For this reason a revolution never could have occurred under the government of the Duke; he has too intense a horror of the evils of civil contention, ever to have allowed matters to come to that pass.  This, it will be admitted, is a quality rarely to be found in a soldier, and a soldier, too, of such an inflexible cast as the Duke.  Not less intense is his regard for national faith and honour.  He would maintain the honour of the state at any expense, even of his own personal prejudices on home politics; for the Duke, like all strong-minded men, has his prejudices.  He has vanquished, and obtained the mastery of the spirit of change, by showing that he can curb it, while he does not affect to play the tyrant over it.  He knows when to be firm and when to yield.  Many acts of the Duke of Wellington, in the course of his political career, that have called forth unlimited censure, have been based upon calculations which only so well-tutored and so well-stored a mind could have made.

It is an intellectual treat of the highest order to see the Duke of Wellington’s demeanour in the House of Lords.  It is essentially different from that of every other man there.  He is almost the only unfettered man in the house.  Others are fettered by obstacles which they create for themselves, in various ways, by the too eager pursuit of personal or party objects.  But the Duke of Wellington’s high reputation and standing place him above all such considerations.  He can afford to speak the truth, and he does speak it on all occasions fearlessly.  While other speakers, on either side of the house, have been wasting their powers in fruitless eloquence (mere personal display), or in perverting the truth for the purpose, either of unfair attack or unfair defence, the Duke of Wellington has appeared to be paying not the slightest attention to the proceedings.  He has sat absorbed in thought, or at least in seeming indifference.  You would almost suppose that, overcome by fatigue, or indisposition, he was sleeping, so perfectly motionless and silent is he, reclining, with folded arms, his legs stretched out to their full length, and his hat over his brow.  The question has been discussed, argued, disputed upon for hours.  No result seems to have been come to, and you are as ignorant of the object and scope of the measure as when the debate began; nor have you any clear idea what will become of the bill.

At length, the Duke of Wellington rises, advances abruptly to the table, wraps the tails of his coat, like a dressing-gown, over his legs, and plunges at once in medias res.  There is an undivided attention while he speaks, indeed, it is sometimes absolutely necessary, for, when indisposed, he is often with difficulty heard, even by those near to him, as, indeed, he himself hears with difficulty, from being deaf on one side.  But in a moment you see that his mind is still as vigorous as ever.  His keen intelligence pierces at once to the very core