which essentially belonged to his character, he departed the same night on his perilous errand.  Passing through Cairo, he received plenary powers from the Khedive, and went on almost alone to Khartoum, where he was received with an overflowing enthusiasm.  But, with all his eager haste, he was too late to bring about the desired results by peaceful means.  “He should have come a year ago,” muttered his native well-wishers.  Week after week and month after month, his position in Khartoum became more perilous; the Mahdi’s power waxed greater, and his hordes drew round the city, which long defied them, while garrison after garrison fell into their hands elsewhere.  It was in vain that General Gordon urged the despatch of British troops, a few hundred of whom would at one time have sufficed to turn the tide, and insure success in his enterprise.  They were still withheld; and he would not secure his own safety by deserting the people whom his presence had induced to stand out against the impostor and his hosts.  The city endured a long, cruel siege, and fell at last, reduced by hunger and treachery, just as a tardily despatched British force was making its way to relieve it—­a force commanded by Lord Wolseley, who half a year before had been protesting against the “indelible disgrace” of leaving Gordon to his fate.  He was not able even to bury his friend and comrade, slain by the fanatic enemy when they broke into the city in the early morning of January 26th, 1885.

[Illustration:  Duke of Albany. From a Photograph by A. BASSANO, Bond Street, W.]

“I have done my best for the honour of our country,” were the parting words of the dead hero.  His country felt itself profoundly dishonoured by the manner in which it had lost this its famous son—­a man distinguished at once by commanding ability, unsullied honour, heroic valour; a man full of tenderest beneficence towards his fellows, and of utter devotion to his God; “the grandest figure,” said an American admirer, “that has crossed the disc of this planet for centuries.”  Him England had fatally delayed to help, withheld by the dread of costly and cruel warfare; and then just failed to save him by a war enormously costly and cruelly fatal indeed.  A general lamentation, blent with cries of anger, rose up from the land.  Her Majesty shared the common sorrow, as her messages of sympathy to the surviving relations of Gordon testified.  Various charitable institutions, modelled on the lines which he had followed in his work among the poor, rose to keep his memory green; and thus the objects of his Christlike care during his life are now profiting by the world-famous manner of his death.  But there is still a deep feeling that even time itself can hardly efface the stain that has been left on our national fame.  An English expedition, well commanded, full of ardour and daring, sent to accomplish a specific object, and failing in that object; its commander, entirely guiltless of blame, having to abandon the