Collections and Recollections | Page 8

on his way. That evening the British army was in
full retreat, and Lord Russell used to tell the story as illustrating the old
Duke's extreme reticence when there was a chance of a military secret
leaking out.
Lord Russell's father, the sixth Duke of Bedford, belonged to that
section of the Whigs who thought that, while a Whig ministry was
impossible, it was wiser to support the Duke of Wellington, whom they

believed to be a thoroughly honest man, than Canning, whom they
regarded as an unscrupulous adventurer. Accordingly the Duke of
Wellington was a frequent visitor at Woburn Abbey, and showed
consistent friendliness to Lord Russell and his many brothers, all of
whom were full of anecdotes illustrative of his grim humour and robust
common sense. Let a few of them be recorded.
The Government was contemplating the dispatch of an expedition to
Burma, with a view of taking Rangoon, and a question arose as to who
would be the fittest general to be sent in command of the expedition.
The Cabinet sent for the Duke of Wellington, and asked his advice. He
instantly replied, "Send Lord Combermere."
"But we have always understood that your Grace thought Lord
Combermere a fool."
"So he is a fool, and a d----d fool; but he can take Rangoon."
At the time of Queen Caroline's trial the mob of London sided with the
Queen, and the Duke's strong adhesion to the King made him extremely
unpopular. Riding up Grosvenor Place one day towards Apsley House,
he was beset by a gang of workmen who were mending the road. They
formed a cordon, shouldered their pickaxes, and swore they would not
let the Duke pass till he said "God save the Queen." "Well, gentlemen,
since you will have it so--'God save the Queen,' and may all your wives
be like her!"
Mrs. Arbuthnot (wife of the Duke's private secretary, familiarly called
"Gosh") was fond of parading her intimacy with the Duke before
miscellaneous company. One day, in a large party, she said to him,--
"Duke, I know you won't mind my asking you, but is it true that you
were surprised at Waterloo?"
"By G----! not half as much surprised as I am now, mum."
When the Queen came to the throne her first public act was to go in
state to St. James's Palace to be proclaimed. She naturally wished to be

accompanied in her State coach only by the Duchess of Kent and one of
the Ladies of the Household; but Lord Albemarle, who was Master of
the Horse, insisted that he had a right to travel with her Majesty in the
coach, as he had done with William IV. The point was submitted to the
Duke of Wellington, as a kind of universal referee in matters of
precedence and usage. His judgment was delightfully unflattering to the
outraged magnate--"The Queen can make you go inside the coach or
outside the coach, or run behind like a tinker's dog."
And surely the whole literary profession, of which the present writer is
a feeble unit, must cherish a sentiment of grateful respect for the
memory of a man who, in refusing the dedication of a song, informed
Mrs. Norton that he had been obliged to make a rule of refusing
dedications, "because, in his situation as Chancellor of the University
of Oxford, he had been much exposed to authors."

III.
LORD SHAFTESBURY.
If the Christian Socialists ever frame a Kalendar of Worthies (after the
manner of Auguste Comte), it is to be hoped that they will mark among
the most sacred of their anniversaries the day--April 28, 1801--which
gave birth to Anthony Ashley, seventh Earl of Shaftesbury. His life of
eighty-four years was consecrated, from boyhood till death, to the
social service of humanity; and, for my own part, I must always regard
the privilege of his friendship as among the highest honours of my life.
Let me try to recall some of the outward and inward characteristics of
this truly illustrious man.
Lord Shaftesbury was tall and spare--almost gaunt--in figure, but
powerfully framed, and capable of great exertion. His features were
handsome and strongly marked--an aquiline nose and very prominent
chin. His complexion was as pale as marble, and contrasted effectively
with a thick crop of jet-black hair which extreme old age scarcely
tinged with silver.

When he first entered Parliament a contemporary observer wrote: "It
would be difficult to imagine a more complete beau-ideal of aristocracy.
His whole countenance has the coldness as well as the grace of a
chiselled one, and expresses precision, prudence, and determination in
no common degree." The stateliness of bearing, the unbroken figure,
the high glance of stern though melancholy resolve, he retained to the
end. But the incessant labour and anxiety of sixty years made their