But when external responsibilities had ceased to divert his attention from himself, his religious principles acquired new strength and exerted a more powerful influence.  They guided him to peace; they added dignity to his character:  and blessed his declining years with a serenity, at once the best evidence of their truth, and the happiest illustration of their power.

The quiet of domestic life offers little to be recorded; and except when public or private claims might call him for a short time from home, Lord Exmouth passed the remainder of his life at Teignmouth.  He had nobly done his duty; and now enjoyed in honourable repose all that the gratitude of his country and the affection of his family could bestow.  Though he knew himself liable to an attack which might be almost suddenly fatal, he dwelt on the prospect without alarm, for he rested upon that faith whose privilege it is to rise above present suffering, and to regard death itself as the gate of immortal life.

No man was more free from selfish feeling.  His honours and success were valued for the sake of his family.  His services and life were for his country.  He had a truly English heart, and served her with entire devotedness.  Nothing, indeed, could be a finer commentary than his own career upon her free and equal institutions, which, by the force of those qualities they so powerfully tend to create, had enabled him to rise from the condition of an unfriended orphan, to the dignity of the British peerage.  Most painful, therefore, were his feelings, when revolt and anarchy in neighbouring countries were held up to be admired and imitated at home, until a praiseworthy desire of improvement had become a rage for destructive innovation.  In a letter written at this time, Nov. 12th, 1831, after alluding to his own declining strength, he thus proceeds:—­“I am fast approaching that end which we must all come to.  My own term I feel is expiring, and happy is the man who does not live to see the destruction of his country, which discontent has brought to the verge of ruin.  Hitherto thrice happy England, how art thou torn to pieces by thine own children!  Strangers, who a year ago looked up to you as a happy exception in the world, with admiration, at this moment know thee not!  Fire, riot, and bloodshed, are roving through the land, and God in his displeasure visits us also with pestilence; and, in fact, in one short year, we seem almost to have reached the climax of misery.  One cannot sit down to put one’s thoughts to paper, without feeling oppressed by public events, and with vain thought of how and when will the evils terminate. That must be left to God’s mercy, for I believe man is at this moment unequal to the task.”

He then passes to another subject.  It was a trait in his character, that, through all his success, he never forgot his early friends.