ons. He measures the length, breadth, and thickness of the
bill before him; calculates with his unerring precision and practical
wisdom, the effect which it will have, either on the happiness of the
people, or on the social or political constitution of the country.
According to its value for good or for evil, does the Duke of Wellington
support or oppose it; and from that hour its fate is usually decided.
Why? because the unbending unflinching honesty of the man, and his
political sagacity, have created him a character unprecedented in the
annals of his country.

The Duke's style of speaking is what might be expected from his
character, plain, simple, straightforward. His sentences are short and
pithy, his language clear and lucid; his delivery abrupt. When he makes
a point, it falls on the mind with the force of a sledge-hammer. His
voice reminds one of that of an officer giving the word of command; he
lays emphasis, short and somewhat harsh, on the leading words of the
sentence, and speaks the rest in an under tone. Although, however, in
consequence of his age and the gradual approach of infirmity, his
utterance is not so clear as it used to be, yet you can always
understand immediately his whole meaning. He uses the plainest language
of every-day colloquy. His style is impressive from its doric
simplicity. You never entertain a doubt of his sincerity; and although
you may not always agree with him in opinion, you have, at least, the
satisfaction of knowing that his propositions are the true result of
his feelings or his thoughts; and are not merely put forward to answer
the purposes of party, or to secure a triumph in debate.

For the same reason, the Duke never attempts to impose on the house a
fictitious enthusiasm, or a pretended excitement. If he gets excited,
(and he will sometimes get into a terrible passion at any infringement
of constitutional integrity or breach of discipline), there is no
mistaking it for a mere prepared climax to a speech; he is completely
possessed by the demon. The only action he ever uses is on such
occasions, and then it is almost convulsive. His arms and legs seem no
longer to be under control, they quiver, and shake, and tremble: and the
clenched fist, violently and frequently struck upon the table, denotes
that some very potent feeling of indignation is, for the time, mastering
the usual calmness of this self-possessed man.

Yet though at times he is thus carried away by his feeli