human mind, of tardy development, and generally little conspicuous in youth, goes on gathering strength and increasing in intensity to the close of life. This is easily explained, if we consider that a quick and fervent mind readily fans a flame from a few perishable materials; but a great one requires mighty and durable elements to warm into a glow: "Materiâ alitur, motibus excitatur, et urendo lucescit."

If instances are numerous in which persons destined for future celebrity have given tokens of their inherent bent in their early years, examples are not less frequent of persons of the greatest future fame being remarkable for nothing at all in the first stages of life, or, if distinguished, known only by qualities the very reverse of those on which their future celebrity was founded. Julius Cæsar, to the age of thirtyseven, was distinguished only by the licentiousness and profligacy of his life; he was a living example of the oftrepeated saying, "that no man who had both in his power, ever did anything among men till he had ceased to have any influence with women." Burke evinced no particular ability at school or college; and, what is very remarkable, the reasoning powers are chiefly conspicuous in his earlier compositions, the fervour of imagination, united to the vigour of intellect, in those of his maturity or old age. The common story of Shakspeare having been a deer-stealer in his youth, be it true or false, may be regarded as at least a certain proof that he did not, in early life, evince any of those extraordinary powers of conception and imagination which have rendered his name immortal. His profound knowledge of the human heart demonstrates the reverse; that is never gained but by experience and suffering. Bacon's latest writings exhibit far greater original genius, vigour of expression, and energy of thought, than his earlier compositions. It was when blinded by study, and worn out by care, old and unfortunate, that Milton wrote his Paradise Lost. Sophocles composed his Tragedies in such advanced years, that, when engaged in writing one of the most perfect of them, his sons brought him before the courts of law to have him deprived, as incapable, of the management of his affairs. Dante's Inferno was the fruit of twenty years' exile, in which "life," as he himself said, "had been watered only by his

tears." Nothing that can be relied on is known of the youth of Homer; but common and unvarying tradition, which represents him in extreme old age, blind, and in misery, charming the inhabitants of the Isles of Greece by his strains, is an indication that it was in mature years that his deathless poems were composed. A long life of observation, thought, and reflection, combined with the utmost ardour of imagination, were required to form the Iliad and Odyssey.

Wellington belongs to the latter, and by far the highest class of illustrious characters. He was not a great man because he was a great general, but a great general because he was a great man. He would have been equally great in anything else which he undertook. It is reported that he has said, "that the native bent of his mind was towards finance and civil government rather than military affairs." It is certain that when he took his seat at the board of the cabinet council, it was the vigour of thought and perfect command of every subject which came before them, even more than his military fame, which won such general respect, and ultimately raised him, in difficult times, to the highest place in the government. From his earliest youth, his despatches and observations evince a soundness of judgment, a maturity of thought, and an elevation of principle, which we generally look for in vain in persons of the most advanced years and extensive experience; and which were the more remarkable if, as is commonly said, his amusements at that period were of a much lighter description, and partook more of the gaiety of Cæsar's youth than the austerity of Cato's age. But these distractions never affected the solid foundations, the deep substratum of his mind; and we perceive in his despatches, from first to last, unequivocal and frequent proofs of the same constant sense of duty, the same unfailing strength of judgment, the same singleness and patriotism of heart. The vigour and energy of his understanding, however, seems to have increased, rather than diminished, as he grew older; and at no period so much as in his later years, are such profound and far-seeing observations to be met with, which, in advance of the age in which they were spoken, only come to be fully understood and appreciated in the next.

The Duke of Wellington, however, is essentially a man of action. He was born to be the ruler, rather than the instructor of men; he has no poetical imagination, and little turn for abstract speculations or visionary thought. Hence his sway over the great majority of society, in future times, will never equal that of Napoleon, in whom the ardour of poetic fancy was singularly blended with the exactness of mathematical reasoning, and speculation on general subjects possessed as great charms as the pursuits of ambition or the excitement of war. Wellington's maxims and opinions, as will immediately appear, are invaluable but they have all a bearing on practical affairs, and the immediate direction and government of men. A few great principles of rectitude and morality, applicable alike to nations as to individuals, were firmly fixed in his mind; and it was in applying them with undeviating steadiness and unerring sagacity, that his wisdom, as measured by the event, consists. But he always took a practical view of affairs: he considered them, on every occasion, as the subjects of action, not speculation. He did not think that, because he had taken up one position with one enemy in one campaign, therefore he was bound to take up the same position with another enemy in every future campaign. His great merit consisted in seeing more clearly than other men, at all times, the coming course of events, and shaping his conduct so as to render it as little injurious, or as beneficial as possible, to the cause with which he was intrusted. In one particular only he was always the same, and that was in love to his country: his conduct, variable in other respects, was ever true to the pole-star of duty.

Of Wellington's far-seeing sagacity, which almost amounted to prescience, no more remarkable example can be presented than the constant and unchanging firmness with which he affirmed, after the catastrophe of the Corunna retreat, that the cause of the Peninsula was not only noways hopeless, but that Portugal might be successfully defended by Great Britain against any force which France could bring against it. Few among the elder part of the present generation, by whom that dismal termination to all the highlyexcited hopes of the nation is recollected, can ever forget the general feeling of despair which seized upon the public mind when the gallant army, once thirty thousand strong, which

had sailed from England a few months before, returned, a third of its numbers fallen, depressed in spirits, having lost, like Francis I., all but its honour in that calamitous retreat; when the hosts of Spain had been dispersed, like chaff before the wind, by the legions of Napoleon; when Madrid had fallen, and a few thousand men alone remained to prevent the French eagles being forthwith planted on the towers of Lisbon. The English generals engaged in the combat regarded the cause of Spain as utterly hopeless, and the idea of defending Portugal as too extravagant to be for a moment entertained. Sir John Moore and Sir David Baird had written to Government under this impression, recommending that empty transports should be sent to Vigo Bay, to bring away the troops, instead of the thirteen thousand men which had been prepared to reinforce the army. "If the French succeed in Spain," said Sir J. Moore, in November 1808, "it will be in vain to attempt to resist them in Portugal. The Portuguese are without a military force, and, from the experience of their conduct under Sir Arthur Wellesley, no dependence is to be placed on any aid they can give. The British must, in that event, immediately take steps to evacuate the country."* There were few men in Britain, at that time, with the disasters of the campaign before their eyes, who probably entertained a different opinion. But what said Wellington a few months after, when no intervening success had occurred to shake the grounds of Sir J. Moore and Sir D. Baird's opinion? "Portugal may be successfully defended against any force the French could bring against it; and the maintenance of that position would be the greatest support to the common cause in Spain."+ It was that opinion which was the foundation of the defence of Portugal, and ultimately the cause of the deliverance of Europe.

Like all other men engaged in public life, Wellington had many vexations and mortifications to undergo, owing to the partiality or injustice on the part of Government in promoting men of inferior capacity, and unknown to fame, over his But nothing was ever able to shake his devotion to

head.

⚫ Sir J. Moore to Lord Castlereagh, Nov. 24, 1808. Parl. Deb.

+ Memorandum on the Defence of Portugal, March 9, 1809. GURWOOD, iv. 261, and vi. 5.

his country, or make him for a moment entertain the idea which lesser men would at once have embraced, of throwing up his command on receiving such unworthy treatment. When he was first sent to Spain, he received the command of the expedition at Cork, and he set sail at its head without having received the slightest hint of an intention to supersede him in the command of it. The first intimation he received that he was to be degraded to a subordinate situation was on the 15th July 1808, when off Mondego Bay, being then informed he was to be superseded by Sir H. Burrard and Sir H. Dalrymple. He immediately wrote to Lord Castlereagh, the minister for foreign affairs, "Pole and Burghersh have apprised me of the arrangements for the future command of the army. All that I can say on this subject is, that, whether I am to command the army or to quit it, I shall do my best to insure its success; and you may depend upon it that I shall not hurry the operations, or commence them one moment sooner than they ought to be commenced, in order that I may acquire the credit of the success. The Government will determine for me in what way they will employ me hereafter, either here or elsewhere."* When asked by an intimate friend, after his return, how he, who had commanded an army of forty thousand men, and been made a knight of the Bath, and received the thanks of Parliament, could submit to be reduced to the rank of a general of a division of infantry, he replied, "For this reason I was 'nimuk wallah,' as we say in the East; I have ate the King's salt, and, therefore, I consider it my duty to serve with zeal and promptitude, when or wherever the King or his Government may think fit to employ me." Here was true magnanimity, for it was forgetfulness of self in the cause of duty. Nor did it go without its reward, even in this world. Inferior men, actuated by the jealousy which is the invariable mark of little minds, would probably have resigned the command, and retired from public life on so scandalous a slight; but Wellington remained constant to his duty, the battle of Vimeira succeeded, his greatness outgrew competition, silenced envy, and he lived to strike down Napoleon on the field of Waterloo.