariled by the production,of a lace wrought
in very fine wire, which will create 'r in entirely ne'w
branch of business. On the bobbin•net machine wire
for blinde, bonnets: bed curtains for hot climates, shades,
safes, and a thousand other things; may be wrought
almost with the same facility ai c3tton thread, and be
made to present every variety of pattern. The idea is
understood to have been suggested by a Birmingham
house, who required a metallic lace for electro-plating.
It is impossible to calculate the importance of this adap-
tation, as it will, no doubt, lead to the establishment of
several new branches of manufactures in connexion
with it.

COAL MARK ET.—YusTirtiar. -
Prices of Coal per ton at the close of-the market.
Bate's West Hartley.. 14s 6d Keepier Grange ...... 14s 9a
Davison'sWest Hartley 15s 6d Lam bton . . 15s 8d
Holywell
North Percy Hartley.. 14s 3d Russell's Retton
New Tanfield
Wellington Hartley... 14s Od Stewart's ..
fanfield Moor Butes... 12s 3d Cassop ......... ....
Wylam ... l4s 3dl Denison .. . ....... . -...
Wall's End, &c. ;Hartlepool 153 3d
Gosforth ....
14s 3d Kelloe
14s 3d South Hartlepool
Harton
Heaton
Hedley
Northumberland l4s Od Pease's West l3s Od
Eden Main ..... l4s 9d South Durham l4s 3d
Belmont ... 14s 9d Tees .................... 15s 6
Braddyll
Hetton
Ships at market, 98......5eA 76 15s Od

NAVAL IN TELLIGuNcE.
APPOINTMENTS.
Assistant-Surgeons—Daniel J. Dttigan (1844), to
the Encounter, 14, screw-corvette, Portsmouth; Frede-
rick V. Sandford to the Victory, flag-ship,
Portsmouth.
Midshipmen—John P. Wilson and C. H. Carpenter to
the Termagant, 24, screw-frigate, Portsmouth.
Naval Cadet—Alexander T. Collier.
First-Lieutenant Searle, R.M.A., has been appointed
to the Dauntless, 33, screw-frigate, at Portsmouth, vice
Hewett, gone to hospital.
Lieutenant J. P. Wells (1828) one of the secretaries
of the Royal Naval and Military Free School, Devon-
port, has died. He entered the navy :July 23, 1807, as
first-class volunteer on board the Royal George, 100,
Captain Rich. Dalling Dunn, whom he followed, as
midshipman, into the San Josef, 110, Hibernia, l2O,
Armide, 38, and Dublin, 74. In those ships he was
employed, at first under the flag of Sir John Thomas
Duckworth, in the Channel, off Cadiz, and Gibraltar, in
the Bay of Biscay, and among the Western Islands.
While on the books of the San Josef he served with
the gun-boats during the operations in the Scheldt
in 1809. From the Dublin, which ship had been
Centaur, 74,
cboemrmemanodveedd, liaottesrelyptebmyber, CaptainlBlt
sTtheorathaes
Captains John Chambers White and Thomas Gordon
Caulfeild. On his return in her from a voyage to Brazil
and the Cape of Good Hope (he had for some time per-
formed the duties of second master, he joined, in No-
vember, 1815, the St. George, 98, bearing the flag of
Sir John Thomas Duckworth, at Plymouth, where he
continued to serve in the Pique, 36, Captains the Hon.
Anthony Maitland and Arthur Fanshawe, and Berwick,
74, and Impregnable, 104, flag-ships of Sir J. T. Duck-
worth, Lord Exmouth, and Hon. Sir Alexander Coch-
rane, until promoted to the rank of lieutenant, July 19,
1821. He cruised, while thus attached, in different
tenders for the suppression of smuggling, and had
command for some time of the admiral's tender. From
November 1839, until the spring of 1843, he was again
stationed at Plymouth in the San Josef, under the flags
of Rear-Admirals Frederick Warren and Sir Samuel
Pym, admiral-superintendents.
The screw-ship Ajax, 58, Captain Quin, ordered from
Queenstown to Spithead to be paid wages, is to have
her defects made good. She is not to be" paid off," as
stated by a Cork paper.
LAUNCH OF THE WINDSOR CASTLE.—The leviathan
three-decker screw steam-ship Windsor Castle, was
launched from Pembroke Dockyard, at five o'clock, on
Wednesday evening. The weather being remarkably
fine, some 30,000 persons bad assembled from the neigh-
bouring towns to witness the interesting spectacle of the
launching of the largest ship-of-war in the world. The
ceremony of naming her was performed, in the thual
way by the lady of Sir Thomas Pastel, the Captain
Superintendent of Pembroke Dockyard. The Windsor
sor Castle was originally intended for a 120-gun ship, but
was afterwards lengthened midships, for the purpose of
giving the necessary increase of displacement for the
engines, boilers, coals &e., and abaft for the accommoda-
tion of the screw propeller. The following are her
dimensiOns.:— „ Feet in.
Length from fore part of figure-hcadld
part of taffrail 278 6
Length between the perpendiculars ~. 240 6
„ for keel for tonnage ..4 201 llk
Breadth extreme ... 60 0

„ for tonnage ...
„ moulded ...
Height from keel to taffrail
Depth in hold

59 2
58 4
•• • 65 0
24 8

Burden in tons, old measurement... 3,759 4.94
new measurement... 3,153
Engines, 700 horse-power.
The steam-frigates Simoom, Desperate, and Inflexible
are at Pembroke, and will accompany the Windsor
Castle (jury-rigged) to Portsmouth, where she will be
fitted for immediate service.

PRIZE MONEY FOR THE PHOINIX, SCREW-SLOOP:
Ommanney, Son, and Co., have given notice to the
ufficers and crew of her Majesty's stem-sloop, Pbcenix,
entitled to share for a launch, name unknown, captured
Dec. 22, 1850, and for a launch, name unknown, cap-
tured Oct. 31, 1850, that an account of the bounty
money granted for the said captures will be delivered
into the registry of the High Court of Admiralty
forthwith.

The Encounter, screw-vessel, of not more tonnage
than the Archer, Wasp, or Niger, is commanded by a
captain, whereas the three vessels last mentioned are
commanded by commanders.
The screw 90 gun ship Agamemnon has been taken
out of dock at Woolwich, will be completed by the en-
gineers on the 24th inst., and by the shipwrights on the
25th, when she will be immediately commissioned.
Gladiat3r, 6, steam-frigate, has beeu taken into the
sea-bosin at Portsmouth, and will go into dock on the
20th inst.

Mercury, cutter, fitting for the Channel Island ser-
vice, will be ready on the 21st inst. to relieve the Sea-
flower. When the vessel arrives her crow will be
turned over to the Mercury.
Rolla, apprentices' brig, Lieut. Commander Feawick,
arrived at Portsmouth, and went into harbour yesterday,
from Brighton and Hastings, with a number of newly-
entered boys for the navy.
PORTSMOUTH, FRIDAY.—The Tudor, Indiaman, ar-
rived at Spithead this morning to embark passengers and
take on board stock for Calcutta. The Vernon, Indiaman, arrived at Spithead this morning
for Bombay and
Madras. We understand till; ship will take out the
heavy luggage of Lord F. Fitzclarence, the commander
of the forces at Bombay. Wind, N.E.,
fine weather.
SHEERNESS, SEPT. 16.—Her Majesty's screw steam-
, sloop Miranda, 14, in charge of Mr. Pope, Assistant-
Master-Attendant of the dockyard, has returned from
Leith, having performed the voyage in 44 hours. She
has been placed in the basin underneath the sheers to
receive her proper masts and spare, and to be completely
fitted as one of the advanced steam squadron of reserve.
Her jurymasts and yards were sent down yesterday.
Her
Luke Stnithett Master-Commanding, having undergone
Majesty's paddle-wheel steam-packet Vivid, Mr.
extensive repairs at Woolwich, passed by here on Tues-
day evening, en route to Dover, to resume her duties at
that port.
Her
tart, is nearly complete in her rig, and will bo able to
Majesty's brig Bittern, 12, Commander Vansit-
leave the fitting basin next week.
Her Majesty's steam-vessels Adder, Lizsrd, and
African are employed at the Nore on service connected
with the trials of anchors, which commenced on Tuesday.
WOOLWICH, SEPT. 17.—The Greenock screw steam-
ship was taken out of the basin to-day, preparatory to
going down the river on trial.
The Garland Dover mail steam•packet, Lieut.-Com-
mander Wylde, arrived at this port to-day to have some
defects made good.

The Right Hon. J. W. Henley left town far a few
days,
yesterday, for his seat, Waterperry, county
Oxon.
A BROKEN HEART.—Dr. J. K. Mitchell, of the
Jefferson College, Philadelphia, in lecturing to his pupils
upon the diseases of the heart, narrated an anecdote in proof
that the expression " broken-hearted" was not merely figu-
rative. On one occasion, in the early part of his life, he
accompanied, as surgeon, a packet that sailed from Liverpool
to one of the American ports. The captain frequently con-
verted with him respecting a lady who had promised to be-
come his bride on his return from that voyage. Upon this
subject he evinced great warmth of feeling, and showed Dr.
Mitchell some costly jewels, ornaments, &c., which he in-
tended to present as bridal presents. On reaching his desti-
nation he was abruptly informed that the lady had married
some one else. Instantly the captain was observed to clap
pp
his hand to his breast, and fall heavily to the ground. He
was taken up and conveyed to his cabin on board the ves-
sel. Dr. Mitchell was immediately summoned, but before
he reached the poor captain he was dead, A postmortem
examination revealed the cause of his unfortunate decease.
His heart was found literally torn in twain I The tre-
mendous propulsion of blood, consequent upon such a
violent nervous shock, forced the powerful muscular tissues
asunder,
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Professor Holloway's Establishment, 244, Strand, London.
DEATH OF A CENTENARIAN.--J limes O'Neil died
on Thursday, in Salford, Manchester, at the advanced age
of 107 years. He was born on the 2d of Marcb, 1745,
entered the army in 1774, served 38 years, and was dis-
' charged in 1812. Ile has, therefore, been 40 years a
pensioner.

SPIRIT of the PUBLIC JOURNALS•

FROM THE MORNING PAPERS OF THIS DAY
admirablelasto characteristics,
speakofthat
TlMES.—Atter duly contemplating the life and ser-
vices,pled position of the man England andhas the unexam-
mayvetnhteureat immensef crop of
just lost, one
honours, titles, offices, and guerdons every imagina-
ble sort which have been heaped upono
.im. It may
truly be said that not only kings an but all
ranks, all classes, every age and sex ipnrinthlss,
country,
have delighted to honour the man through allwhom,
believed, Heaven had given it deliverance. Whateveras
was rare and precious, the first of its kind, the very
cream of honour and the flower of consideration, has
been accumulated on the object of our national regard,
like the glittering arms and decorations on an ancient
trophy. Distinctions, each of them, in its way, the ob-
ject of ardent ambition and jealous rivalry, have been
piled upon him in almost wasteful profusion. The prize
that had long fed the hopes of twenty suitors has, in this
instance, been only thrown into the heap. So long and
so splendid is the mere catalogue of honours, that, for
a whole generation, young men, and their elders too,
have repeatedly opened the Peerage for the express
purpose of rekindling their admiration with the
splendid recital; and this was, in all sane and ordinary
minds, without a particle of envy, and without even a
hope of imitation. The trophies of our Miltiades have
robbed no man of his sleep. Even they who were pitted
against the Duke of Wellington in his Indian services
and his earlier Peninsular campaigns, and who might feel
themselves aggrieved at his forwardness, his favour, or
his fortune, uniformly lived to justify all these three ac-
cessories to his success. Indeed all of us, though ever
so far or ever so near—if any were near him in the race
of honour—have felt only pleasure in the reflection that
we had so great a man in our age and our country; and,
more than all, that the man thus ours by the accident of
birth was, to the very heart's core, and to the very mar-
row of his bones—an Englishman. We will not quarrel
with the traditionary John Bull which political humour-
ists make the typo of our race; but we must say that it
has always struck us most forcibly that the perfect ideal
of the Englishman was to be found in the Duke of Wel-
lington. All such personal admiration, philosophers
tell us, is only a subtle form of self-worship, and cer-
tainly we should never all agree to like a man who was
not singularly like ourselves. That deep community of
feeling we believe to be at the bottom of the un-
bounded homage we have paid to this name.
In this country the peerage is the most coveted
of all possessions. It is given charily, and never with-
out raising a national controversy as to the merits and
clahns,of the new Peer. The successive steps of nobility
are scarcely less coveted, scarcely less disputed, and the
man who from a viscount becomes an earl, or trom a
marquis a duke, is thought to have done as much for
one life as could be expected. He is accounted
the second founder of his family. The Duke of Wel-
lington, as the Peerage loves to tell, and as wo all love to
read, scaled all the steps of the nobility at one bound.
He left England plain Sir Arthur, and came back a Duke.
When he took his seat all the patents of nobility were
read at once. But the British Peerage itself, with its
manifold steps, proved insufficient, and when Water-
loo had eclipsed the Peninsula, there remained no
other rank, title, or addition that England could
bestow, and the Duke was Duke because he could
be nothing higher. Thus the highest rank of our
ancient nobility was at the same time ennobled
and diminished by the gigantic proportions of its
new member. To proceed, we know not how many
times the Duke of Wellington has received the thanks
of both Houses of Parliament, and there is hardly an
educated person who has not read over and over again
with emotion those few wonderful words which the
Speaker of the House of Commons addressed to the
Duke when at last he appeared in person on that floor.
Some of our nobility have also foreign titles, and are
not a little proud of them, though their origin is long
since forgotten. The Duke had the highest titles that
could be given by three considerable Sovereigns from
whose territories he had driven the legions of the
Emperor. The Duke was a Field-Marshal—the only
real Field-Marshal—and when Englishmen are asked,
" What is a Field-Marsbal?' they will answer, " The
Duke of Wellington." He was also Field-Marshal in
three other of the greatest armies in the world,
where Field-Marshals are as few as in our
service. To pass on. The Order of the Garter
is unspeakably precious to the eyes of rank
in this country. A man without heirs would rather be
a K.G. than a Duke. It is so mixed up with royalty,

that the collar, the badge, the mantle, and the motto
decorate our coinage. When a stall falls vacant at least
a dozen dukes and earls, the proprietors of counties, and
the holders of great offices, arc thrown into agonies of
suspense. With two or three such baits a Minister
could purchase or pacify vapport enough to save or to
ruin his country. The higkeet honours of foreign knight-
hood are not less PVized7ind every admission to the
order of the Golden Fleece is an historical event, cer-
tain to provoke angry discussion in the English and
French journals. The Duke of Wellington was in the
first class of all the principal orders of Europe. Be-
sides these honours on the scale and stage of the world,
universally recognized and current, there are others
that are only known at home, but not the less
valued. The Wardenship of the Cinque Ports has
been highly appreciated by our most distinguished Mi-
nisters, and probably at this moment would be gladly
accepted by Royalty itself. Of course this has long
been in the hands of the Duke, and tens of thousands,
in passing from North to South Foreland, have thought
of him as they passed by Wainer Castle. To be Con-
stable of the Tower of London is enough of itself to give
importance to any military name. That has long been
thrown in among other dignities. The Chancellorship
of the University of Oxford has always been so stoutly
contested, that friendships, antipathies, promotions, and
even schools of opinion have dated from the elections.
At the first vacancy after the Duke's exploits it was
conferred upon him without opposition, though not an
academical man. The Duke was for many years stand-
ing Commander-in-Chief, under changing Cabinets, and
rival Premiers equally bowed to his authority. He
was also for a long time Master of the Trinity-house,
a post hardly leas responsible and important. Be-
sides these, he had colonelcies, commissionerships,
and governorships without end, the Lord
Lieutenancy of his county, and a multitude
of smaller offices and honours which it is impossible to
remember and not easy to learn. We have omitted im-
mense Parliamentary grants, pensions, Strathfieldsaye,
prize-money, silver-shields, plateaus, services in gold
and chins, diamond stars, poured in upon him by
emperors, kings, armies, corporations, ladies, and every
possible donor. We have omitted statues of all sorts
and sizes. Our limits compel us to take things in the
gross; but, even with this rapid and wholesals mode of
enumeration, we aro omitting various heads and modes
of acknowledgment. It is not our present purpose to
notice the gigantic powers of the man who could dis-
charge with credit such a multitude of offices, almost
any one of them sufficient to occupy an ordinary
mind. We are only noticing the extraordinary accu-
mulation of honours heaped by the gratitude, the ad-
miration,
and the confidence of this country, and the
greater part of the civilized world, on a man who
li
never rose or wished to rise above the rank of a
subject or obedience to the laws, and whose sole prin-
ciple through life was that which we teach the children
in our Sunday schools, viz., to do their duty in that
state of life unto which it shall please God to call thee).
But the most exhaustive enumeration of honours
that memory could reach, after all, fails of describing
the position of this man for the last forty years. It
does not include that personal interest, that reverential
regard, and that respectful curiosity which all have felt
for a person to whom they were so much indebted, and
who hardly fell short of the most romantic ideal of
heroism. No one in this country ever received so much
of that popular testimony, monstruri digito pretereuntinm,
excepting that the spectators were not always content
with a passing glance. For many years he was daily
watched from Apsley House to the Horse Guards, and.
as he always arrived at the House of Lords exactly at
a quarter to five o'clock, he had always a tail of modest
admirers behind him, sad a species of reception by a
circle, often including well-drest people from the country,
at the street entrance of the House of Lords. Latterly,
as he came in his photon or on horseback, this opportu-
nity of a deliberate survey was more extensively used.
No parade or spectacle was complete without him, and his
presence everywhere secured all the success that was
desired. Whenever he appeared in the Exhibition last
year he was soon oppressed, and sometimes . driven
away, by the redundant enthusiasm of his provincial
admirers. In the fashionable world he was everything
and everywhere, and at everybody's call, yet never lost
his value; though, in some instances, he certainly appre-
ciated himself at a lower rate than his sensitive friends
could have wished. For many years he has been the
universal father at weddings and Godfather at baptisms;
yet, so little had his philanthropy been cheapened by the
multitude of its objects, that when a Royal Prince was
born on his birthday he was put in requisition; and, for
his sake, we have a Prince Arthur once more in Britain.
Beginning with her Majesty and Prince Albert, there is
not a family in the fashionable world that has not shown
as much interest and curiosity about the Dake as any
middle class household that had heard of his battles, but
had no hope or chance of a nearer acquaintance. The
Duke was everywhere a favourite of children, and kept a
store of shillings fresh from the Mint to distribute
keepsakes among his juvenile admirers; and
noinanys%br
mementoes were kept till the possessor was s man n
in
young. There is no man, and never has been
interesting
this country, of whom there were so nsanhYh, but err-
and characteristic anecdotes; so
phatic and pithy sayings and letters.
life, up to the last, has supplieda
manyE'voergy day of his
were we once to begin, we shou soon
ure
loofsethese,
ourselves.e
The relish with which they d even when they
the amusement they irredebe,en caught up, and
ha" even agreeable, proves the
were not complimentary or
estimation of the man who ceould say and do what he
wit ever left so many
ni
liked. No huouri
st
on, Voltaire himself, had
sayings' Swift' i Johns bearers, and did not issue
P not more SD
• - Twig of
wide mother wit. World.
so large a coinage ?
wide in glory, multifarious in
offices,h übiquitous in per-
son, incessant in duty,
a alwaysin place, on every sub-
ject hitting the .
right nail on the head, knowing at least
two whole generations of public men, with a memory
and an historical career reaching far beyond the
lives of most men, he attained a greater universality

[PRICE SD.

than any man ever did in this country; a greater univer-
sality as of services and knowledge, so also of estima-
tion and affection. Though ho made his own fortune,
he was idolized by the aristocracy; though an aristocrat
by birth, habits and opinions, ho was reverenced and
loved by the commonalty; though a soldier, he was
chosen the prince of academicians and churchmen;
though almost overtopping royalty in his name and in-
fluence, he was the cherished friend of three sovereigns.
As he had triumphed over every obstacle in his
mili-
tary, and every prejudice in his civil career, so, in spite
of every difficulty, he secured an abiding-place in the
esteem and affection of all classes.
CHRONICLE.—Having reviewed the great character
of the Duke of Wellington, both in his military and civil
capacities—as a general End as a statesman—it remains
but to show that his public virtues were not factitious,
but sprang naturally out of the true man, Arthur Wel-
lesley. In other words, we may learn something from
the spectacle of his simple, real, inner mind. We may
view him apart from robes and uniform—no longer the
leading spirit of the camp and Cabinet, but in private,
in his individuality, as he was in himself. Cmiar has
left his military papers, but they betray few traces
of character; Frederick the Great was at least great in
the amount of his literary performances, though very
,dethlienyeasthioonw
small in the moral impression which he leaves • and Na-
poleon was an author after a fashion, though' his fame
suffers from his written picture of himself. But the
not known till they
col-
lected DispatchfOind military Memoirs of the Duke of
have a test of what he traPol
Wellington actdall
these most honourably reveal the man. The Duke was
contrast. the parallelhe Dispatcheski arly 6bolalrpollbionteh largeof,maorcltbaovroouvgohlumanesd,
Nel-
sonand
r ies. survive to
they
es,
rset a
authentic,
etehtei
yegahwr appeared. In
paalntlld:h thise
Dispatches
are collection
cold,
dull,
uwl
and artificial—probably they were composedcuihnnraiotothut
hesbleyyl
ishgeherrtoset enough,aoo.ff
Blenheim, like Pope's " women," had character at
all." The Nelson papers display the warm,
enthusiastic being, half feminine in his susceptibilitiespassionate,
half Birserkar in his thirst for the raptures of the
—they show the inconsistent elements which were
so
singularly mingled in the slave of Lady Hamilton and
the conqueror of Trafalgar. The great publication of
Colonel Gurwood reveals a very different type of hero—
if " hero," in its old sense, can ever be the proper ap-
pellation of Wellington. He had, indeed, more true
heroism than either his predecessor or his contemporary,
but it was because he had less of the conventional hero.
He never made fine speeches—never did dazzling thea-
trical things—seldom or never furnished subjects for
sentimental pictures. His correspondence with .the
Ministry and the War-office is simple, but it is the
very reverse of tedious; for every intelligent reader of
the " Wellington Dispatches," though unacquainted
with, or uninterested in, the details, feels that the
writer is saying exactly what the occasion demanded, '
and no more. The penny post has had its value in de-
stroying the type of letters written as epistolary exer-
cise ; but the Duke anticipated the condensed style of
our own days! He was never a master of composition ;
but, through much occasional uncouthness, his meaning
was always perceptible axd clear. This applies to his
speeches as well as his wiitiegs. That the Duke was
no Suidas, everybody knows; but though be sometimes
hit the nail roughly, and too hard, and too often, the
nail was always hit. His speeches were more verbose
than his dispatches, but in the least effective of them
there was ever a core of sense—a clear note of ttuth,

earnestness, and reason, which told both on the House
of Lords and on the people. The Duke's speeches
were often widely at variance with the rules of rheto-

rical art, but -they invariably told. Whether as a
writer or a speaker, there was no possibility of mis-
taking Wellington. His calmness of temperament
saved his letters from the more obvious failings of his

oratory ; but the defects in ES speeches are attributable
partly to a sort of nervousness inseparable from
an effort in which be knew that he was not
successful, and partly—perhaps chiefly—to his intense
desire to be understood. Hence the exaggerations, the
repetitions, and the false metaphors which a small criti-
cism has not nnfrequently detected in his oratory. All
these were but the signs of an earnest, anxious vehe-
mence to say his say in such a way as to tell. The Duke
evideutly felt that, if it were his business to speak, he
must take care to speak so that the dullest auditor
should understand him. " F.M. the Duke of Welling-
ton's" private letters have become proverbial; and yet,
though we have all smiled at their quaintness, we can-
not renal one which did not, after all, say just whit the
writer meant, whilst it also showed that he meant what
he said. And seldom was his brief, pointed, extem-
poraneous judgment or answer misapplied. The Duke
scarcely did more by minding his own business than
by making it known, in choice, pithy English, that
it was best for everybody else likewise to
mind his own business—a lesson worthy and signiti-
alit Or. the teacher. Multifarious enough, certainly,
were those opportunities of interference or too-opera-
tion which the good Duke did not exclude from
his acknowledged sphere of duty. All the common
haunts of fashion, as well as society's worst bores, he
faced with a manly resolution which grew at length
into a liking—duty became a pleasure, and a customary
form and mode of life. Wellington felt that he was
common property ; and such he was. Smaller men
would have grown vain or sulky upon being challenged
in this way; but it all came as a matter of course to the
Duke. It was right and kind to be at people's parties—
to give them his name—to give away their duaghters—
and to eat their dinners. In doing this every day in
the season, the Duke made no parade of himself. He
was the first subject of the Crown; in his person were
concentrated many of the offices, and most of the
honours and dignities of the State; these things were
his country's gifts to him, and the country had a corre-
sponding share in its Great Duke. The country had a
tight to him and to his services, to his presence, his
blue ribbon, and all the rest of it; and frankly and
cheerfully, like an honest, earnest man, the Duke ad-
mitted this. And so he was always to be seen in " hall
and bower"—to the very last he reared, with feeble
hands, the great sword of Estate—to the very last
he was punctual in his customary ride from Apsley
House to the Horse Guards. The people loved
to have their Great Captain ever before them ; and
the Duke of Wellington was too wise to deny the claim.
AU this shows a cheerful, sympathising, truthful temper;
and it was so felt and understood by his countrymen.
Without being a courtier, there have been very few who
have ever done so much by personal weight. It was not
owing to a more fashion or prejudice that " the counsel
which he counselled in those days was as if a man had
inquired at the oracle of God." There was always that
in the Duke's advice which would have given it intrinsic
importance. Its character was that of perfect common
sense. It was not the mere result of experience—there
was an intuitive quickness with which the Duke stripped
a subject of its accidents. When the Queen, on any
great emergency, sent for the Duke, she might not only
depend upon thorough honesty, entire disinterestedness,
a sound judgment, and an opinion dictated by perfect
loyalty—out, yet more, the advice offered to the Crown
under difficulties was generally a faithful rtth=e-
don of the sound opinions of the people. What
the Duke recommended never differed much
from the wishes of the majority of right-thinking
minds. In listening to him the Sovereign listened to a
true interpreter of public opinion; and that Wellington,
in his declining years, with all his antecedents, should
have come in this sense to represent the popular senti-
ment, is among his chief honours. Personally—of
course we are not illustrating the Duke's character ex-
cept from public sources—Wellington carried out him
the details of social life his habitual simplicity and di-
rectness. He was, perhaps, constitutionally of inexpen-
sive and frugal habits; but no one was more munificent
when occasion required it—not so much, however, from
taste as from a sense of propriety. His Waterloo Ban-
vets, and his state concerts and receptions, were un-
rivalled; and his annual entertainment of the Judge°
was dictated by a sense of duty. In his hospitalities 'so
delighted to honour his Sovereign and his country rather
than to gratify either vanity or any personal predilection.
In his own habits ho retained the manners of the camp
its simplicity of fare,
its rude accommodation, and
detaits
ils
thrift of time. Punctual, exact, and orderly h
elle, in
he
of business,e
required obedience
and Bough is
speech, he never willingly
others, because he was the first to
"ion/ life, it was bo-
seemed to undervalue the amenities
p of the practical
cause his austere and unbendieg
hp gnrr9O9prief leS Of an age
led hiin to set the duties above Ircliefty to those mili-
of compromise. Charitable,
inflicteds"w it.and if he ever
he was seldom seen on
he thought had poem-
ltiaarrycconnexionsjattilucl3lhe likgehawnbo
_tohinuedueseription lists—he always
generally relieved, private
nt instance, in which it appeered
applications; and a
0 had profited long and largely by his
platforms,
methodicallyo r reengrioslti:rrdeede,
sthecarteramizies,impP°setdrthat the Iron Duke was far from be-
noels proved
of the to and higher emotions.
regular,n and unostentatious.
sietiknow of his religion it was in accordance
iwlnuigtahultntshea
ienrd—fsoirmroPsh'iiity was one of the conditions
And in the highest matters be had at
uestness.
of e3r sense and feeling never to interfere in dis-
the good se
least
which he did not understand. Of pretence he was
But
inhissucchhauramot
pates w
incapable—of all men of his age, he had the least tinge of
in what is called affability, none
ever unreality.ye t
watnhteDgake with being insincere. These
are high elements of personal character. Wellington's
virtues, if of the hard, were of the enduring and solid
kind. The Duke was emphatically a great man—great
not only in what he achieved, but great in himself. He
was born to lead and to influence. England is certainly
not the field for dynastic changes, nor does it off, r
favourable chances to an adventurer; but if, to his great
powers and successes, the Duke of Wellington had added
personal ambition, there have been periods of history,
and there are yet spheres, in which he might have been
dangerous as a subject. Were another Warwick pos-
sible, Arthur Wellesley had the stuff in him to be a king-
maker, or even king. But a noble and affectionate, a
delicate and chivalrous loyalty, fully worthy of other
days, with an earnest patriotism, kept in check, and
made beautiful, qualities which might else have become
formidable to State, Crown, and country. Throughout
his whole career, duty and obedience inspired him, un-
alloyed by any ignoble or personal passion. He was
the same at the drudgery of the Horse Guards as in the
splendid vicissitudes of siege and battle; and he carried
out, in fading years and with faltering powers, the great
purpose of his manhood and his prime. To the very