After hearing him talk uninterruptedly
for hours and watching his stuffy face and slow, protruding eyes,
I said to Laura:
"He may be a very clever man, but he has not a ray of humour and
hardly any sensibility. If he were a horse, I would certainly not
buy him!"
With which she entirely agreed.
On the second night of his visit, our distinguished guest met
Laura in the passage on her way to bed; he said to her:
"If you will kiss me, I will give you a signed photograph of
myself."
To which she answered:
"It is awfully good of you, Sir Charles, but I would rather not,
for what on earth should I do with the photograph?"
Mr. Gladstone was the dominating politician of the day, and
excited more adoration and hatred than any one.
After my first visit to Hawarden, he sent me the following poem,
which he had written the night before I left:
MARGOT
When Parliament ceases and comes the recess,
And we seek in the country rest after distress,
As a rule upon visitors place an embargo,
But make an exception in favour of Margot.
For she brings such a treasure of movement and life,
Fun, spirit and stir, to folk weary with strife.
Though young and though fair, who can hold such a cargo
Of all the good qualities going as Margot?
Up hill and down dale,'tis a capital name
To blossom in friendship, to sparkle in fame;
There's but one objection can light upon Margot,
Its likeness in rhyming, not meaning, to argot.
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