Mr. Chamberlain entertained the Royal visitors and others at luncheon at
the Society of Artists' rooms, and it struck me that if he had been a
born courtier, and had been bred in the atmosphere of palaces, he could
hardly have been more "at home" in the position in which he found
himself. His speech, in which he proposed the health of the Prince and
Princess of Wales, was a model of adroitness and good taste. Without
giving himself away by indulging in effusiveness, or being carried away
by the glamour of the occasion, he managed to make a very circumspect,
clever, and appropriate speech, which, though closely scrutinised,
brought no reproaches or even adverse criticisms from Republicans or
Royalists. No doubt it was a somewhat scorching ordeal for Mr.
Chamberlain to pass through, but he came out of it unsinged and
triumphant, and was afterwards more popular than ever.

I have some hesitation in speaking of Mr. Chamberlain in his private and
"at home" character, though in these days I hardly know that I need be
very timid or scrupulous. The public has a ready, I might almost say a
greedy, ear for personal details concerning the lives and habits of
public men, and there are plenty of writers willing to gratify its
desires in this respect, and that, too, with the knowledge and consent
of the eminent personages themselves. Many people like to hear all about
the characteristics of prominent men, and have a keen appetite for all
particulars concerning their personal habits and peculiarities. They
love to hear what a celebrated man eats, drinks, and avoids, what time
he rises and at what hour he usually goes to bed; and even a little
thimbleful of scandal touching his shortcomings, delinquencies, and,
possibly, his small vices, is as nectar to the gossip-loving taste. To
tell some people what they have no right to know is often to delight
them.