I am often asked what is the secret of Mr. Gladstone's extraordinary
length of days and of the perfection of his unvarying health. It may
be partly attributed to the remarkable longevity of the Gladstone
family, a hardy Scottish stock with fewer weak shoots and branches
than perhaps any of the ruling families of England. But it has
depended mainly on Mr. Gladstone himself and on the undeviating
regularity of his habits. Most English statesmen have been either free
livers or with a touch of the _bon vivant_ in them. Pitt and Fox were
men of the first character; Melbourne, Palmerston, and Lord
Beaconsfield were of the last. But Mr. Gladstone is a man who has been
guilty of no excesses, save perhaps in work. He rises at the same hour
every day, uses the same fairly generous, but always carefully
regulated, diet, goes to bed about the same hour, pursues the same
round of work and intellectual and social pleasure. An extraordinarily
varied life is accompanied by a certain rigidity of personal habit I
have never seen surpassed. The only change old age has witnessed has
been that the House of Commons work has been curtailed, and that Mr.
Gladstone has not of late years been seen in the House after the
dinner hour, which lasts from eight till ten, except on nights when
crucial divisions are expected. With the approach of winter and its
accompanying chills, to which he is extremely susceptible, he seeks
the blue skies and dry air of the Mediterranean coasts and of his
beloved Italy. With this exception his life goes on in its pleasant
monotony. At Hawarden, of course, it is simpler and more private than
in London. In town to-day Mr. Gladstone avoids all large parties and
great crushes and gatherings where he may be expected to be either
mobbed or bored or detained beyond his usual bed-time.