TOPICS OF THE DAY.
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
TnE death of the Duke of Wellington is one of those events which have been looked for as familiarly as the approach of a particular day in the calendar, with this difference only that it was not fixed; and yet, on the other hand, the great prolongation of his public life had induced a habit of deferring the expectation, so strong that the arrival impresses the mind with a feeling like as- tonishment almost as great as if all our Colonies had separated from the empire, or the National Debt had been paid off. There is scarcely a politician living who has not grown accustomed to consider " the]uke" as one of the established institutions of the country,—a man whose public existence and activity, irrespective of party election, were as little to be questioned as the existence of St. James's Palace or the action of Parliament. He is one of the few great men, who, like one or two long.-lived artists, have grown to be classics in their own lifetime. He has survived the historical controversy upon his character, and was as well appre- ciated by his contemporaries as he can be by posterity. The day when Opposition Whigs hampered his professional action by decry- ing his capacity—the day when the public mistook the con- scientious however prejudiced resistance to Reform for a factious and tyrannical dictation—have equally passed away. Time has done its work in correcting hasty judgments ; and since those days, the publication of his Despatches—the monumental record which poor Gurwood was the instrument of constructing—has not only informed the nation on his masterly ability, but has brought forth many estimable qualities in his character as a public ser- vant. At the present day, the nation understands him, with his strength, his uprightness, and his limitations of character, as well as any historical man has been interpreted.
The unanimity of the press in the estimate of his character—a certain unanimity even in the slight and respectful glances at his defects—testifies to this general appreciation. He was not a man of sentiment—that is admitted ; and the defect of sentiment de- barred him from sympathizing with large classes of his fellow countrymen, and in so far abated the influence which his high cha- racter could otherwise have commanded. He was not a man of imagination—he saw nothing that was not tangibly, submitted to his eyes ; and hence the scope of his judgment and insight both upon the present and upon the immediate future was more limited than that of most statesmen. Few men of such power within their range, of such distinct vision, have been, so to speak, more ab- raptly walled in by the (sudden limitation of powers, than the great Duke. His mind was like a garden, full and complete up to its wall, with no world beyond. Keen in observation, tenacious in memory, ready in application, decisive in action, he did and thought nothing to waste. His metal was true in every grain, and on every field ; but his great characteristic was that imperative sense of duty which especially distinguishes the physically strong type of manhood. If there was a duty to be performed which he could understand, and if by Providence, or by his Majesty," or by the will of Parliament, he was the man authentically allotted to that distinctly-perceived duty, nothing on earth in the shape of danger —as many a campaign proved, nor of embarrassment—as his plu- rality of offices testified, nor personal vexation—as his acceptance of command under inferior generals, deterred him from the imme- diate acceptance of his lot. To carry on the King's or the Queen's government—to be punctual at every appointment, from taking the field at Waterloo to taking his post at a christening—to fulfil his duty—constituted the inflexible habit of his mind. The clear- ness of his insight within its range gave him extraordinary powers of observing political not less than in framing military combina- tions; and hence, probably, the explicit acquiescence which he gave, on more than one critical occasion to momentous political changes. The duty of every great leader is to accept necessity without 'cavil ; and Wellington accepted more than one great ne- cessity. In doing so, he saved more than an army—he saved the tranquillity of his country. It is remarked that the biographical sketches of the great Duke are meagre in personal traits. lot, indeed, that anecdotes could not be raked up by the score or the hundred, but that for broad painting, his personal traits, if he had them, do not come out strongly. This is little more than stating the converse of what has already been said, that he was not a man of sentiment or of imagination. He left transactions in the business of the senti- ments or operations in imaginative affairs to the proper depart- ments, and did not himself undertake duties to which he was not trained. One great biographical record, a sort of Boswellian me- moir' is understood to have been destroyed, in consequence of his own displeasure at its existence. Personal traits of him therefore, at present, are left to the memoirs of other men moving in that society which he frequented so assiduously ; or to a still lighter kind of literature, where anecdotes of his relaxations may be dis- covered. Many anecdotes might be collected, even from passing conversation, allowing his honourable strictness of purpose, his sternness to some, his good-nature ; but personally, his biography has been understood to be marked neither by great vicissitudes nor great passions. The personal traits which are most emphatically brought out in that kmd of half-private half-public biography be- longuig to political society, were those which contributed to his power and influence—his clearness of view, his uprightness, his downright language, and downright thought. He was not an ad- venturer aiming at great ends for himself, and facing the chances
of fortune ; nor was he a great artist in any sense, undergoing passions and reeding them ; but he was a great power, carrying on his career independently of art and passion ; antagonizing, like an impersonated institution, the great adventurer of his age ; and it was against the front of that English rock that the great adven- turer was dashed to pieces in mid career. As a power, Wellington was always the same : he was ready when wanted, his properties were known, and when he was used the effect could be forecalculated. You might as well (to use the phrase in no irreverent sense) seek a biography of gunpowder or of steam, as of that strong-willed English sense of duty which the Duke impersonated amongst public men.
Although, speaking technically and literally, Wellington had been for some few years little more than noneffective either in politics or in departmental service, his removal is likely to cause many changes not easily to be estimated. The great respect for his character—all the greater because it was tardily rendered, and all the more enduring -because of that tardy recognition—enabled him to retain a practical power of veto after his active influence had expired. While he lived, Wellington constituted a prohibition upon some acts and changes. He was an institution, and so long as he remained in force certain hazardous combinations were im- practicable. Extremes of faction, either way, found it difficult to wage their war across the wall interposed by his steadfast position. On the other hand, it is well understood that some reforms, military as well as political, were denied development by his pre- sence. Wellington continued in the public affairs of Eng- land much of the powers, the views, and the usages of 1815. Other public men have retained their affection for that time and its characteristics ; but "the Duke" was the only one of them who was absolutely changeless in himself: the stuff of his nature, the carriage of his military bearing, never altered from first to last; and although he might revise the regulations of the service from time to time, the fundamental Articles of War were to him as unchangeable as the constitution. If we look merely within the limits of the House of Lords, we see how his presence and his in- fluence tended to moderate and even negative the action of minor influences. That cheek has now gene: the Great Captain of 1815 has retired; the sword which dictated the treaty of Paris is laid by his side; and an influence which prolonged far on into this cen- tury the power of the past has ceased. The mere absence of Wel- lington is an immense political fact, not only for -England, but for Europe, for the world.
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