He disliked, above all things, to oppose the Crown. At a great crisis, at the crisis of the Corn Laws, what he considered was not what other people were thinking of, the economical issue under discussion, the welfare of the country hanging in the balance, but the Queen’s ease. He thought the Crown so superior a part in the Constitution, that, even on vital occasions, he looked solely⁠—or said he looked solely⁠—to the momentary comfort of the present sovereign. He never was comfortable in opposing a conspicuous act of the Crown. It is very likely that, if the Duke had still been the president of the House of Lords, they would have permitted the Crown to prevail in its well-chosen scheme. But the Duke was dead, and his authority⁠—or some of it⁠—had fallen to a very different person. Lord Lyndhurst had many great qualities: he had a splendid intellect⁠—as great a faculty of finding truth as anyone in his generation; but he had no love of truth. With this great faculty of finding truth, he was a believer in error⁠—in what his own party now admit to be error⁠—all his life through. He could have found the truth as a statesman just as he found it when a judge; but he never did find it. He never looked for it.