Personally Mr. Gladstone is an example of the most winning, the most
delicate, and the most minute courtesy. He is a gentleman of the elder
English school, and his manners are grand and urbane, always stately,
never condescending, and genuinely modest. He affects even the dress
of the old school, and I have seen him in the morning wearing an old
black evening coat, such as Professor Jowett still affects. The
humblest passer-by in Piccadilly, raising his hat to Mr. Gladstone, is
sure to get a sweeping salute in return. This courtliness is all the
more remarkable, because it accompanies and adorns a very strong
temper, a will of iron, and a habit of being regarded for the greater
part of his lifetime as a personal force of unequalled magnitude. Yet
the most foolish, and perhaps one may add the most impertinent, of Mr.
Gladstone's dinner-table questioners is sure of an elaborate reply,
delivered with the air of a student in deferential talk with his
master. To the cloth Mr. Gladstone shows a reverence that occasionally
woos the observer to a smile. The callowest curate is sure of a
respectful listener in the foremost Englishman of the day. On the
other hand, in private conversation the premier does not often brook
contradiction. His temper is high, and though, as George Russell has
said, it is under vigilant control, there are subjects on which it is
easy to arouse the old lion. Then the grand eyes flash, the torrent of
brilliant monologue flows with more rapid sweep, and the dinner table
is breathless at the spectacle of Mr. Gladstone angry. As to his
relations with his family, they are very charming. It is a pleasure to
hear Herbert Gladstone--his youngest, and possibly his favorite
son--speak of "my father." All of them, sons and daughters, are
absolutely devoted to his cause, wrapped up in his personality, and
enthusiastic as to every side of his character. Of children Mr.
Gladstone has always been fond, and he has more than one favorite
among his grandchildren.