548

LIFE OF COBDEN. [omar

oo fought against her fate. “But if there be one act of cop
&r.62. tumacy,” Cobden wrote in tender deprecation, “which God
would pardon beyond all others in his creatures, it is surely
that which springs from the excessive affection of a mother
for her child.”
The external trifles of life were in sombre accord with the
tragedy that overshadowed their hearts. All things, small
as well as great, in which Cobden was concerned, seemed 0
go wrong. His best cows lost their calves. The fruit in the
orchard was all blighted. A fine crop of hay lay spoiling in
the rain. Deeper than these vexations was his anxious concern
 for Mr. Bright. For eighteen years almost withou
an interval Mr. Bright had been at work in public causes:
The labour of prepartion and advocacy would in itself have
been enormous, but the strain was peculiarly intensified by
the fact that the labour was pursued in face of misrepresentation
 and obloquy such as few English statesmen have
ever had to endure. At a time when repose would under
any circumstances have become necessary, instead of repose
came the violent excitement of the Russian War, Mr. Bright's
health gave way, and many of his friends began to fear that
he was permanently disabled. “I think of him,” Cobden
wrote, “with more serious apprehension than he is aware of.”
And his correspondence with their common friends shows the
reality of his solicitude. This is an extract from one of his
letters of that time :— I have always had a sort of selfish
share in Bright's career, for I have felt ag though, when
passing the zenith of life, I was handing over every principle
and cause I had most at heart to the advocacy of one, nob
only younger and more energetic, but with gifts of natural
eloquence to which I never pretended. . . . . Perhaps there
never were two men who lived in such transparent intimacy of
mind as Bright and myself. Next to the loss of my boy, 1
have had no sorrow so constant and ereat as from hig illness.