othing of Sir.
Peter's attack of small-pox, which left his good-looking face badly
marked, if we can believe the likeness modelled by Roubilliac;
nor--but it would take volumes to tell the full and eventful story of
this brave and gallant-hearted man, who died when he was only
forty-eight, in the year 1752. It seems incredible that so much could
have been crowded into so short a life. In death he was honoured quite
as he deserved, for his tomb in the Abbey is a gorgeous and impressive
one, and such men as the great French sculptor, and Dr. Johnson
himself, had a hand in making it memorable in proportion to his
greatness.

In looking over our hero's career we are struck by the absence of
shadows. One would say that so unrelieved a record of success, of
honour, glory, love and wealth, so much pure sunshine, so complete a
lack of all trouble or defeat, must make a picture flat and
characterless, insipid in its light, bright colours, insignificant in
its deeper values. But it is not so. Peter Warren, the spoiled child
of fortune, was something more than a child of fortune, since he won
his good things of life always at the risk of that life which he
enriched; and surely, no obstinately fortuitous twist of circumstances
could ever really spoil him.

His honestly heroic qualities are his passport. He cannot seem smug,
nor colourless, nor over-prosperous: he is too vivid and too vigorous.
His childish vanity is nobly discounted by his childlike simplicity in
facing big issues. The blue and gold which he wore so magnificently
can never to us be the mere trappings of rank: they carry on them the
shadows of battle smoke, and the rust of enviable wounds. Let us take
his memory then gladly, and with true homage, rejoicing that its
record of happiness appears as stainless as its history of honour, and
well satisfied to find one picture in which something of the sunshine
of high gallantry seems caught, and for all time.

Dr. Johnson wrote thirty lines of eulogy of him, with the nicety and
distinction of phrase which one would expect. Perhaps the simple
ending of it is most impressive of all; so let us make it our own for
the occasion:

_"... But the ALMIGHTY,
Whom alone he feared, and whose gracious protection
He had often experienced,
Was pleased to remove him from a place of Honour,
To an eternity of happiness,
On the 29th day of July, 1752,
In the 4