In the summer of 1906, when motoring through Shropshire, I turned aside to visit the little village church of Morton Saye, of which my great-grandfather, Samuel Peploe, was vicar in 1770. I had not visited the church for nearly fifty years. Then it was a very quaint, old-fashioned place, with black oak pews and a black oak minstrel gallery at one end close to the pulpit. This was the singing gallery, the choir of three voices being led by a violin and cornet. I found all had been changed. The church had been restored; the old features had disappeared; but fortunately the restoration had been carried out in good taste. I spoke to the vicar, who had followed us in, and who was evidently proud of his little church; he showed me the brass plate he had taken off the coffin of my grandfather, and had placed as a memorial on the walls of the church. I knew the great Lord Clive had been buried in the church, and asked to see his grave. The vicar pointed to a flag-stone under some pews. There was no inscription upon it, and he said that the only record they had that the great soldier was buried in the church was the small brass plate above the vestry door, and he added:--"Strange to say, there is no memorial to the man who made India, either in England or India, except in Shrewsbury, his native town. I suppose," he added, "it was because he committed suicide." On his return home from India Lord Clive was furiously attacked by political enemies, and the man who had shown on so many occasions such conspicuous courage on the field of battle quailed and fell, struck down by the venom of his calumniators. When I was in India during the year following I enquired everywhere for a memorial to Lord Clive, but, although India bristles with statues to its governor-generals and eminent soldiers, there is in India to-day no record of Lord Clive. I was so much impressed with this that I wrote the following letter to _The Times_:-- Grand Hotel, Calcutta, Feb. 8th, 1907. LORD CLIVE. To the Editor of _The Times_. Sir,--India has many monuments erected in honour of successful and popular viceroys and others who have served her well, but I have been unable to discover any monument to Lord Clive, to whom more than any human being we owe our great empire of India. Westminster Abbey contains no record of the great soldier-statesman. In the by-ways of Shropshire, in the quaint little church of Morton-Saye, the village swain sits Sunday after Sunday over the grave of Lord Clive. No inscription marks it, not even his name; a small brass plate hid away over the vestry door and scarcely legible is the only record that the remains of Robert Clive rest within its walls. Truly Lord Clive made India, but in the making of it he aroused jealousies and political enmities which, acting upon a too sensitive nature, brought him to a premature death. But should he be forgotten?