Then, lastly, there were the Secretary of State and the Commander-in-Chief also anxious. And these relieved their anxiety by doing the best possible thing they could, in establishing the camp at Chobham, where field manœuvres were first seriously tried. Again it is curious to see how history repeats itself. When the impressive lesson of 1870 to 1871 aroused the national anxiety, the first camp of instruction with real field manœuvres was started in 1871 by Lord Cardwell, over much of the same area. In 1852 Wellington died, and, after a while, Lord Hardinge took his place. That the “Iron Duke” had been uniformly and, on the whole, extraordinarily successful, is evident. That he never saw the greatest leaders until he met Napoleon at Waterloo, is equally so. It was for long, and is, to some extent, still rank heresy to even criticise his actions. But whatever confidence he may have gained by his imperturbable coolness, he gained no man’s regard. The rank and file trusted and believed in him to some extent. But there was not one soldier who would have died with his name on his lips as many did for his far greater antagonist--Napoleon. Men were obedient, save in such retreats as Burgos, when Wellington’s influence was powerless to check the disgraceful conduct of his army, but never devoted. He rarely praised the men who fought, and died, and won battles, some of which are distinguished by the absence of everything but that bull-dog courage which the privates showed. He had a belief in himself that seems at times arrogant, but he was patient, persevering, and sagacious. No careful student of the art of war, _no foreign military critic certainly_, has ever classed him among the greatest generals, or thought his campaigns worth studying seriously. Gneisenau at Waterloo utterly mistrusted him, as has been shown, and the feeling must have been created by Wellington himself. If half the myths about him were true, they would be worth publishing as the unwritten history of a great man with many faults. Of him Gleig, who shared in the general admiration of him, is quite plain-spoken as to his personal coldness. “Though retaining to the last a warm regard for his old companions in arms, he entered very little with them, after he became a politician, into the amenities of social life. We have reason to believe that neither Lord Hill, nor Lord Raglan, nor Sir George Murray ever visited the duke at Strathfieldsaye, nor could they, or others of similar standing, such as Lord Anglesey, Sir Edward Paget, and Sir James Kempt, be reckoned among the _habitués_ of his hospitable gatherings in Apsley House. The circle in which he chiefly moved was that of fashionable ladies and gentlemen.”