was Gladstone, Peel's disciple and true successor, who seven years
later paid the following tribute to his memory: 'It is easy', he said,
'to enumerate many characteristics of the greatness of Sir Robert Peel.
It is easy to speak of his ability, of his sagacity, of his
indefatigable industry. But there was something yet more admirable...
and that was his sense of public virtue;... when he had to choose
between personal ease and enjoyment, or again, on the other hand,
between political power and distinction, and what he knew to be the
welfare of the nation, his choice was made at once. When his choice was
made, no man ever saw him hesitate, no man ever saw him hold back from
that which was necessary to give it effect.' Though his own political
views changed, Gladstone always paid tribute to the moral influence
which Peel had exercised in political life, purifying its practices and
ennobling its traditions.

For the last four years of his life he was in opposition, but he held a
place of dignity and independence which few fallen ministers have ever
enjoyed. He was the trusted friend and adviser of Queen Victoria and the
Prince Consort; he was often consulted in grave matters by the chiefs of
the Government; his speeches both in the House and in the country
carried greater weight than those of any minister. Despite the
bitterness of the Protectionists he seemed still to have a great future
before him, and in any national emergency the country would unfailingly
have called him to the helm. But on July 29, 1850, when he was just
reaching the age of sixty-two, he had a fall from his horse which
caused very grave injuries, and he only survived three days.

The interest of Peel's life is almost absorbed by public questions. He
was not picturesque like Disraeli; he did not, like Gladstone, live long
enough to be in his lifetime a mythical figure; the public did not
cherish anecdotes about his sayings or doings, nor did he lend himself
to the art of the caricaturist. He was an English gentleman to the
backbone, in his tastes, in his conduct, in his nature. His married life
was entirely happy, he had a few devoted friends, he avoided general
society; he had a genuine fondness for shooting and country life, he was
a judicious patron of art, and his collection of Dutch pictures form
to-day a very precious part of our National Gallery. Just because of his
aloofness, his gravity, the concentration of his energies, he is the
best exa