four hundred years, was secretly but sedulously disregarded within those impregnably fortified places of learning and piety, to which so much of our Western civilisation is due, the abbeys and other scholastic foundations of the Benedictine order.  The book-form, in which the board still conceals itself, stands as a memorial of its secretive preservation upon the shelves of the monastic libraries.  I keep my own, with a certain touch of ritualistic observance, between this seventeenth century edition of the works of Roger Bacon and this more modern one, in Latin, of the writings of Thomas Aquinas; both of whom may not improbably have been practitioners of the game.

ARMITSTEAD.  Very interesting, very interesting.

(During this recitation Mr. Gladstone has neatly packed away the draughts and the dice, shutting them into their case finally and restoring it to its place upon the bookshelf.)

GLADSTONE.  My dear, I have won the rubber.

MRS. G. Have you, my dear?  I’m very glad, if Mr. Armitstead does not mind.

ARMITSTEAD.  To be beaten by Mr. Gladstone, ma’am, is a liberal education in itself.

MORLEY (to his host).  I must say good-night, now, sir.

GLADSTONE.  What, my dear Morley, must you be going?

MORLEY.  For one of my habits it is almost late—­eleven.

ARMITSTEAD.  In that case I must be going, too.  Can I drop you anywhere,
Morley?

MORLEY.  Any point, not out of your way, in the direction of my own door, I shall be obliged.

ARMITSTEAD.  With pleasure.  I will come at once.  And so—­good-night, Mrs.
Gladstone.  Mr. Prime Minister, good-night.

GLADSTONE.  Good-night, Armitstead.

MORLEY (aside to Mr. Gladstone).  I have done what you asked of me, sir.

GLADSTONE.  I thank you.  Good-night.

(The two guests have gone; and husband and wife are left alone.  He approaches, and stands near.)

So Morley has told you, my dear?

MRS. G. That you are going down to Windsor to-morrow?  Yes, William.  You will want your best frock-suit, I suppose?

GLADSTONE.  My best and my blackest would be seemly under the circumstances, my love.  This treble-dated crow will keep the obsequies as strict as Court etiquette requires, or as his wardrobe may allow.  I have a best suit, I suppose?

MRS. G. Yes, William.  I keep it put away for you.

GLADSTONE (after a meditative pause begins to recite).

  “Come, thou who art the wine and wit
  Of all I’ve writ: 
  The grace, the glory, and the best
  Piece of the rest,
  Thou art, of what I did intend,
  The all and end;
  And what was made, was made to meet
  Thee, thee, my sheet!”

Herrick, to his shroud, my dear!  A poet who has the rare gift of being both light and spiritual in the same breath.  Read Herrick at his gravest, when you need cheering; you will always find him helpful.