‘Oh, sleep! oh, gentle sleep!Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down,And steep my senses in forgetfulness?Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mastSeal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brainsIn cradle of the rude imperious surge,And in the visitation of the winds,Who take the ruffian billows by the top,Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging themWith deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,That with the hurly death itself awakes.’
‘Oh, sleep! oh, gentle sleep!Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down,And steep my senses in forgetfulness?Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mastSeal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brainsIn cradle of the rude imperious surge,And in the visitation of the winds,Who take the ruffian billows by the top,Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging themWith deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,That with the hurly death itself awakes.’
‘Oh, sleep! oh, gentle sleep!Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down,And steep my senses in forgetfulness?Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mastSeal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brainsIn cradle of the rude imperious surge,And in the visitation of the winds,Who take the ruffian billows by the top,Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging themWith deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,That with the hurly death itself awakes.’
‘Oh, sleep! oh, gentle sleep!
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes.’
“But he hid his sorrows, appearing calm and cheerful, though his manner was subdued and his conversation less animated. His vivacity revived at times, particularly when he spoke of Scotland, the theme he liked best; or when he recalled his early life in America, and described the pathless forests, the villages of wigwams, or the falls of Niagara, reciting Thomson’s lines—
‘Smooth to the shelving brink a copious floodRolls fair and placid,’ &c.
‘Smooth to the shelving brink a copious floodRolls fair and placid,’ &c.
‘Smooth to the shelving brink a copious floodRolls fair and placid,’ &c.
‘Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood
Rolls fair and placid,’ &c.
“He derived little benefit from the Folkstone breezes on his last visit, though enjoying his walks on the promenade, which he pronounced the noblest platform in Europe. Its attractions were just to his taste, for he could here see the coast of France, against which he had raised such bulwarks, watch the yachts and shipping in harbour and Channel, and glance around at the military strollers. Shorncliff Camp was within reach, as well as the Military School at Hythe, in which he took great interest, highly appreciating General Hay. He supported the Volunteer movement, and aided in its organisation, addressing a letter of advice to the National Rifle Association through his friend General Hay, and receiving an acknowledgment in his election as an honorary member. So well did he keep abreast with the age. He showed the same interest in the movements at the Camp, and attended any display, though not always to commend. He particularly censured a sham fight, representing an attack on an enemy who had landed in a bay near Hythe. The troops were marched down, and skirmishers thrown out on the beach, when the whole body fell back on the heights, holding them to cover their retreat. ‘What an absurd proceeding!’ remarked Sir Howard to Mr Bateman, who was by his side; ‘the movement ought to be exactly reversed. They should have brought down every man and gun as quickly as possible if the enemy had landed, and attacked him, and driven him into the sea. There would be some sense in that.’
“Sir Howard looked a soldier to the last, retaining his erect bearing, and walking with a firm step, though cautiously, and with looks bent on the ground. His sight had begun to fail, and cataracts were forming on both his eyes, but he did not submit them to medical treatment. ‘They will last my time,’ he remarked to the author. He contrived to write by never raising his pen, forming the letters by habit, and all were plain to one acquainted with his hand. A career of threescore years and ten left his character much what it first appeared, with all its elements of dash, vigour, enterprise, aptitude, and perception, its habits of industry, its generous instincts, and its warm sympathies. Neither heart nor mind showed the wear of life, and he is the same at eighty-five as at seventeen; inspiring the Volunteers at Hythe as he inspired them at Tynemouth, and exercising the inventive genius which scared the rats in improving the screw propeller. The hand that caught up the child in the shipwreck, obeyed the same impulse still; and Mr Bateman saw him walking up the street at Folkstone with a loaded basket which he had taken from a poor little girl. ‘My dear, give that to me,’ he said, as he saw her bending under the weight; ‘I am better able to carry it than you.’ The words were reported by a lady who heard them in passing, as the General of eighty-five and the poor child of five walked away together.”
We are not going to draw an elaborate character of one whose life may be said to have formed his epitaph. Sir Howard Douglas needs no panegyrist to tell the world what he was. Chivalrous, truthful, high-minded, brave, he secured the esteem, not less than he commanded the respect, of all who approached him. Had circumstances so ordered it that he had ever directed the movement of troops in the field, we take it upon us to say, that among English generals few would have attained to higher eminence than he. As it was, he did more for the British army, and navy too, in his books and by his teaching, than either army or navy, or the heads of both branches of the service, have ever had the grace to acknowledge. To these more shining qualities of head and temperament he added the faith and humility of a Christian man: a humility which was far too real to be obtruded on careless observers; a faith which had not one shade of hypocrisy or fanaticism about it. Rest to his noble spirit! it will be long before we look upon his like again.