on them; but no sooner did they get it
into their own, than they forthwith became admirers of Wellington. And
why? Because he was a duke, petted at Windsor and by foreign princes,
and a very genteel personage. Formerly many of your Whigs and Radicals
had scarcely a decent coat on their backs; but now the plunder of the
country was at their disposal, and they had as good a chance of being
genteel as any people. So they were willing to worship Wellington
because he was very genteel, and could not keep the plunder of the
country out of their hands. And Wellington has been worshipped, and
prettily so, during the last fifteen or twenty years. He is now a noble
fine-hearted creature; the greatest general the world ever produced; the
bravest of men; and--and--mercy upon us! the greatest of military
writers! Now the present writer will not join in such sycophancy. As he
was not afraid to take the part of Wellington when he was scurvily used
by all parties, and when it was dangerous to take his part, so he is not
afraid to speak the naked truth about Wellington in these days, when it
is dangerous to say anything about him but what is sycophantically
laudatory. He said, in '32, that as to vice, Wellington was not worse
than his neighbours; but he is not going to say, in '54, that Wellington
was a noble-hearted fellow; for he believes that a more cold-hearted
individual never existed. His conduct to Warner, the poor Vaudois, and
Marshal Ney, showed that. He said, in '32, that he was a good general
and a brave man; but he is not going, in '54, to say that he was the best
general, or the bravest man the world ever saw. England has produced a
better general--France two or three--both countries many braver men. The
son of the Norfolk clergyman was a braver man; Marshal Ney was a braver
man. Oh, that Battle of Copenhagen! Oh, that covering the retreat of
the Grand Army! And though he said in '32 that he could write, he is not
going to say in '54 that he is the best of all military writers. On the
contrary, he does not hesitate to say that any Commentary of Julius
Caesar, or any chapter in Justinus, more especially the one about the
Parthians, is worth the ten volumes of Wellington's Despatches; though he
has no doubt that, by saying so, he shall especially rouse the
indignation of a certain newspaper, at present one of the most genteel
journals imaginable--with a slight tendency to Liberalism, it is true,
but perfectly