more marked with him than with the generality of Anglo-Saxons and
Northern races, who rather look down upon the Latins, hardly giving them
credit for their splendid dash and pluck--to say nothing of their
brains. I have lived in a great many countries, and always think that as
a people, I mean the uneducated mass, the French are the most
intelligent nation in the world. I have never been thrown with the
Japanese--am told they are extraordinarily intelligent.

We had a dinner one night for Mr. Gladstone, his wife, and a daughter.
Mr. Gladstone made himself quite charming, spoke French fairly well, and
knew more about every subject discussed than any one else in the room.
He was certainly a wonderful man, such extraordinary versatility and
such a memory. It was rather pretty to see Mrs. Gladstone when her
husband was talking. She was quite absorbed by him, couldn't talk to her
neighbours. They wanted very much to go to the Conciergerie to see the
prison where the unfortunate Marie Antoinette passed the last days of
her unhappy life, and Mr. Gladstone, inspired by the subject, made us a
sort of conference on the French Revolution and the causes which led up
to it, culminating in the Terror and the execution of the King and
Queen. He spoke in English (we were a little group standing at the
door--they were just going), in beautiful academic language, and it was
most interesting, graphic, and exact. Even W., who knew him well and
admired him immensely, was struck by his brilliant improvisation.

[Illustration: William E. Gladstone. From a photograph by Samuel A.
Walker, London.]

We were often asked for permits by our English and American friends to
see all the places of historical interest in Paris, and the two places
which all wanted to see were the Conciergerie and Napoleon's tomb at the