him; I told him I did not know what the words "second in command" meant, any more than third, fourth, or fifth in command; that I alone commanded the army, that the other general officers commanded their divisions; that if anything happened to me, the senior survivor would take the command; that in contemplation of such a possibility I would treat them, but him in particular, as next in succession, with the most entire confidence, and would leave none of my views or intentions unexplained; but that I would have no second in command in the sense of his having anything like a joint command or superintending control; and that, finally and above all, I would not only take but insist upon the whole and undivided responsibility of all that should happen while the army was under my command. The Ford at Assaye. It was on this occasion that he gave me an instance of the importance of a very ordinary degree of thoughtful common sense. He described his very critical position on the march before the battle of Assaye, when his small force was threatened by an overwhelming deluge of native cavalry, and his only chance, not of victory only, but of safety, was his getting to the other bank of the river (Kistna), which was a few miles on his right. He had some of the best native guides that could be had, and he made every possible effort to ascertain whether the river was any. where passable, and all his informants assured him that it was not. He himself could not see the river, and the enemy's cavalry was in such force that he could not send out to reconnoitre. At last, in extreme anxiety, he resolved to see the river himself, and accord The Convention of Cintra. - After the Con-ingly, with his most intelligent guides, and an vention of Cintra, there was a pretty general desire in England that a general should be shot, after the manner of Byng, and as I was a politician, I was, of course, the person to be shot, which would have been rather hard, as I was the winner of the two battles which had raised the public hopes so high, and had nothing to do with the subsequent proceedings but as a subordinate negotiator under orders of my superior officers. Even the Government were inclined to give me up. When I came back, the old King was to have one of his weekly levées; I asked Lord Castlereagh to carry me as I must present myself on my return from abroad" and happened to have no carriage in town. Castlereagh hemmed and hawed, and said that there was so much illhumour in the public mind that it might pro duce inconvenience, and, in short, he advised me not to go to the levée. I said, "When I first mentioned it, I only thought it a matter of respect and duty to the King; I now look upon it as a matter of self-respect and duty to my own character, and I therefore insist on knowing whether this advice proceeds in any degree from His Majesty, and I wish you distinctly to understand that I will go to the levée to-morrow, or I never will go to a levée in my life" Castlereagh immediately with drew all opposition. I went, and was exceedingly well received by His Majesty. National Characteristics. The national character of the three kingdoms was strongly marked in my army. I found the English regiments always in the best humor when we were well supplied with beef; the Irish when we were in the wine countries; and the Scotch when the dollars for pay came up. This looks like an epigram, but I assure you it was a fact, and quite perceptible; but we managed to reconcile all their tempers, and I will venture to say that in our later campaigns, and especially when we crossed the Pyrenees, there never was an army in the world in better spirits, better order, or better discipline. We had mended in discipline every campaign, until at last (smiling) I hope we were pretty near perfect. and escort of, I think he said, all his cavalry, he pushed forward in sight of the river in the bank of another stream that ran nearly parallel neighborhood of Assaye, which stood on the to that which he wished to cross. When they about a passage, which they still asserted not came there, he again questioned his guides to exist; but he saw through his glass, for the enemy's cavalry were so strong that he could right, or near bank of the river, and another not venture to get closer, one village on the village exactly opposite on the other bank, could not have built two villages so close to 'I immediately said to myself that men without some habitual means of communicaone another on opposite sides of a stream tion, either by boats or a ford by the latter. On that conjecture, or rather most probably reasoning, in defiance of all my guides and informants, I took the desperate resolution, as it seemed, of marching for the river, and I was right. I found a passage, crossed my army over, had no more to fear from the enemy's cloud of cavalry; and my army, small as it the two streams, so that both my flanks were was, was just enough to fill the space between of Assaye, the bloodiest, for the numbers, that secure, and there I fought and won the battle I ever saw; and this was all from my having the common sense to guess that men did not build villages on opposite sides of a stream without some means of communication between them. If I had not taken that sudden resolution, we were, I assure you, in a most dangerous predicament." Among Mr. Croker's correspondents, Lord George Bentinck appears for the first time in 1847, and between them a friendly intimacy was established, which led to the free interchange of their views, and throws further light upon Bentinck's energy and sagacity, during his short and brilliant attempt to rally the Conservative party. In a letter to Croker (March 2, 1848), he speaks of his friend and future biographer thus: orator. You ask me of Disraeli's manner of speak | Bridgewater estates, and which are now ing and effectiveness in debate? I will answer performed for other great estates by men you by giving you my brother Henry's obser- of high family and position. For these vations on the various speakers in the House. services he refused to be paid, and so Henry is rather a cynical critic. He expressed well understood was his position that, himself greatly disappointed with Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell, and concluded by when Lord Hertford died, Peel, who as saying that Disraeli was the only man he had well as the Duke of Wellington had been heard who at all came up to his ideas of an among his intimate friends, writes to Croker (March 3, 1842), "My chief interest in respect to Lord Hertford's will, was the hope that out of his enormous wealth he would mark his sense of your unvarying and real friendship for him." Lord Hertford always said that he would leave Croker 80,000l. The sum he actually received was 23,000l., an informality in a codicil having deprived him of a much larger sum. "His speeches this Session have been firstrate. His last speech, altogether burked in the Times, but pretty well given in the Post, [was] admirable. He cuts Cobden to ribbons; and Cobden writhes and quails under him just as Peel did in 1846. And mark my words, spite of Lord Stanley, Major Beresford, and Mr. Philips and the Herald, it will end before two Sessions are out in Disraeli being the chosen leader of the party; but I think it will not be under Lord Stanley's banner, whether he turns his coat on the Jew Bill or not." (Vol. iii., p. 165.) But while all the world of gobemouches were identifying Mr. Croker with Rigby, he himself, it now appears, had never had the curiosity even to look into "Coningsby." He had only met Mr. Disraeli three times- at his father's house, at dinner at Lord Lyndhurst's, and in the street with Lord G. Bentinck. According to his own story, as told in a letter (Dec. 29, 1853) to Mr. C. Phillips, author of " Recollections of Curran," it was only after he had published his review of Mr. Disraeli's Budget Speech of 1852, that his attention was called to the book by hearing that this review was regarded as retaliation for what Mr. Disraeli had said of him in his "Vivian Grey" and "Coningsby." "Now the fact is, I never read either," he adds, and he goes on to state that he never read one of Theodore Hook's novels, "though some of them were written in this house, and the characters sketched from the society he met here." It was the same with Bulwer, Dickens, James, and Ainsworth. This letter was written nearly four years after the publication of "Coningsby," and it is by no means likely, had Croker believed that the Rigby of that novel was drawn after himself, that he would have introduced Mr. Disraeli's name to Lord George Bentinck. For ourselves, highly as we think of that book in many respects, we cannot acquit Mr. Disraeli of transgressing the legitimate license of the novelist in assiging to his Rigby some of the personal and literary peculiarities which he must have been sure would lead people to think that he had Mr. Croker in his eye. If he did so with a deliberate intention to produce this result, no words of condemnation for his conduct could be too severe. The relations, for example, between Mr. Croker and the Marquis of Hertford were well known, and common readers, who saw the marquis in the Lord Monmouth of the novel, were pretty sure may say the exact same of "Coningsby : " to say that Mr. Croker must be the Rigby. I had never seen it nor heard of it in connecHappily the correspondence preserved in tion with myself till after the publication of these volumes between Mr. Croker and the Budget review; and I most sincerely affirm that I had not the slightest personal pique, or Lord Hertford places their relations to each other in the clearest light. In these any motive to have any, towards Mr. Disraeli. On the contrary, there were one or two cirletters no trace will be found of the Rigby cumstances, of which Mr. Murray was the of the novel. Their correspondence is channel, which led me to suppose that Mr. that of two very able and accomplished Disraeli looked towards me with a friendly and men, upon such topics as might be as-approving eye. If, therefore, I have given Mr. sumed to engage the attention of a man of the high political connections and great practical sagacity of Croker. Lord Hert. ford found in him, not only a lively correspondent, but an invaluable guide in the management of his property. Croker discharged for him the duties which about the same time were performed by Mr. James Loch, M.P., for the Sutherland and Disraeli tit for tat it has been quite unintentionally, and only by chance medley. Whether I may have unconsciously offended Mr. Disraeli's amour propre in any way- that is, whether he may have heard something that may have created such an impression on his mind I cannot say; but it is not likely, for we have no points of contact, nor, as far as I remember, a common acquaintance, but Murray, Lord Lyndhurst, and Lord George Bentinck. None of them were likely to have | Mr. Lockhart's opinion; it was that of received, and still less so to have repeated, the Bishop of Exeter. They might be anything disagreeable; and yet, on the other thought to be swayed by political bias, but hand, it is hard to suppose that Mr. Disraeli should, without some such motive, have done 30 unusual a thing as to make me the subject of a satirical novel. In short, I cannot account for, nor in fact do I care enough about it to endeavor to account for, Mr. Disraeli's attacks upon me; all I care about is, that my political views as to him should be rightly understood as altogether uninfluenced by any personal pique or morbid spirit of retaliation. (Vol. iii., p. 304.) What the explanation is of Mr. Disraeli's animosity to Croker has yet to be made known. Did he suspect him of having at some time done him a bad turn with Peel? That would explain much. Mr. Croker shared his friend Welling. ton's contemptuous indifference to libels and libellers—and by the very nature of the case it was impossible for him to take public notice of any of the characters in "Coningsby." But he would have been more than human if, when the two first volumes of Macaulay's "History appeared, he had refrained from showing that the man who had assailed him for 66 Sir James Stephen is liable to no such suspicion, and he, after undertaking to review the book for the Edinburgh Review, abandoned his intention, "because it was, in truth, not what it professed to be- a history, but an historical novel" (vol. iii., p. 194). - Meantime Mr. Croker went on enjoying the friendship and confidence of many of the best and ablest men of the time, helping those who needed help, using the lights of his long experience in dealing with public questions, and toiling at his literary studies, among others in the preparation of that edition of Pope, his labors on which Mr. Elwin and Mr. Courthope have since continued, with an energy and perseverance, which neither age, nor the suffering of serious illness could abate. In 1854 the infirmities of age, and a feeling that "he was out of date, at least, out of season," made him withdraw from his hitherto active connection with this review. His outlook on the future of England was then of the lation to think that the course of nature gross and scandalous inaccuracy" in the most insulting terms was not himself free from reproach, and this, too, in more serious matters than a few slips of no moment in more than twenty-eight hundred notes. He was, however, careful not to follow his old adversary's example of bad temper and violent language. In the article on Macaulay's book in this review for March, 1849, he gave to the work full credit for its brilliant and fascinating qualities of a vigorous and imaginative gloomy view of England's future were Some of the anticipations on which this style, while he pointed out, upon incontro-based have already come true. We have vertible evidence, its grave faults of inaccurate or overcharged statement. In yet to see whether others, that were for a time scoffed at as absurd, were not as perfect sincerity, he concluded a long critical examination with the opinion, in truly prophetic. which he was not singular then, and which the calmer judgment of a later time has practically confirmed, that, however charming as an historical romance, Macaulay's work "will never be quoted as an authority on any question or point of the history of England." This, we see, was The duke writes to Croker (July 2, 1838): "I have been abused, vilified, slandered, since I was a boy; and I don't believe that there is a living creature who thinks the worse of me for all the horrible crimes of which I have been accused, and which to this moment remain unanswered. I would much prefer to get rid of the rheumatism in my shoulders and neck than I would of all the libels of all the Jacobins, Republicans, Bonapartists, Radicals, Reformers, and Whigs, in all Her Majesty's dominions, including her ancient kingdom of France, and her colonies in N. America." In spite of the sufferings [says Mr. Jennings] which he was called upon to undergo in these later years, Mr. Croker's spirit never flagged. He kept to his work, and although death was constantly within sight, he did not fear it, or allow it in any way to interfere with prescribed for himself. To give up work, and a performance of the daily duties which he to acknowledge in one's own heart that all is over, and that nothing more can be done on this side the grave, is a miserable way to precipitate the end. Mr. Croker was prepared for the end, but he was disposed to wait patiently for it, and meanwhile to do what was to be done with all zeal and earnestness. literary work never failed to be a source of solace, and his interest in public affairs never abated. He did not write so much as of old, His but few questions of importance passed by | do not feel it so,' he said; 'the same hand him unnoticed. (Vol. iii., p. 345.) which took care of me when I came into this world will take care of me when I go out of it.' In this hope he died as he had lived." There are innumerable things in these most attractive volumes to which, had space permitted, it would have been a pleasure to call attention. But the book will soon be in every hand, and its varied contents will make it welcome to the most varied tastes. Our chief care has been to show the man, not as his enemies and he had many have described him, but his own letters, and, what is no mean test as he appears from his own actions, and of character, from the letters addressed to him by others. Whatever his defects of and who is free from such defects? - he manner or of temper may have been was a man of strict honor, of high princible, of upright life, of great courage, of untiring industry, devoted with singleness of heart to the interests of his country, a loyal friend, and in his domestic relations without a stain. Those who knew him best, as Mr. Jennings has said, 66 never wavered in their attachment to him. No doubt, he was not the same to all men. To strangers, or towards persons whom he disliked, his manner was often over. bearing, and harsh." He was, especially in his latter days, impatient of contradiction, and somewhat given to self-assertion, as a sensitive and ailing man will be if he has been accustomed to authority, as Mr. Croker had been for a length of years, and has seen so much of distinguished men, and of the springs that move great events, as he had seen. But he was by tem His malady was disease of the heart. The first serious symptoms appeared in 1850, and he then learned from his physician how serious they were. Still he continued to work, although liable to constant fainting-fits, sometimes as many as twelve or fourteen in a day. Agonizing neuralgic pains aggravated his sufferings. But, according to Lady Barrow, "neither of these most trying complaints drew from him one murmuring word." Death, he was well aware, might ensue at any moment; his pulse was seldom above thirty, and often fell to twenty-three; but he was accustomed to say, "I have no fear of death. It is but like going out of one room into another." He was permitted to pursue literary labors for a longer term than he had thought would be vouchsafed to him. Again to quote Mr. Jennings :After a time, indeed, he became in some measure accustomed to the mysterious visitations which so suddenly transported him to the border-land "between two worlds." His general health was good; his intellectual faculties were as acute as ever; "but," says Miss Boislesve [his amanuensis, who was with him to his death], "at any moment, without any warning whatever, he felt faint, and sometimes completely lost consciousness for a few seconds, sometimes merely felt the passing feeling; but even when he lost consciousness, he woke up perfectly well aware that he had fainted, but able to go on with what he was dictating as if nothing had happened. He could even finish the sentence he had begun, not having lost the thread of his ideas in the least degree. All this time his patience never failed. His love for his family and friends was something wonderful. He was always think-perament, as well as by the influence of ing of what could please and amuse the young people [the children of Lady Barrow], entering into all the pleasures he had planned for them with as much zest as any." In like manner, Lady Barrow speaks of his "wonderful patience, and his gratitude for any little attention to his comfort." Thus, till the last day of his life, the 10th of August, 1857, he kept up his correspondence, working all that day at his "Notes on Pope," and perfectly happy among his books and papers. That even ing, as he was being put to bed by his servant, he exclaimed "Oh Wade!" and sank back dead, passing away "in the manner which he had always desired surrounded by those whom he loved the best, and yet spared the pain of protracted parting and farewells. A little while before, some one had remarked in his presence that 'death was an awful thing.' 'I his Christian faith, kind and generous. "Every one," says Mr. Jennings, "who had more than a superficial acquaintance with him, was well aware that he had done a thousand kindly acts, some of them to persons who little deserved them at his hands, and that, as was said of Dr. Johnson, there was nothing of the bear about him but the skin." un illustrate a character which malice had might well feel provoked and mortified by overclouded, he has been no less happy in discovering that she had put herselfhaving Mr. Jennings for his biographical less her companions were considerate and editor. It is no small thing to recognize forbearing-and when had Lady Fermor the hand of a skilful man of letters in been either the one or the other?-in an work at which such hands have so often awkward, embarrassing position. It was conspicuously failed; and that frequently not to be thought that nobody would ever from the great cause which tests practical allude to the rainy day at the inn on the ability, knowledge or ignorance of what to Borders, and the amusement to which the let alone, as well as what to do. Mr. party had resorted in order to spur on the Jennings carries us from the beginning to lagging hours. If such allusions were the end without weariness or dissatisfac- made, what was she or when it came to tion, and what will only seem small that what was Sir William- to think? praise to those who know little of biogra- When Iris ran down-stairs, half unwillphy-without disgust. In his reproducing to face her companions, and yet eager tion of Mr. Croker's self-portraiture, with to have the meeting over, she believed she the touches he has added, the lines of the was later than she had suspected. The picture are firmly and truly drawn; and maid Jeannie, standing at one of the doors the lights and shades of varied interest on the landing, withdrew into the room, as have full play, without the fictitious color- if ashamed for Iris's credit to encounter ing of petty gossip or scandalous defama- her at such an hour, and unwilling to detion. tain her, while another servant, Iris fancied, looked at her with tittering signifi THE BEAST RISES UP A PRINCE. IRIS slept late after a troubled night, and when she awoke and looked at her watch she could take nothing into account save that she had been shockingly lazy; though the sun was shining brightly enough, after the rain, to tempt all exemplary travellers to be up and abroad on unfamiliar ground. Iris grudged losing the bright morning, and she grudged still more keeping Marianne Dugdale, Sir William Thwaite, and Soames hanging about till she should choose to appear for breakfast. She had no time to spare for more, than the general confusion with which the incidents of the past dayespecially if they have been of an unusual character and crowded together are apt to present themselves to people on their first awakening from a few hours' welcome oblivion. Iris for once took refuge in self-evasion, for she had a half-formed notion, after her dim, partly remembered dreams, that she too had acted rashly and foolishly in what had passed, though it was no more than in being guilty of an appearance of evil in yielding to figure in an indiscreet, not too delicate parody of a solemn service. She cance. But what was Iris's surprise when she entered the inn parlor and found it empty, with breakfast only laid for one! She rang the bell in a little trepidation, for she was conscious that Marianne was capable of playing her a trick, though Iris considered it would be especially unkind and undeserved this morning. As another instance of the unexpected happening, the landlord chose to wait in person, bringing in the dish of trout as his excuse for his presence. "Where are the others?" Iris inquired, without waiting for the departure of the single rustic young waiter, who was also favoring her with his attentions, and showing no hurry in depositing and arranging the tea and coffee service so as to satisfy a scrupulous taste. "Have they all breakfasted and gone out? I am afraid I am very late," and Iris tried to smile instead of feeling absurdly disconcerted. The landlord did not hasten to answer her with civil fluency. He began staring at her in silence. "Do you not know, miss, they are gone?" he said at last cautiously. "Gone!" exclaimed Iris, not able to believe her ears. “Ah! for a morning's excursion, I suppose," she took heart to exclaim. "But Lady Fermor never drives out before luncheon, and Mrs. Soames cannot have left her." "The leddy and her maid and the other young leddy went first," said the landlord with precision. "The gentleman only left about an hour syne.' "An hour ago? Where have they gone? |