Mr. Chamberlain never deceived himself, which is more than could be said of some of the famous politicians of that day.  He also possessed a rare measure of intellectual control.  Self-mastery was his idiosyncrasy; it was particularly noticeable in his speaking; he encouraged in himself such scrupulous economy of gesture, movement and colour that, after hearing him many times, I came to the definite conclusion that Chamberlain’s opponents were snowed under by his accumulated moderation.  Whatever Dilke’s native impulses were, no one could say that he controlled them.  Besides a defective sense of humour, he was fundamentally commonplace and had no key to his mind, which makes every one ultimately dull.  My father, being an ardent Radical, with a passion for any one that Gladstone patronised, had made elaborate preparations for Dilke’s reception; when he arrived at Glen he was given a warm welcome; and we all sat down to tea.  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.

    Never mind, never mind, we will give it the slip,
    ’Tis not argot, the language, but Argo, the ship;
    And by sea or by land, I will swear you may far go
    Before you can hit on a double for Margot.

W. E. G. December 17th, 1889.

I received this at Glen by the second post on the day of my arrival, too soon for me to imagine my host had written it, so I wrote to our dear old friend, Godfrey Webb—­always under suspicion of playing jokes upon us—­to say that he had overdone it this time, as Gladstone had too good a hand-writing for him to caricature convincingly.  When I found that I was wrong, I wrote to my poet: