THE GREAT

DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

You will have all often heard, my younger friends, of the famous Duke of Wellington. Some of you, perhaps, my south country readers, may have seen him yourselves, but at any rate, his name must be a well-known name to you; "familiar in your lips as a household word." You will have heard too, (as the whole country, from one end of it to the other, whether in its crowded cities or its sequestered villages has heard,) with the intensest grief of his death at Walmer Castle, on September 14th, last. You will have listened almost as it were incredulously at first, to the sad announcement, that the Duke, England's Duke is dead! Full of years, (fourteen years above the natural existence of man) and honours he has gone from among us, leaving an empty place in our councils and army, in the hearts and feelings of an admiring nation, difficult, very difficult, if not altogether impossible at present to fill up.

The pathetic words of Elisha seem to form the burden of our train of sorrow, in the first moments when we feel the greatness and freshness of our loss, and remember our troubled times and look at the stormy world around us. "My father, my father, the chariots of Israel, and the horsemen thereof," seem to be the first utterances of our moved heartvoice. But even then, we recollect that all things VOL. VII.-No. 10.

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are under the control of an all wise and over ruling Providence, and desponding, afflicted, nationally and individually, as we well may be and surely are,— true Christian Faith takes np the strain,-"It is the Lord's doing, and He doeth what seemeth Him best."

Now! such a great man, as Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, was not sent upon earth for nothing, and the history of such a man is full of the deepest interest and instruction for all. Let us see therefore, if we cannot, by a short account, (necessarily very short and most imperfect, to suit our limited pages,) lay before the readers of our magazine, something to instruct and edify them.

It is rather a curious circumstance connected with our great, rather our greatest man, that even to this very hour, it is a matter of some dispute when and where he was born. It seems however to be pretty nearly quite certain that his birth took place in Dublin, at a house in Merrion Square, on the first day of May, in the year 1769; his mother having distinctly declared that to be the date of his birth, in a letter written to a friend in 1815. He was the fourth son of the Earl and Countess of Mornington, being one of nine children, and descended from two ancient families, the Colleys of Rutland, and the Wesleys of Sussex. Two of his brothers, the late Marquis of Wellesley, once Governor General of India, and Lord Cowley, were likewise very distinguished servants of the Crown. Arthur Wellesley, or as he called himself in his younger days, Arthur Wesley, was left at an early age to the sole care of one surviving parent, a talented, careful, and affectionate mother, and was sent

successively, first to Eton, then to a school at Brighton, and lastly for five years to the Military College of Angers, in France.

On the 7th of March, 1787, being then 18 years old, he received his first commission as ensign in the 73rd Regiment of Foot, and in the year 1794, in the month of May, being then 26, he embarked at Cork as lieutenant-colonel, in the command of the 33rd regiment on service in Holland.

In that disastrous war, the future commander was well prepared for the rougher services of after years, and among many more distinguished officers at a later period, we may name the gallant Abercrombie, who died in Egypt, and the brave Picton, who fell at Waterloo, as sharers with him of the difficulties and dangers of the battle and retreat.

We must pass over a few years, and come to the year 1797, when we find him landed at Calcutta, (the chief city as you know of the Presidency of Bengal, in our Indian Empire,) about to commence that career of earnest duty and noble service which will reflect eternal lustre on his name. Time does not allow me to rest long upon his Indian services, suffice it to say, as perhaps you may have read, that through his energy, far-seeing precaution, brilliant courage and the powers of his mastermind, the most dangerous war ever carried on in India, was put down after a bloody struggle.

In the capture of Seringapatan, in the defeat of the great robber chief Doondiah, who called himself "the king of the the two worlds," in the Mysore country; in the famous fight of Assaye, in the after victories of Allyghur and Argaum, are to be found

the presage of and preparation for that great struggle against the bitterest and most powerful enemy of old England, which that same "Sepoy general”* was before many years to bring to such a bright and memorable ending, on the never to be forgotten field of Waterloo."

One anecdote of the Mahratta war is worth a

place here. "A Mahratta chief, whom the then general had signally defeated, wrote thus to a friend to account for his defeat."

"These Englishmen are a strange people, and their general a wonderful man. They came here this morning, looked at the Pettah Wall, walked over it, killed all the garrison, and returned to breakfast! Who can withstand them?" [Who, indeed? ED.]

In the beginning of 1805, the work successfully ended everywhere, General Wellesley was on his way home again from India, where his services had been well and truly appreciated. He left India amid the congratulations and offerings and regret, of army and civilians, and natives alike, soon to appear in another quarter of the globe, and do nobler deeds for that great Country he loved and served so well. Here however we must leave him for the present, hoping to continue the history of his glorious and eventful career, in successive numbers.

* IN derision one day, Napoleon called Wellington a Sepoy general. The Sepoys as we call them com. monly, Spahis properly, are the natives of India, enlisted in our service as soldiers.

THANKSGIVING.

"WE also bless thy Holy Name, for all Thy servants departed this life in Thy faith, and fear, beseeching Thee to give us grace so to follow their good examples, that with thee we may be made partakers of Thy heavenly kingdom."-Prayer for the whole state of Christ's Church militant here on earth.

We bless Thy name O Lord!

For all in ev'ry age,

Who in Thy faith and fear

Have clos'd their pilgrimage.

And thro' the grave and gate of death have past
To dwell in bliss, where they in life their lot had cast.

We bless Thee for the saints

And patriarchs of old,

Who only might afar

Thy promises behold;

But yet in faith embrac'd them, and confest

They sought another home, for earth was not their rest.

For all thy Martyrs-those

To whom thou hast reveal'd,

The precious truths which they

With their life-blood have seal'd;

Who against sin have striven unto death;

Then calmly yielded up to Thee their parting breath.

We bless thee for each one

Whom we have laid to rest,

Calm as a sleeping babe

Upon its mother's breast;

Who now, all earthly toils and labours o'er

Repose in peace with thee, upon th' eternal shore.