at once a grand example of modesty and of power: "It is not to me," he said to the king," but to Sir Robert Peel that your Majesty must apply to form a Cabinet; and to him it belongs to direct it. The difficulty and the predominance are in the House of Commons; the leader of that House must be at the head of the government. I will serve under him in any post that your Majesty may please to intrust to me." The king did not object; but Peel was absent. A month before he had set out for Italy with his family. The duke agreed, until Sir Robert's return, to undertake the responsibility of the government, and in concert with Lord Lyndhurst, he did this for three weeks, conducting several departments himself, calmly bearing the attacks of the rigid constitutionalists, while the public admired his confident boldness and his indefatigable readiness to be useful to the king and country.

One of the last times when he had spoken in the House of Lords was to announce the death of Sir Robert Peel, the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke of the man with whom he had bravely shared responsibilities so heavy, and had, with singleness of purpose, accomplished so many reforms which seemed necessary to him, although often they were contrary to his own inclination.

England had never forgotten the military glory of the duke. and the perils from which he had saved her. She had remained grateful to him even in the time when his political course had contradicted the popular enthusiasm. The duke gave back confidence for confidence, but he was indifferent to applause as to reproach when it was a question of serving the country. The populace of London might break one day all the windows of Apsley House; the duke replaced only those of the rooms that he occupied, and with a gesture of disdain pointed to the yawning casements when a few days later the capricious crowd saluted him with applause as he was mounting his horse at his own door.

In reality and notwithstanding the variations of public opinion, the feeling that united the old soldier to his country was a noble and touching one. It broke forth in ardent expression on the news of his death. All the honor that public respect and public regret could bring, gathered about his tomb. He was the last survivor of the grand generation who had fought in Europe against the French revolution, both in its demagogic and its absolutist phase. In war he had been its most illustrious representative, victorious, by his heroic perseverance, over even the genius of the Emperor Napoleon. In peace he had been one of the firmest champions of that rule of law in liberty which had of late lent to England the strength to sustain a desperate struggle, and was now leading her, at the head of all civilized nations, towards a progressive advance in toleration and justice, in industry and commerce.

When he died, the duke was but a name and a memory, but England felt that she had been honored by his presence, and was now impoverished by the loss of this personification of an almost sublime good sense, and an integrity proof against every trial. It is one of the glories of England that she has always known how to honor, to love, and to recompense her great servants.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FRUITS OF PEACE.

T the very moment when the most illustrious of her old

AT

military leaders vanished from earth, England found herself upon the point of losing for a time that peace which she had now enjoyed for more than forty years, a period of tranquillity which had given scope for so much useful and brilliant progress, which had been favorable to so many useful and brilliant undertakings, and had secured to future generations so many benefits.

British arms had not remained absolutely inactive during all this time. Far-off hostilities had from time to time disturbed the repose of the mother-country. We have seen that the English had made war upon the Chinese, in order to impose upon them the opium trade, and upon the Afghans, to oblige them to accept a sovereign of English selection. Nor was this all. Following upon the disastrous campaign in Afghanistan, an attack had been made, and with better success, by Sir Charles Napier upon Scinde, a territory reported (and without doubt, truly) to be animated by hostile sentiments towards England. He had captured the fortress Emaun-Ghur, taking with him across the desert a handful of English troops mounted on camels. The treaty which he had determined to force upon the ruler of Scinde was accepted, but its conditions were severe. The Scindians sought only to evade it, and the very day after the signatures had been affixed, Major Outram, the English resident at Hyderabad, was attacked by a swarm