vial in themselves to quote, how completely he entered into their
life. Lady Georgiana Peel recalls her childish tears when her father
arrived too late from London one evening to see one of the glorious
sunsets which he had taught her to admire. 'I can feel now his hand on
my forehead in any childish illness, or clasping mine in the garden, as
he led me out to forget some trifling sorrow.' She lays stress on his
patience and serene temper, on his tender heart, and on the fact that he
always found leisure on the busiest day to enter into the daily life of
his little girls. Half heartedness, either in work or play, was not to
his mind. '_Do_ what you are doing' was the advice he gave to his
children.

One of the elder children in far-off days at Pembroke Lodge, Mrs.
Warburton, Lord John's step-daughter, recalls wet days in the country,
when her father would break the tedium of temporary imprisonment indoors
by romping with his children. 'I have never forgotten his expression of
horror when in a game of hide-and-seek he banged the door accidentally
in my elder sister's face and we heard her fall. Looking back to the
home life, its regularity always astonishes me. The daily walks,
prayers, and meals regular and punctual as a rule.... He was shy and we
were shy, but I think we spoke quite freely with him, and he seldom
said more than "Foolish child" when we ventured on any startling views
on things. Once I remember rousing his indignation when I gave out, with
sententious priggishness, that the Duke of Wellington laboured under
great difficulties in Spain caused by the "factious opposition at home;"
that was beyond "Foolish child," but my discomforted distress was soon
soothed by a pat on the cheek, and an amused twinkle in his kind eyes.'
Lord Amberley, four days before his death, declared that he had all his
life 'met with nothing but kindness and gentleness' from his father. He
added: 'I do earnestly hope that at the end of his long and noble life
he may be spared the pain of losing a son.'

Mr. Rollo Russell says: 'My father was very fond of history, and I can
remember his often turning back to Hume, Macaulay, Hallam, and other
historical works. He read various books on the French Revolution with
great interest. He had several classics always near him, such as Homer
and Virgil; and he always carried about with him a small edition of
Horace. Of Shakespeare he could repeat much, and knew the plays well,
entering into and