“He strongly advised me to read a little book by one Miss Tollet, called Country Conversations, which had been privately printed, and deplored the vast amount of poor literature that was circulated, ’when an admirable little volume like this cannot be got by the most ardent admirers now the authoress is dead.’” (In parenthesis, I often wish I had been able to tell Mr. Gladstone that Jowett left me this little book and his Shakespeare in his will.)

“We drove through the Green Park and I pulled up on the Horse Guards Parade at the garden-gate of 10 Downing Street.  He got out of the phaeton, unlocked the gate and, turning round, stood with his hat off and his grey hair blowing about his forehead, holding a dark, homespun cape close round his shoulders.  He said with great grace that he had enjoyed his drive immensely, that he hoped it would occur again and that I had a way of saying things and a tone of voice that would always remind him of my sister Laura.  His dear old face looked furrowed with care and the outline of it was sharp as a profile.  I said good-bye to him and drove away; perhaps it was the light of the setting sun, or the wind, or perhaps something else, but my eyes were full of tears.”

My husband, in discussing with me Gladstone’s sense of humour, told me the following story: 

“During the Committee Stage of the Home Rule Bill in the session of 1893, I was one evening in a very thin House, seated by the side of Mr. Gladstone on the Treasury Bench, of which we were the sole occupants.  His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be absorbed in following the course of a dreary discussion on the supremacy of Parliament.  Suddenly he turned to me with an air of great animation and said, in his most solemn tones, ’Have you ever considered who is the ugliest man in the party opposite?

“Mr. Asquith:  ‘Certainly; it is without doubt X’ (naming a famous Anglo-Indian statesman).

“Mr. Gladstone:  ’You are wrong.  X is no doubt an ugly fellow, but a much uglier is Y’ (naming a Queen’s Counsel of those days).

“Mr. Asquith:  ‘Why should you give him the preference?’

“Mr. Gladstone:  ’Apply a very simple test.  Imagine them both magnified on a colossal scale.  X’s ugliness would then begin to look dignified and even impressive, while the more you enlarged Y the meaner he would become.’”

I have known seven Prime Ministers—­Gladstone, Salisbury, Rosebery, Campbell-Bannerman, Arthur Balfour, Asquith and Lloyd George—­every one of them as different from the others as possible.  I asked Arthur Balfour once if there was much difference between him and his uncle.  I said: 

“Lord Salisbury does not care fanatically about culture or literature.  He may like Jane Austen, Scott or Sainte-Beuve, for all I know, but he is not A scholar; he does not care for Plato, Homer, Virgil or any of the great classics.  He has a wonderful sense of humour and is a beautiful writer, of fine style; but I should say he is above everything a man of science and a Churchman.  All this can be said equally well of you.”