Born into the ruling caste of Great Britain, Arthur Wellesley was given the best opportunities, and he improved them to the best advantage. In Hindustan he won military fame similar to that of Clive, and was finally sent to Portugal when the British Cabinet decided to make the Peninsula a base of operations against Napoleon. Displeased with the Convention of Cintra, which his superior officer concluded with Junot, after the latter had lost the battle of Vimiera, Wellington quit the Continent and returned to England, where he served in Parliament. It required the utmost exertion of his family influence to again secure employment for him in the army. His subsequent career in Spain, where, by a cautious steadiness and unflinching courage, he won victory after victory over Napoleon’s lieutenants, left him the military hero of the day when Marmont’s treachery had put an end to the campaign of 1814. He was at the Vienna Congress when Napoleon left Elba, and the Kings turned to him, saying: “You must once more save Europe.” * * * * * The Duke of Wellington, associated as he is with the national pride of the country, is England’s military hero. The greatness of the Duke is the greatness of old England. He identified himself wholly with the government of his country, believed that it was the best that human wit could devise, antagonized innovations, detested reform measures, and had a hearty contempt for the populace. It is doubtful if any human being ever _loved_ Wellington. His wife did not; his sons did not; his officers did not; his soldiers did not. Yet he had the unbounded confidence of his army, the warm admiration of most Englishmen, and the personal esteem of every sovereign of Europe. Like Washington, he had few intimacies; and like Washington, he was exacting even in very small matters. That he should have won the title of “the Iron Duke” is significant. In many respects he was a hard man. _He was never known to laugh._ “Kiss me, Hardy,” said the dying Nelson to his bosom friend. We cannot imagine any such tenderness of sentiment in Wellington. Nelson came near throwing his fame away for a wanton, as Marc Antony did: we could never imagine Wellington in love with a woman. He married with as little excitement as he managed a military maneuver, and he begat children from a stern sense of duty. He heartily favored flogging in the army, and he bitterly opposed penny postage. In his old age he was asked whether he found any advantage in being “great.” He answered, “Yes, I can afford to do without servants. I brush my own clothes, and if I was strong enough I would black my own shoes.” He had ridden horseback all his life, but had a notoriously bad seat. Often in a fox hunt he gave his horse a fall, or was thrown. Like Napoleon, he always shaved himself. He was a man of few words, never lost his head, and was as brave as Julius Caesar. * * * * *