The Sun.
London, England, 1852-11-19 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, FRIDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 191 1852.

nicest rules of justice. There were the great
officers of the Government in which he had held
the highest place. There were—more than all these

—swarming-to see the last of their hero—the way-
ward uncertain masses of the people who are
the children of the State—for whose good
the Duke worked far more truly and well
than ever did their self-styled special friends—
the wayward, but, in the long run, well-judging
people, who admired, feared, misunderstood,
but at last loved and almost idolised the Duke.
If, as a part of the solemnities of yesterday, it had
been possible to gather the opinions and the feelings
of the crowd which filled St. Paul's, and choked
up the great avenue of our capital, what a mag-
nificent monument it would be ; nobler than ever
was displayed on tanner, or recorded by herald's
devices, or scuiptered on funereal car. In the
hushed and solemn anxiety of the throng of spec-
tators as the procession passed, there was the mark
of a deep-loved honour—not won by happy strokes
of fortune—by keen intrigue or ingeniously directed
eloquence, but fixed and riveted by a long and noble
life open to all men's sight, by services which no
man could deny, by truth, uprightness, and good
heart, which no man could impugn.
In speaking of so much of Wellington as now
has left the earth—his spirit and the shell which
imprisoned it—we mentioned the legacies which he
bequeathed to his country. They are many and
rich ones. It were late in the day to speak of the
safety which he secured—the name which he gained
—the position which he conquered—the empire
which he won for England. But London gave us
yesterday in its orderly solemnity—its steady con-
duct—its quiet universal propriety—an instance of
the weight and influence working always for good
in the life of which that day's grand ceremonial
sealed the record.

Such spontaneous honour as the multitude paid
yesterday to the remains of a great and good man
is a healthy sign in the body and habits of a people.
The feeling which they showed is one which will
grow and bear fruit. There was no sudden emo-
tion —no violent overstrained sentiment in the
matter. The- expression of reverence rose evidently
from deliberate opinion—from a firm conviction as
to the merits of a life placed too high, and shining
out too clearly, for doubt or question.
The death of the Duke of Wellington startled no
fresh and ardent enthusiasm, severed no hasty and
fervid attachment between him and those among
whom he lived : but it dissolved a love and honour
knit by long knowledge of the qualities which gave
them birth. It is no light thing that a people
should have a feeling so worthy and so good to
cherish—that they should have a memory so noble
and stainless to revere—a standard so high to refer
to—a test so pure by which to try the right.
We, therefore, reckon these things as rich legacies
—we count their influence (and it was an influence
which no one could mistake) on the multitudes of
yesterday as part of the rich inheritance left by the
great conqueror—the just statesman—the good
Man— whose body lies by the great Nelson in
St. Paul's.

Those are great doings—achievements to awaken
pride and gratitude which he wrote with a firm
hand on the great page of European politics—but
those are also very beautiful records, very valuable
as well as touching lines in our national history,
which we may read in the universal voice of the
public on yesterday's solemn triumph, in their re-
verent and decorous observance of a noble cere-
mony—their appreciation of a closing tribute to the
greatness.which had conquered their allegiance, and
the worth which had secured him love.