'From the windows of my hotel at Plymouth,' Sir George recalled, 'I
watched the citizens proclaim the young Queen. Who among them could have
imagined the glorious reign hers was to be? It was to surpass in bounty
of achievement all foretelling.'

Now, he would meet, for the last time, the Sovereign who, like himself,
had tended the rise of Oceana. This was at Windsor, to which he had
summons soon after he reached England. He had been exalted a member of
the Privy Council, and must be sworn in by the Queen. The tribute was
cheerful to him, since the very nature of it set seal upon his services
to the Empire. The longing for some word of England's remembrance had
assuredly been in his heart, which had often been left desolate. It was
all rapture to England, like a child's to its mother.

'For mere honours themselves,' was his broad attitude thereon, 'I
entertain no special regard. A title to one's name, a red ribbon, or
something else, what are they but baubles, unless there is more? What
more? Why, they hand down a record of the public work that a person may
have endeavoured to perform. In that respect they should have esteem,
being the recognition of efforts to serve Queen and people.

'Nothing could be more unfortunate than that a country should neglect
services rendered to it. The loss is its own, because, apart from justice
to the individual, his example is not kept alive to encourage others
coming after. In so far, then, as that reasoning may apply to myself--not
very far, perhaps--I do sincerely value any honours I have received. Not
otherwise; and it is easy to understand that a distinction, granted
without adequate cause, might exercise a really pernicious effect upon
the tone of a nation.'