He had a steely colourlessness, and a
steely pliability, and a steely strength. Endowed beyond most men
with the capacity of foresight, he was endowed as very few men
have ever been with that staying-power which makes the fruit of
foresight attainable. His views were long, and his patience was
even longer. He progressed imperceptibly; he constantly withdrew;
the art of giving way he practised with the refinement of a
virtuoso. But, though the steel recoiled and recoiled, in the end
it would spring forward. His life's work had in it an element of
paradox. It was passed entirely in the East; and the East meant
very little to him; he took no interest in it. It was something
to be looked after. It was also a convenient field for the
talents of Sir Evelyn Baring. Yet it must not be supposed that he
was cynical; perhaps he was not quite great enough for that. He
looked forward to a pleasant retirement--a country place-- some
literary recreations. He had been careful to keep up his
classics. His ambition can be stated in a single phrase-- it was
to become an institution; and he achieved it. No doubt, too, he
deserved it. The greatest of poets, in a bitter mood, has
described the characteristics of a certain class of persons, whom
he did not like. 'They,' he says,
'that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the
things they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as
stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, They rightly do
inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from
expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces.
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