But it is not so. Peter Warren, the spoiled child
of fortune, was something more than a child of fortune, since he won
his good things of life always at the risk of that life which he
enriched; and surely, no obstinately fortuitous twist of circumstances
could ever really spoil him.
His honestly heroic qualities are his passport. He cannot seem smug,
nor colourless, nor over-prosperous: he is too vivid and too vigorous.
His childish vanity is nobly discounted by his childlike simplicity in
facing big issues. The blue and gold which he wore so magnificently
can never to us be the mere trappings of rank: they carry on them the
shadows of battle smoke, and the rust of enviable wounds. Let us take
his memory then gladly, and with true homage, rejoicing that its
record of happiness appears as stainless as its history of honour, and
well satisfied to find one picture in which something of the sunshine
of high gallantry seems caught, and for all time.
Dr. Johnson wrote thirty lines of eulogy of him, with the nicety and
distinction of phrase which one would expect.
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