mith, and
Humphry Sandwith, and Mackenzie Wallace, whose great book on
Russia is making such a stir, besides a few other nice people; but
one forgets everything in Gladstone himself, in his perfect
naturalness and grace of manner, his charming abandon of
conversation, his unaffected modesty, his warm ardour for all that
is noble and good. I felt so proud of my leader--the chief I have
always clung to through good report and ill report--because, wise
or unwise as he might seem in this or that, he was always noble of
soul. He was very pleasant to me, and talked of the new historic
school he hoped we were building up as enlisting his warmest
sympathy. I wish you could have seen with what a glow he spoke of
the Montenegrins and their struggle for freedom; how he called on
us who wrote history to write what we could of that long fight for
liberty! And all through the evening not a word to recall his
greatness amongst us, simple, natural, an equal among his equals,
listening to every one, drawing out every one, with a force and a
modesty that touched us more than all his power.

In another letter, says the same ardent man, "I begin to see that there
may be a truer wisdom in the 'humanitarianism' of Gladstone than in the
purely political views of Disraeli. The sympathies of peoples with
peoples, the sense of a common humanity between nations, the aspirations
of nationalities after freedom and independence, _are_ real political
forces; and it is just because Gladstone owns them as forces, and Disraeli
disowns them, that the one has been on the right side, and the other on
the wrong in parallel questions such as the upbuilding of Germany or
Italy. I think it will be so in this upbuilding of the Sclave."(344)

It was my own good fortune to pass two days with him at this moment at
High Elms. Huxley and Playfair were of the party. Mr. Gladstone had with
him the printer's proofs of his second pamphlet, and was in full glow
against Turkish terrorism and its abettors. This strong obsession could
not be concealed, nor was there any reason why it should be; it made no
difference in his ready courtesy and kindness of demeanour, his
willingness to enter into other people's topics, his pliant force and
alacrity of mind. On the Sunday afternoon Sir John Lubbock, our host, took
us all up to the hilltop whence in his quiet Kentish village Darwin was
shaking the world. The