A MAN whom I had known from my school-days, FrederickThistlethwayte, coming into a huge fortune when a subalternin a marching regiment, had impulsively married a certainMiss Laura Bell. In her early days, when she made her firstappearance in London and in Paris, Laura Bell's extraordinarybeauty was as much admired by painters as by men of theworld. Amongst her reputed lovers were Dhuleep Singh, thefamous Marquis of Hertford, and Prince Louis Napoleon. Shewas the daughter of an Irish constable, and began life on thestage at Dublin. Her Irish wit and sparkling merriment, hercajolery, her good nature and her feminine artifice, wereattractions which, in the eyes of the male sex, fully atonedfor her youthful indiscretions.

　　My intimacy with both Mr. and Mrs. Thistlethwayte extendedover many years; and it is but justice to her memory to averthat, to the best of my belief, no wife was ever morefaithful to her husband. I speak of the Thistlethwaytes herefor two reasons - absolutely unconnected in themselves, yetboth interesting in their own way. The first is, that at myfriend's house in Grosvenor Square I used frequently to meetMr. Gladstone, sometimes alone, sometimes at dinner. As maybe supposed, the dinner parties were of men, but mostly ofmen eminent in public life. The last time I met Mr.

　　Gladstone there the Duke of Devonshire and Sir W. Harcourtwere both present. I once dined with Mrs. Thistlethwayte inthe absence of her husband, when the only others were Munroof Novar - the friend of Turner, and the envied possessor ofa splendid gallery of his pictures - and the Duke ofNewcastle - then a Cabinet Minister. Such were thenotabilities whom the famous beauty gathered about her.

　　But it is of Mr. Gladstone that I would say a word. Thefascination which he exercised over most of those who cameinto contact with him is incontestable; and everyone isentitled to his own opinion, even though unable to accountfor it. This, at least, must be my plea, for to me, Mr.

　　Gladstone was more or less a Dr. Fell. Neither in his publicnor in his private capacity had I any liking for him. Nobodycares a button for what a 'man in the street' like me says orthinks on subject matters upon which they have made up theirminds. I should not venture, even as one of the crowd, todeprecate a popularity which I believe to be fast passingaway, were it not that better judges and wiser men think as Ido, and have represented opinions which I sincerely share.

　　'He was born,' says Huxley, 'to be a leader of men, and hehas debased himself to be a follower of the masses. Ifworking men were to-day to vote by a majority that two andtwo made five, to-morrow Gladstone would believe it, and findthem reasons for it which they had never dreamt of.' Couldany words be truer? Yes; he was not born to be a leader ofmen. He was born to be, what he was - a misleader of men.

　　Huxley says he could be made to believe that two and two madefive. He would try to make others believe it; but would hehimself believe it? His friends will plead, 'he mightdeceive himself by the excessive subtlety of his mind.' Thisis the charitable view to take. But some who knew him longand well put another construction upon this facile self-deception. There were, and are, honourable men of thehighest standing who failed to ascribe disinterested motivesto the man who suddenly and secretly betrayed his colleagues,his party, and his closest friends, and tried to break up theEmpire to satisfy an inordinate ambition, and an insatiablecraving for power. 'He might have been mistaken, but heacted for the best'? Was he acting conscientiously for thebest in persuading the 'masses' to look upon the 'classes' -the war cries are of his coining - as their natural enemies,and worthy only of their envy and hatred? Is this the partof a statesman, of a patriot?

　　And for what else shall we admire Mr. Gladstone? WalterBagehot, alluding to his egotism, wrote of him in hislifetime, 'He longs to pour forth his own belief; he cannotrest till he has contradicted everyone else.' And what wasthat belief worth? 'He has scarcely,' says the same writer,'given us a sentence that lives in the memory.'

　　Even his eloquent advocate, Mr. Morley, confesses surprise athis indifference to the teaching of evolution; in otherwords, his ignorance of, and disbelief in, a scientifictheory of nature which has modified the theological and moralcreeds of the civilised world more profoundly than did theCopernican system of the Universe.

　　The truth is, Mr. Gladstone was half a century behind the agein everything that most deeply concerned the destiny of man.

　　He was a politician, and nothing but a politician; and had itnot been for his extraordinary gift of speech, we shouldnever have heard of him save as a writer of scholia, or as acollege don, perhaps. Not for such is the temple of Fame.

　　Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa.

　　Whatever may be thought now, Mr. Gladstone is not the manwhom posterity will ennoble with the title of either 'great'

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