opposed to his own preconceived notions; did not hesitate to own a
mistake if he had made one. Those who have abundant mental
resources, and have conquered fame, can doubtless afford to be
generous. Julius Caesar was, and George Washington, and so, in a
different sphere, were Newton and Darwin. But the instances to the
contrary are so numerous that one may say of magnanimity that it is
among the rarest as well as the finest ornaments of character.

The essential dignity of his nature was never better seen than
during the last few years of his life, after he had retired (in
1894) from Parliament and public life. He indulged in no vain
regrets, nor was there any foundation for the rumors, so often
circulated, that he thought of reentering the arena of strife. He
spoke with no bitterness of those who had opposed, and sometimes
foiled, him in the past. He gave vent to no disparaging criticisms
on those who from time to time filled the place that had been his in
the government of the country or the leadership of his party.
Although his opinion on current questions was frequently solicited,
he scarcely ever allowed it to be known, and never himself addressed
the nation, except (as already mentioned) on behalf of what he
deemed a sacred cause, altogether above party--the discharge by
Britain of her duty to the victims of the Turk. As soon as an
operation for cataract had enabled him to read or write for seven
hours a day, he devoted himself with his old ardor to the
preparation of an edition of Bishop Butler's works, resumed his
multifarious reading, and filled up the interstices of his working-
time with studies on Homer which he had been previously unable to
complete. No trace of the moroseness of old age appeared in his
manners or his conversation, nor did he, though profoundly grieved
at some of the events which he witnessed, and owning himself