Lilian Josephine died when she was a baby; and Evelyn—­one of the best of women—­is the only near relation of my husband still living.

My husband’s mother, old Mrs. Asquith, I never knew; my friend Mark Napier told me that she was a brilliantly clever woman but an invalid.  She had delicate lungs, which obliged her to live on the South coast; and, when her two sons went to the City of London School, they lived alone together in lodgings in Islington and were both poor and industrious.

Although Henry’s mother was an invalid she had a moral, religious and intellectual influence over her family that cannot be exaggerated.  She was a profound reader and a brilliant talker and belonged to what was in those days called orthodox nonconformity, or Congregationalists.

After my husband’s first marriage he made money by writing, lecturing and examining at Oxford.  When he was called to the Bar success did not come to him at once.

He had no rich patron and no one to push him forward.  He had made for himself a great Oxford reputation:  he was a fine scholar and lawyer, but socially was not known by many people.

It was said that Gladstone only promoted men by seniority and never before knowing with precision what they were like, but in my husband’s case it was not so.

Lord James of Hereford, then Sir Henry James, was Attorney General, overburdened with a large private practice at the Bar; and, when the great Bradlaugh case came on, in 1883, it was suggested to him that a young man living on the same staircase might devil the Affirmation Bill for him.  This was the beginning of Asquith’s career:  When Gladstone saw the brief for his speech, he noted the fine handwriting and asked who had written it.  Sir Henry James, the kindest and most generous of men, was delighted at Gladstone’s observation and brought the young man to him.  From that moment both the Attorney General and the Prime Minister marked him out for distinction; he rose without any intermediary step of an under-secretaryship from a back-bencher to a Cabinet Minister; and when we married in 1894 he was Home Secretary.  In 1890 I cut and kept out of some newspapers this prophecy, little thinking that I would marry one of the “New English Party.”

A NEW ENGLISH PARTY

Amid all the worry and turmoil and ambition of Irish politics, there is steadily growing up a little English party, of which more will be heard in the days that are to come.  This is a band of philosophico-social Radicals—­not the old type of laissez-faire politician, but quite otherwise.  In other words, what I may call practical Socialism has caught on afresh with a knot of clever, youngish members of Parliament who sit below the gangway on the Radical side.  This little group includes clever, learned, metaphysical Mr. Haldane, one of the rising lawyers of his day; young Sir Edward Grey, sincere, enthusiastic, with a certain gift for oratory, and helped by a beautiful and clever wife; Mr. Sidney Buxton, who has perhaps the most distinct genius for practical work; and finally, though in rather loose attachment to the rest, Mr. Asquith, brilliant, cynical, cold, clear, but with his eye on the future.  The dominant ideas of this little band tend in the direction of moderate Collectivism—­i.e., of municipal Socialism.