The first thirty-five years of the nineteenth century have been rich in experiences of the sure and certain failure of all soldiership and Toryism to go heartily along in the cause of the many. There has been the sovereign instance of Napoleon Bonaparte himself--of the allies after him--of Charles the Tenth--of Louis Philippe, albeit a "schoolmaster,"--and lastly, of this strange and most involuntary Reformer the Duke of Wellington, who refused to do, under Canning, or for principle's sake, what he consented to do when Canning died, for the sake of regaining power, and of keeping it with as few concessions as possible. Canning perished because Toryism, or the principle of power for its own sake, to which he had been a servant, could not bear to acknowledge him as its master. His intellect was just great enough (as his birth was small enough) to render it jealous of him under that aspect. There is an instinct in Toryism which renders pure intellect intolerable to it, except in some inferior or mechanical shape, or in the flattery of voluntary servitude. But, by a like instinct, it is not so jealous of military renown. It is glad of the doubtful amount of intellect in military genius, and knows it to be a good ally in the preservation of power, and in the substitution of noise and show for qualities fearless of inspection. Is it an ascendancy of this kind which the present age requires, or will permit? Do we want a soldier at the head of us, when there is nobody abroad to fight with? when international as well as national questions can manifestly settle themselves without him? and when his appearance in the seat of power can indicate nothing but a hankering after those old substitutions of force for argument, or at best of "an authority for a reason," which every step of reform is hoping to do away? Do we want him to serve in our shops? to preside over our studies? to cultivate "peace and good will" among nations? wounding no self love--threatening no social?