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

LONDON,

greatest conquerors and commanders have always done
their special work rapidly. The last campaigns of
Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon were clossd before or
about the period of the energy of middle life; Frederick
of Prussia and Marlborough each commanded in the
field after the age of fifty; but the Duke of Wellington
affords almost a solitary instance
of a great warrior
whose life was prolonged—and that for every active
duties in other departments of State service—nearly
forty years after his last battle was height. 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 wi,h those of his most illustrious rival.
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 fame of England was at a decided ebb
at the close of the eighteenth century. The glories of
Blenheim and Malplaquet
and, only survived as rapidly de-
caying traditions; a ;
---, .11 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 comparatively 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 toe distant to be influential. Our last Conti,
nental general, the Duke
the world to expect much from our reappearance 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,
presence
that it began in theof Cumberland, had not led
of disaster and defeat. Ad-
versity is a safe school in which to educate a conqueror.
The experience of military incapacity which Wellesley
gained in the swamps of
Holland was his first, and,
perhaps, his most valuable lesson in war.
Tho 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
chequered by the impetuous energy which must decide
an 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
i . He
his perfect training—the man of Waterloo has been
moulded in the most opposite schools of discipline. , and beneficially, to be
has learned how to handle a defeated and disheartened
corps—he has also had glorious experience in launching
the successful thunderbolts of rear.
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
rperveev ai el
eada—abt ut et m
opnt i
yu
tnod e
gr i fSt
ei
dr Jhoubda
there was true stuff in the British soldier. The army
vMeryookreeenhaedy,esi_ndteheadt,
was unpopular, both at home and abroad; and a general
feeling prevailed that we were an invincible naval, but a
contemptible military power. The Ministry of the day
was unable to equip anything like an imposing
force. Command was not merely divided, but was
subjected to a complexity of subordination which ren-
dered unity of action impossible; and the discredit-
able Convention of Cintr!, was not likely to inspire
confidence or hope. Sir Arthur Wellesley en-
tered on his first responsible European command under
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 Gurwood's publication smacks of the War-office
clerk, the Victoires et Conqiietes has an undeniable twang
of the minor theatre. The result was, that Marengo :Ind
Austerlitz collapsed into Waterloo, whilst Corunna ex-
panded into Vittoria and Salamanca.
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. dence. Napoleon was the idol of his soldiers—We ng-
ton was the friend of his army. Napoleon made men
aspire to the Legion of Honour or to a Marshal'sbaton
—Wellington know no higher reward than 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 manceuvrso
each was a general of absolute science. The
British Commander was slow in acquiring confi-
dence—the French Emperor was headstrong Ind un-
manageable in defeat. Time and experience did their
work differently on each, because they represented
his final
charges
dis-
tinct moral principles. Wellington, in
and his pursuit of victory on the slopes of
Jean, equalled the most brilliant and impetuous attacks
of Napoleon in his best days ; but at
Waterloo
for po-
rloo Na
leon had neglected a general's first duty, •°r he had not
made the slightest provision for a retreat. And that
has re-
mighty conflict of principles, as well as of armies,
00
was
as
stilted in a thirty-seven years' peaces Water'
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. We 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 not only materials for
p his immediate purpose, but
responsible beings,
t soldiers. An
whom it was his duty to train into
efficiee
utter recklessness and disrekard of human
life was the
characteristic of the one policy—
a Painf l and anxious
of the
solicitude for the health and consequent usefulnessh.
Napoleon
men was the guiding principle of the oter.
whole dis
fought battles, stormed towns, and
laid
wasteation—Welling-
tricts with fire and sword to paralyze a.ll
a planned cam-
ton never fired a cannon but as a step
IL
British—Jaffa
paign. Torres Vedras is the type of t
mind.
but too faithful an illustration of the
French
to the merely
' Nor is this moral contradiction confinedreers which we
military contrasts developed by the
made ea
splendid fortune
have been contemplating.
Scutt
aor a jewel in the
by robbery; but there is not a picture
_.,
Hi which was not
halls of Wellington or Beresford, or
a gift or a purchase. Wellington saved Paris from the
murdered the
barbarian threats of Blucher—Napoleon matters we
Duo D'Enghien. And even in the smallest_
endured patiently the
trace a like contrariety. Wellington e.as Spanish colleagues,
associated incapacity of Cuesta and his
t withoutp pique • while
if not without a murmur, at less-
rnadotte. Napoleon ostracised the talents
of
Be
temporising and
Welling-
ton had the art to conciliate,
by
prudent of allies—he sound judgment, the most
intractableobstinacy of Madrid
re-
duced the Junta of Cadiz and the
to a harmless dependence; while Napoleon could not
h
retain the train of monarchs who were in league with
him.
Finally—for these things are not without their
abiding and eternal lesson to mankind—the great
to each of these
avenger and reconciler has
en awarded°plate end and retribu-
mighty
rivals his a"r exile and a prisoner—venting
lion. Napoleon died se
envy
by leaving a legacy
the bitterness of unrepentedd
the assassination of his
to the wretch who attempted
conqueror; but it was reserved for Wellington to enter-
tain in his own house, and at a social banquet, the
ablest of the Frenchcaptains who had years before
n
opposed him in the field. Napoleon has left a name
which, at this moment, works as the substantial
curse of his country ; whilst one universal
every
from British
heart
acclaim of blessing and honournoble chieftain. Until re-
salutes the euthanasia of oar noble
will point the moralist's
tnotest time the fate of Napoleon mark the intrinsic hol-
most indignant satire, and
i eof ambition and tyranny;
lowaess, vileness, and failure will boundwith delight - generations oun
but the most distant
at the recollection of him who best illustrated, under un-
paralleled difficulties and temptations,
the common vin-
Inesand duty, and reverence for law, right,
and truth, and
of honesty
loyalty andr
atriotism. The one is the
. —the other belongs
dromance
property of a fitful and lot _
of fame. Blasted laurels
to the calm dignity historic fell on the solitary tomb r .
of St. Helena; but the patriot's
myrtle and the civic oa- -
a shall wreath the bier of our
lived but for '
himself—
hero. And justly; for Napoleon .
all bat himself. The highest
Wellington worked for a
was—
" To drag a world
ambition of Napoleon in his fall . • .ni
into the mire with m.„
all his military
The best reward of Wellington, after
glories, was but
" To return home into life, and to become
A fellowman his fellow. men."
(From among;theity News.)
Wellington's death a rich batch of
By the Duke of
Minister—places of
places falls into the lap of the
moat showy td mot the
richest, and honours of the
co-
al of some of these wind_voted class. With the disposal
to meddle—in re-
ference to
falls the p
others, it is üblic have but little
theirright serious and urgent duty to
newly-vacant Garter—
interfere. Who shall have the
' Grace of That shall wear
whether my Lord This or his .
1 The blue riband is one
it is not the affair of the people,
' 1 tat those distinctions ranch
in .
prized for its rarity; intended
for the aristocracy, and the disposal of which the
Crownand the Minister are exclusively untitled to decide.

Vincula, the church of the fortress, was tolled at
int,-rvals during the day.
OXFORD, SEPT. I.s.—Great sensation has been
produced here by the intelligence of the lamented
death of the Chancellor of the 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 rewesentative 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. Ile
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 attain.ed by
the late Chancellor, end the merits and demerits of

several candidates have probably heen d•scu4sed 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.
LIVERPOOL.—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 ell would feel should
ho 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 stip, 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-
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 sum of his other qualities, and which ren-
dered him in the judgment oflthe great French diplo-
matist " the most capable man" of his time, was
that he always know 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 sarre 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 country. It
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, the "First
Consul" of this Republic, and " the father of his coun-
try."Erheitadsyheen to give his
appealed
It is this that has given him a constant place at
advicethe ri
without
ght h and
roafvtonuer
or prejudice,
Throne.
vehre
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 strorgly 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,when
others were for pressing onwards, will no more be raised.
The Argus-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.
some
Foreign as well as internal foes will feel a weight off
their souls; foreign friends will feel our alliance theoffweaker. he mere presence and example of such a man
was felt to be security for our good order and stability.
,
" While the Duke lives," has long been a favourite
expression with those who feared or desired a change.
‘
l years,
result We
ofrea ci in
the And
sac the
red la
great deliverance, followed by the rule of the deliverer
‘A
himself. That rest we have had. Looking to the im-
portant
periods, and the
portant advice he has given at critical unndnahlsad
as rest
the for n
at 40 u
r a
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 will be fels. Nor is the political horizon
very clear at this moment. The Premier has a great
windfall of places and dignities to dispose of; but he
may soon be made to miss the great man whose uni-
versal powers were faintly expressed in 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 Chronicle.)
The Duke of Wellington's career as a General ex-
tended only over twenty-eight years; but his life was
pXQIQDged beyond hia eighty-tbird birth-day. The

THURSDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 16,

The same may, perhaps, be said of the two Lord-Lien-
tenancies of Hampshire and of the Tower Hamlets. These
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 colonelcy 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 of Oxford will give a topic and
a duty to the Dons of that ancient seat 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 an affair of vital importance to the
well-being of the country. Whilst the Duke of Wel-
lington lived nobody ever seriously thought of disturbing
any of the offices in his peculiar possession. The country
seemed never tired of rewarding him, as the round sums
one after another voted to him by Parliament sufficiently
testify. After Badajos and Salamanca they gave him
100,0001. to buy him an estate; after Toulouse 400,000/.
more; and after Waterloo another round sum 0f_200,000/.
—besides voting him a pension for his own life and for
the lives of his two next male heirs of 2,0001. a year,
subsequently raised to 4,0001., and paid from the Conso-
lidated Fund. This pension will now be paid to the pre-
sent Duke of Wellington, and, since he has no children,
afterwards to Lord Charles Wellesley, should he sur-
vive 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 no favours from
the Ministry, and hence the disposal of the vacant ap-
pointment is quite unfettered by any personal claim on
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. The
public service must not in this case be sacrificed to aid
the wheedle of the courtier, or to ,enhance the bribe of
the partisan.

The important post of Commander-in-Chief must be
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 he 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
bands 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, nut showy o: experi-
mental alterations of buttons and facings, but bond 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 be ready to adopt. Oar 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
am
candidatesbridge h leave boththe beenvaca
vacant
dby
command.
rumour
as 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 his 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-
deedof
possible
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. He
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 Prince
Consort, and Weimer 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 mere 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 charg©d 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, and 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 histactions, sprang
from a perfect clearness of mind, admitting of no after
doubts, as it allowed no previous hesitation.
But, 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 he should have been spared to gain
that general recognition of his true 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 ever 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 been the case, it
can scarcely be doubted that the same mature mind
which triumphed at Assaye 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
which 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
yntritrucafrerdy to that
circle of our
completion
Indiawhich havewi mainly
will
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
apinrloybab cc;
readers. They will, without doubt, remember how, en
' that memorable 10th of April, when England showed
the world show 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 turn 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,
such a manner, that the unseen force could, at a mo-
ment'sja notice, have been brought into irresistible actio
We will dwell no more on the particulars 0.
difl:teon a
great-
ness so fresh in all men's minds, nor
will
incapable of loss which all will feel who are not in.;aop
Duke was a
under-
standing the Noble and the Good. "•12
p y
household word among us. He was among the honours
and possessions of which his countryad was truly and
reached
eacefull very
his
justly proud. It is true that he
h end), and
iciness of time—that we lose him g
t
under every possible condition
twiny a
day the familiar
the loss—yet we missshallflT
fur chat can console us for
The Duke." We shall feel for
many
a day how much sight and knowledge of
of
wisdom
and
goodness are gone
from among us. We shall wonder for many a day how
long it will be before God vouchsafe again to give to any
mind and keen—a
nation to serve them a so powerful
.
true—so incapable of the least double-
heart so loyal and tru _
from strict
or the slightest deviation
ness of purpose,
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 nen C4l-
- on mouby pextl—Edinbur,g4 Courant.

1852

SPORTING NOTES.
No. CCCVIII.
TO-MORROW'S RACES AT DONCASTER,
STOCKWELL'S VICTORY, &c.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE SUN.
SIR,---The St. Leger is over, and the result has justi-
fied my remarks on it. On the 31st of July I threw out
my first hints respecting it. announcing it as my opinion
that the race would:lie with Daniel O'Rourke, Songstress,
and Stockwell; looking to the last-named more par-
ticularly as the best. On the 16th of August I pro-
mulgated the fact, that Songstress, having damaged her
foot, was out of work; and according to my view then
of the case thought her starting very improbable.
In No. 304 of these notes, notwithstanding the
immense favouritism given to Songstress—who
was reported to have recovered from her accident and
doing good work, which was not the case—and the de-
claration of Scott that he was sure of winning the Leger
with one or other of his animals, I still withheld from
the mare my good opinion of her chance; and, as the
stable seemed so certain of victory, I took Daniel
O'Rourke as being the best of the twain; which notion
was verified by the race of yesterday. My announce-
ment respecting the jockey of Daniel O'Rourke, at the
time opposed by nearly all my contemporaries, was cor-
rect; for Butler did tool Dan, though not to victory.
With respect to Stockwell, I remarked, that he was
" one of the most formidable looking horses in the
entry. He stands sixteen hands, and is a splendidly-
built animal in every respect, with a tremendous stride."
" I am tolerably well convinced that be will be either
first or second;" and I concluded my remarks by stating
that "my verdict must be in favour of' Stockwell or
Daniel O'Rourke." I should have gone unreservedly
for Stockwell had it not been that the Melton stable
seemed so very confident of winning.
The race of Yesterday was almost as extraordinary as
that of Vindex's the day before. Immediately the start
was effected, Alfred the Great was off at the best pace
he could make, with Harbinger and Stockwell as his
immediate attendants; Daniel and Songstress togetherfollowing, with Trousseau bringing up the rear. Little
or no change occurred until within fifty yards of the Red
House; here Alfred the Great was defeated, and Har-
binger took first position, followed, by Stockwell and
Daniel, Songstress going anything but easy. Almost
instantly afterwards a new formation took place,
Stock-
well rushing to the front with Harbinger in hot pursuit;
Daniel still in the third position, Trousseau having in the
meantime passed Songstress. The rest requires but little
description. Stockwell, who was never afterwards
caught, won in the easiest style imaginable by nearly a
dozen lengths, Harbinger beating Daniel a length for
second place; then came Trousseau, then Songstress,
and and last of all Alfred the Great, beaten off. T
3 min. 21 sec., with the exception of the deciding
beat
in Voltigeur's year, was the slowest since the Baron's
niers in 1845.
Imbriel won the Municipal Stakes so easily:that he was
immediately afterwards backed for the Derby at 20 to 1.
Cariboo's race for the Guineas was a completely one-
sided affair, as his opponents were not able to get more
than cantering exercise out of him.

To-morrow's card is most attractive, no less than eight
races and a match being set down for decision.
The North of England Produce Stakes will be carried
to Lord Eglinton's account, Claverhouse walking over.
The Doncaster Stakes of 10 soya. each, with 100,
last mile and a half, will, in all probability, be contested
by not more than three or four, including one from
Scott's stable, probably Longbow, who will carry off
this stake with the greatest certainty.
The Parkhill Stakes of 50 sovs, each, h ft, one mile
six furlongs and 132 yards, will attract to the post Bird-
on-the-Wing, Caloric, Glenluce, or Hirsuta—perhaps
both—Galvanism, Ammonia, and Bay Rosalind. BIRD-
ON•THE•WING and Mr. Payne's filly will be first
and second.

A Sweepstakes of 200 sovs. each, St. Leger Course, if
Sackbut is not present, will be a walk over for the colt
by Ithuriel, out of Gipsy.
The Don Stakes, if contested by Hobbie Noble, will
have HARBINGER and him first and second.

As the weights are nOt out for the Nursery and Town
Plates until this evening, it would be absurd for me to
attempt to advise thereon.
The Doncaster Cup, value 300 sovs., Cup Course,
about two miles and a half, it is expected, will produce
a first-rate race, Teddington, Kingston, and Stilton being
amongst the starters. I opine it will be a very close
finish between these three and Cariboo, if he runs; and
that KINGSTON and TEDDINOTON will occupy the first
and second places.—l am, Sir, &C.,
Sept. 16. THE SPIRIT OF THE TURF.

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.
DONCASTER RACES.
DONASTER, TUESDAY NIGHT, 12 o'cLecx.
In our report sent from the course we had only time
to refer briefly to the attendance; this, as we intimated,
was fully up to the numerical average of the first day,
the stand being as well filled as we have seen it on many
St. Leger days, and the receipts exceeding last year by
about 3001, being the largest ever known. In some re-
spects, however, there was an obvious falling off; the
only ladies in the stewards' stand were Mrs. Lumley and
Mrs. Milner, and the gathering of the aristocracy was
small beyond precedent. We have nothing to speak of
in the shape of alteration or improvement on the course;
the offices are still miserably deficient, and the promised
accommodation for the press has yet to be provided; we
are bound, however, to compliment Mr. De Cheenel, the
superintendent of the Electric Telegraph Company, on
the success of his arrangements for the transmission of
messages from the course. The instruments, by per-
mission of the corporation, are placed in the ground
floor of the round stand—until within a few years used
for weighing, &c.—within a few feet of the judge's chair,
so that the issue of most of the races this afternoon were
known in London, and other distant places, before the
winning horse had returned to the enclosure! Two or
three clerks were kept in full employ throughout the
afternoon.
The betting-room has been crowded to excess this
evening, but business was never known to be so dull.
Songstress, however, was in great and general demand,
and the outlay so liberal, that at the close 6 to 4 was the
highest offer against her. Very little was said or done
about Stockwell, Daniel O'Rourke or Harbinger, but
Trousseau was strangely knocked about, rallying, how-
ever, near the close from 100 to 6 to 10 to 1.
WEDNESDAY'S RACES.
Hatch; 200, h ft. Red-house in.
Lord Clifden's Pelien, 2 yrs, Bst 71b(F. Butler) 1
Lord Glasgow's ch fby Don John, Est 131b(Charlton) 2
Betting-3 to lon Pelion. Pelion won very easily
by a length. Run in 1 min. 12 sec.
The St. Leger Stakes of
.25 soya. each, for three yrs
old; colts, Bst 71b; fillies, Bst 21b; the second to re-
ceive 100 sovs. out of the stakes; the winner to pay
100 soya. towards expenses; 25 sovs. for the judge,
and 25 for the starter. St. Leger course. (116 Subs.)
Lord Exeter's Stockwell (Norman) 1
The Duke of Richmond's Harbinger (Flatman) 2
Mr. Bowes's Daniel O'Rourke (F. Butler) 3
Mr. Pedley's Trousseau (Templeman) 4
Mr. J. Scott's Songstress (A. Day) 5
Mr. Duncombe's Alfred the Great (Barham) 6
Betting at Starting-7 to 4 egst Stockwell, sto 2 agst
Daniel O'Rourke. 3 to 1 agst Songstress, 7 to 1 agst
Harbinger, and 10 to 1 agst Trousseau.
The above prices, which are made up to the time of
starting, varied in several instances from the quotations
in the town. At one time, owing to a report that she
was lame, Songstress declined to 5 to 2 and 3 to 1, and
was quite friendless, Stockwell, on her decline, rising 7
to 2, Daniel O'Rourke to 3 to 1, and Harbinger to 6 to
1. About half an hour before the room was closed a
strong reaction took place, Songstress rising to 2 to 1,
taken freely, and having a decided call of Lord Exeter's
horse; Daniel O'Rourke receded to 7 to 2, but Harbinger
place
remained steady at 6to 1. Thepla
rt took
a few minutes before three, Alfred the Great jumping
off with a decided lead, followed in rotatio_n,aineindagt
wide intervals, by Harbinger and Stockwell, Scott's two
next nearly abreast; the pace as good as Alfred the
Great could make it. No change whatever took place
until near the Red house where Alfred the Great
twr
joined by Harbinger and Stockwell, an
afterwards gave way. Harbinger then showed immediately
laeY
n front,
but was headed in a few strides by Stockwell, wbo
went on by himself, and won in a canter by ten leilgtls,
Harbinger beating Daniel O'Rourke by a length. Time,
3 min. 21 sec.
The Municipal Stakes of 200 Soya. each, for two yrs
old; colts, Bst 71b; fillies, Bst 41b; the
to save his stake. Red-house in.
... (F. Butler)
Lord Derby's -Umbriel .. second horse
..............
( atruan) 2
Mr. Payne's Warwhoo 3
Mr. W. H. Brooker,' 1ncen5eP.............. (i.e°lTerPleinan)) 4
.........
(JS
Lord lasgow's Doublethong .........
zb .
ssss Incense, and
BetGting-5 to 4 on Urabriel, 5 to '
3 to 1 agst Doublethong.
who
Warwhoop made the runniennsfdunhtyil
t hh ea favouritehalf
- wa
stand-railing, when be was jethozne, and won easily by
quitted him a:few strides frlorsec.
a length. Run in 1
infini.oo guineas; for three yrs old
Her Majesty's Plate °five, Sst 121 b; six and aged, 9st
7st; four, gst 51b;
21b. Cup's Cariboo, Course.
5 yrs
Mr. ILE. Oliver
Mr. Greville ' Sirßowland Trenehard (J. Marson) 2
(Charlton) 3
Mr. C. Marron e ' cbyT _h
3 eon, yrs
Mr. B. Eddison's Wasp, 4 yrs (Simpson) 0
Mr. H. Robinson's Sir Charles, 5 yrs (Bumby) 0
Mr. Morris's Recommendation, 3 yrs (Barham) 0
Captain Scott's onoAller, 3 yrs
C Betting-5 to 2 Cariboo. The race was scarcely
in doubt, Cariboo waiting on Sir Charles and Sir
ever
Rowland Trenchard the first three-quarters of a mile,
making the rest of the running, and winning in a canter
by six lengths. Run in 4 min. 54 sec.
The Doncaster Plate of 10 soya. each, hft (bandicep),
with 70 added, for three yrs old and upwards; the
second to save his stake. Red-house in.
Mr. E. Phillips's Truth, 4 yrs, Sat 81b (Templeman) 1
Mr. Armstrong's Sabra, 3 yrs, sst 21b ...(Kendall) 2
Mr. Worthington's Rachetes, sst 81b ...(Carroll) 3
Mr. J. M. Stanley's Clincher, 5 yrs, Bst 81b (A. Day)
t
Mr. Jones's Prime Minister, Bst 81b ...(W. - Pe)
Lord J. Scott's Turnus, 6 yrs, Bst 71h ( VVhiteho
Lord Derby's Croupier, 4 yrs, Bst 41b jsr)
...(Flatman) 0
Lord Eglinton's Claverhouse, 3 yrs, 6st 121 b (Wells) 0
Mr. G. 03borne's Lady Agnes, 7at......(J.
Osborne) 0
Lord Chesterfield's Senorita, 3 yrs, 6st 41b (A,hmall) 0
Mr. Shepherdson's fby Ithuriel, sst 21b (Bates) 0
Mr. Marson's Rebecca colt, sst 21b (F. Marsog, jun.) 0
Betting-2 to 1 agst Truth, 4to 1 agst Senorita, 100
to 15 agst Prime Minister, 100 to 15 agst Ithuriel filly,
and 8 to 1 agst Turnus.
Won by a length; two lengths between second and
third. Run in 1 min. 7 see,
_ _

Sweepstakes of 10 sous. each, h ft, and 50 added for
two yrs old, 7st; three, 9st; fillies and geldings al-
lowed 31b. The second saves his stake. Red House
in. (14 Subs.)
Mr. Merry's b c Lambton, 2 yrs (J. Osborne) 1
Mr. *. 114140'0 bf by Melbourne, 2 .... (WOW 2