The person who knew him best once wrote of your grandfather’s politics: “Men of all parties speak of him as belonging to their clique. This proves to me, if I had required the proof to strengthen the conviction, that there is a point on the plain of politics at which the moderate Tory, the sensible Whig, and the right-minded Radical, in other words all true patriots, meet; like the vanishing point in a picture to which all true and correct lines tend. And thus it is with him: he has reached that point, and there he foregathers with all of all parties, who, throwing aside party prejudice, act and think for the good of their fellow-creatures.” The description, I cannot but think, applied equally well to my brother, though he continued nominally a Tory to the end, and, as you will all recollect, lived as quiet, methodical a country life as if he had no interests in the world beyond crops, field sports, and petty sessions. But that it must have required a considerable effort on his part to do this comes out in much of his most intimate correspondence. For instance, only a month or two before his death he writes to his sister:—“Thanks, many, for your letter, and Mrs. S——’s. Hers is delightful, and I so fully understand her feeling. I always feel uncomfortable in point-device places, where the footman is always brushing your hat, and will insist upon putting out your clothes, and turning your socks ready to put on, and, if you say half a word, will even put them on for you. How I hate being ‘valeted!’ I should like to black my own boots, like Mr. ——, but then he is (or was) a master of foxhounds, and, being of course on that account a king of men, can do as he pleases, in spite of Mrs. Grundy. I am also a gypsey (is that rightly spelt? That word, and some others, are stumbling-blocks to me; I am afraid all my spelling is an affair of memory), a Bohemian at heart. I sometimes feel an almost irresistible desire to doff my breeches and paint myself blue. I should also like (I would limit myself to one month per annum) to go with a carpet-bag to the nearest station, and to rough it in all sorts of outlandish places—but then A—— can’t rough it, and there are the brats, and lots of other impediments. The very act of wandering anywhere delights me. I think we spoil half the enjoyment of life by being too particular; how terrible dinner-parties are becoming! But enough of my sermon. In spite of my secret longings I shall continue to do as my neighbours, and it would be wicked in my case to be discontented. They threatened to nominate me Chairman of the Board of Guardians here, but finding that the Vice-chairman was standing (and thinking him better qualified), I declined any contest, and was not put up. I am sorry for it, for the office, although troublesome, is capable of being made useful, and I think I should have liked it in time;” and then comes a sentence which may serve to explain to some of you your feelings towards him—“I cannot