Mr. Gladstone came down half an hour late and was rallied by our host upon his unpunctuality. Lord Rosebery reminded him of something he had once said about punctuality at luncheon time. Mr. Gladstone took up the point with as much energy as if it were one of Lord Randolph's accusations in the House of Commons. Finally he drew from Lord Rosebery the admission that he had been in error, that he (Mr. Gladstone) had never said anything about being punctual at luncheon, but had recommended the desirability of absence of formality-that anybody should drop in as they pleased and sit where they liked.

Mr. G. was in the liveliest humour, talking all the time in a rich musical voice. I sat immediately opposite to him with a pot fern in a silver cover between us. This he presently removed and talked to me about the 'Punch' staff, being much interested in the Wednesday dinner.

After luncheon Lord Rosebery proposed that we should go and see the Castle, an ancient ruin he has rebuilt on the sea coast which bounds one side of Dalmeny Park. Forgot to note that Lieutenant Greely was of the party. He was very quiet at the luncheon. A tall, narrow-chested, delicate-looking man, with bushy black whiskers, and spectacles; more like a student than an Arctic explorer. Lord Rosebery walked with me to the Castle, Lady Spencer went on before with Sir John Lubbock's daughter, whose married name I did not catch. Presently Greely arrived, and afterwards Mr. Gladstone.

The Castle is a charming place, full of old furniture and precious memorials, chiefly belonging to the Stuart time. There are also many old books. Mr. Gladstone was, as before, in the highest spirits, talking incessantly. He picked up one of the books and, sitting on a broad window seat, began reading and discoursing. We spent a good half hour here walking through the rooms. At four o'clock, much after his usual time, Mr. Gladstone went off for a walk with Lady Spencer and Lord Rosebery. Lieutenant Greely walked with me to my cab, and we had a long talk.

Mr. G. was got up in the most extraordinary style. He wore a narrow-skirted, square-cut tail coat, made, I should say, in the year the Reform Bill was drafted. Over his shoulders was a little cape, on his head a white soft felt hat. The back view was irresistible. Mrs. Gladstone waits upon him and watches him like a hen with its first chicken. She is always pulling up his collar or fastening a button, or putting him to sit in some particular chair, little attentions he accepts without remark, and with much the same placid air a very small and good-tempered babe wears when being put to bed.

Remembering our talk at Dalmeny and Mr. Gladstone's interest

in the personnel of the 'Punch' staff, I some time later invited him. to meet them at my house. He replied:

4 Whitehall Gardens: November 14, 1888.

DEAR MR. LUCY,-I thank you much for the invitation to join the goodly company to be assembled round your table on the 11th of Dec. But I am living in hope of escape to the country before that date, and therefore I fear I am precluded from accepting your kind invitation.

At the same time, if the dinner is in any case to come off, and if it were allowed me in the event of my being in or near London to offer myself, I should thankfully accept such a reservation.Faithfully yours,

W. E. GLADSTONE.

The gathering came off on May 7, 1889. I always remember as an instance of Mr. G.'s extreme courtesy and unselfish consideration for others, that, brought up in days when smoking was regarded as bad form, personally disliking the smell of tobacco, he commissioned his son Herbert to see me and insist that at the forthcoming dinner we should not depart from the custom of the weekly symposium, but should at the proper time smoke. The 'Punch staff were represented by the editor, Frank Burnand; Tenniel, not yet Sir John; du Maurier, Linley Sambourne, and Harry Furniss. Outsiders, in addition to the guest of the evening, were Lord Granville, David Plunket, now Lord Rathmore, and Lord Charles Beresford. I quote from my diary:

'Mr. Gladstone dined with us to-night to meet the editor and artists of the "Punch" staff. Was much struck on nearer view with that feeling of surprise at his amazing physical and mental virility which surprises every observer of him in public life. The only casual indications that he has entered his eightieth year take the form of increasing deafness and a slight huskiness in his voice, which latter wears off as he talks-and he talks with abounding freeness, though, as someone observed, he is also "a most attractive listener.' One notable thing about his personal appearance is the brightness of his eyes. They are fuller and more unclouded than those of many a man under fifty. Dowered at birth with a magnificent constitution, he has all his life taken great care of it.

'Talking about John Bright, he spoke regretfully of the carelessness with which his old friend dealt with himself.

"Bright," he said emphatically, "did nothing he should do to preserve his health, and everything he should not."

If he had only been wise, and wise in time, there is, in Mr.

Gladstone's opinion, no reason why he should not have been alive to-day, hale and strong. He never would listen to advice about himself. Mr. Gladstone told a funny little story about his habits on this score. Up to within the last ten years he had no recognised medical attendant. There was some anonymous and unknown person to whom he went for advice, and of whom he spoke oracularly.

"But," said Mr. Gladstone, with that curious approach to a wink that sometimes varies his grave aspect," he would never tell his name, or say where he lived."

About ten years ago Mr. Bright surprised Sir Andrew Clark by appearing in his consulting room. Sir Andrew, who knew all about his peculiarities in this matter, asked him how it was he came to see him.

"Oh," said Mr. Bright, "it's Gladstone; he never will let me rest."

'The mischief of long neglect had been accomplished, but Mr. Bright acknowledged the immense benefit he received, and nothing more was heard of the anonymous doctor.

· Mr. Gladstone used to advise Mr. Bright as one panacea for preserving health of mind and body never to think of political affairs after getting into bed or on awakening in the morning.

"I never do that," Mr. Gladstone said; "I never allow myself to do it. In the most exciting political crises I dismiss current matters entirely from my mind when I go to bed, and will not think of them till I get up in the morning. I told Bright this, and he said, 'That's all very well for you, but my way is exactly the reverse. I think over all my speeches when I am in bed '!"'

Like Sancho Panza, Mr. Gladstone has a great gift of sleep. Seven hours he always takes, "and," he added with a smile, "I should like to have eight. I hate getting up in the morning and hate it the same every morning. But one can do everything by habit, and when I have had my seven hours' sleep I get up."

'He evidently enjoyed the company in which he found himself, and was in bounding spirits. Nothing was more surprising than the range of his topics, unless it were the completeness of his information upon each. Homer early came under review, and for ten minutes he talked about him with brightening eye, and the deep rich tones of voice used only when he is moved. One thing I remember he said about Homer that struck me as new was that he evidently did not like Venus-Aphrodite Mr. Gladstone preferred to call the goddess. He cited half a dozen illustrations of Homer's dislike for a goddess usually fascinating to mankind. Pictures and artists he discussed, with special reference to the picture shows now open in London. He said he always liked to go round a picture gallery with an artist.

6.66

Artists," he said, "looking at a picture, always see in it less to criticise and more to admire than is possible to ordinary people. An artist sees more in a man's face than you or I."

Thirty-five times Mr. Gladstone has had his portrait painted. He had, he said, the good fortune to have fallen into the hands of a great artist, who made the minimum of demand upon his time. In his individual case, five hours sufficed Millais for sittings for the most elaborate portrait, and this time was given by Mr. Gladstone with real pleasure.

"Is Millais, then, a charming companion when at work?" someone asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Gladstone; "but not because he talks. To see him at work is a delight, observing the way in which he throws his heart and soul into it."

'Mr. Gladstone's memory is amazing, more particularly for events that took place half a century ago. Oddly enough, where memory has always failed him is in the matter of faces. This gift, precious to princes, was withheld from him. He told how some fifty years ago there was a man going about with some theory (now sunk into oblivion) by the application of which, in connexion with electricity, he estimated a man's character as a phrenologist does by feeling his bumps.

"There were, he told me, three faculties in which I was lacking," said Mr. Gladstone. "One of them was that I had no memory for faces, and I am sorry to say it is quite true."

'What were the other two gifts lacking he did not say. This forgetfulness of faces he evidently deeply deplored, probably recognising in it the occasion of embarrassment.

'He talked a good deal about old times in the House of Commons, lapsing into that charming tone of reminiscence which on rare occasions, on quiet Tuesday evenings or Friday nights, in olden days delighted the House. One scene he recalled with as much ease as if it happened yesterday, and told the story with undesigned dramatic power. It took place in the year 1841.

"You were there," he said to Earl Granville, sitting immediately opposite to him. "You had not left the Commons then. Didn't you vote in the division?" (naming the Bill upon which the episode was founded).

'Lord Granville deprecatingly shook his head, and, to Mr. Gladstone's undisguised amazement, admitted he could not remember what took place in the House of Commons on a particular night forty-eight years ago! To Mr. Gladstone the scene was as vivid as if it had happened at the morning sitting he had just left to come in to dinner. The question was one on which party passion ran high. Forces were so evenly divided that every vote was of fateful consequence.

"The Whips of those days, somehow or other," he observed parenthetically, "seemed to know better than they do now how a division would go.

'It was known that there would be, on one side or the other, a majority of one. There was a Conservative member almost at death's door.

"He was dead," Mr. Gladstone added emphatically, "except that he had just a little breath left in him. The question was, could he be brought to the House? The Whips said he must, and so he was. He came in a Bath chair, and I never forget the look on his face, his eyes glassy and upturned, his jaws stiff. We, a lot of young Conservatives, clustered round the door and saw him wheeled in. At first we thought they had brought a corpse. He voted, and the Bill was carried by a majority of one.”

'In pathetic tone he regretted that opportunities of visiting America had disappeared.

"I always feel," he said, "a sense of deep gratitude to the American people. They have been exceedingly kind to me, kinder than I deserve. At the time of their great war I gave utterance to expression of opinions which, considering my connexion with the Ministry of the day, had better been left unspoken. They forget and have forgiven. I am almost daily receiving tokens of the warm-heartedness of the American people, and should like to look them face to face in their own country."

'He talked of the lately published correspondence of Mr. Motley, the American Minister to Germany. He spoke quite enthusiastically of the letter Bismarck wrote to Motley, inviting him to go and see him.

It is quite a revelation of the inner nature of the man," he said -"throws a flood of light on a character habitually masked by official reserve. One is glad to think of the Bismarck disclosed by that letter."

. He spoke with friendly warmth of quite another statesman, the Prince of Wales (King Edward VII). "A shrewd man, a keen observer, full of tact, always educating himself without deliberately sitting down to learn a lesson; rarely opening a book, but keeping himself au courant with whatever is going on in the world; and when the time comes for him to take his part in public business, doing it thoroughly."

Someone asked Mr. Gladstone if he thought the manners of the House of Commons had suffered deterioration compared with former times. After a pause, during which his mind was probably reviewing his fifty years of Parliamentary life, he answered emphatically in the negative. He did not remember Sir Charles Wetherell, who, with" his only lucid interval " (as the Speaker of the day called the space between his waistcoat and his braceless trousers) disappeared with the unreformed Parliament. But he could recall