al has neither time nor
taste to do more than skim the surface of momentary experience. But Lord
Cromer had always been acutely aware of the mystery of the East, and
always looked back into the past with deep curiosity. Sometimes the
modern life in Egypt, exciting as it was, almost seemed to him a
phantasmagoria dancing across the real world of Rameses. This tendency
of thought coloured one branch of his reading; he could not bear to miss
a book which threw any light on the social and political manners of
antiquity. Works like Fowler's _Social Life at Rome_ or Marquardt's _Le
Culte chez les Romains_ thrilled him with excitement and animated his
conversation for days. He wanted, above all things, to realise how the
ancients lived and what, feelings actuated their behaviour. On one
occasion, in a fit of gaiety, I ventured to tell him that he reminded me
of Mrs. Blimber (in _Dombey and Son_), who could have died contented had
she visited Cicero in his retirement at beautiful Tusculum. "Well!"
replied Lord Cromer, laughing, "and a very delightful visit that would
be."

In the admirable appreciation contributed to the _Times_ by "C." (our
other proconsular "C."!) it was remarked that the "quality of mental
balance is visible in all that Lord Cromer wrote, whether, in his
official despatches, his published books, or his private
correspondence." It was audible, too, in his delightful conversation,
which was vivid, active, and yet never oppressive. He spoke with the
firm accent of one accustomed to govern, but never dictatorially. His
voice was a very agreeable one, supple and various in its tones, neither
loud nor low. Although he had formed the life-long habit of expressing
his opinions with directness, he never imposed them unfairly, or took
advantage of his authority. On the contrary, there was something
extremely winning in his eagerness to hear the reply of his
interlocutor. "Well, there's a great deal in that," he would graciously
and cordially say, and proceed to give the opposing statement what
benefit he thought it deserved. He could be very trenchant, but I do not
think that any one whom he had advanced to the privilege of his
confidence can remember that he was so to a friend.

The attitude of Lord Cromer to life and letters--I speak, of course,
only of what I saw in the years of his retirement from office--was not
exactly representative of our own or even of the last century. He would
have been at home in the fou