Sir George appreciated kindly attentions the more, in that he was himself a king in courtesy, with his heart ever on the latch.  He estimated the side of Lord Rosebery’s character, thus manifested, to be among the best ornaments he could have.  ‘It seems clear to me,’ were his words, ’that he is a man of sincerity and simple nobility, one who wishes with all his heart to do what he can for his fellow men.’  That was Sir George’s test of all public effort, as it had been what he applied to himself.  There could be none higher.

Mere weight of years could not quench the ardour and hope which had always burned so brightly in Sir George Grey.  As well expect him to forget that chivalrous manner of his, bewitcher of the veriest stranger.  He would, find his tall hat, search out his staunch umbrella, and convoy the visitor forth, when the hour of parting had arrived.  Nothing less would suffice him, and as to his company, it was a delight for ever.  Another veteran might have been lonely with a younger generation knocking at the door, indeed in full possession.  He was not; he strode in the van with the youngest.

Yet he felt, perhaps, the void time had wrought in the circle of his friends.  He held the fort silently, while the long scythe cut another swathe very near him.  He heard that his friend, James Anthony Froude, who had been lying ill in Devonshire, was steadily losing strength.

‘I have made inquiries about him, poor fellow,’ he murmured, ’but now I must telegraph for the latest particulars.  He and I are old companions, and I have liking and admiration for him.  When he visited me at my island of Kawau, off the New Zealand coast, we had a capital while together.  He wanted to ask me, if I approved the manner in which he had written Carlyle’s life, a subject that brought him a good deal of criticism.  My reply was that I believed Carlyle would have wished to be presented just as he was; not a half picture, but complete, for that would ultimately make him appear all the greater.’

Somewhat before his illness, Froude published a book, and the London daily paper which Sir George Grey took in, had a handsome review of it.  ‘I’ll send the cutting to Froude,’ he declared; ’it will do him good to know that his latest writings are thoroughly appreciated.’  Within a few days, he had news from Devonshire that Froude had been able to have part of the article read to him, and that he was gratified by it.  Sir George was happy at his little service having carried so well, and mentioned a larger one which Froude had wished to render him.

‘Hardly was I in England this time,’ the history of it ran, ’than I had a letter from Froude, intimating how glad he would be to put my name forward for that high distinction, the Oxford honorary degree.  This gave me a grand chance to rally him, since I was already in possession of the honours of Oxford and Cambridge.  Those of the former I received after my first administration of New Zealand, those of the latter when I was re-called from South Africa.  At Oxford, the students, with riotous zest, sang the “King of the Cannibal Isles,” which, more or less, I had been.  Froude had forgotten all that, but he agreed that no man could hope to have such a treat twice in a lifetime.’