even fresher in my recollection than my last sight of him shortly before
his death. I can recall his tall, upright figure, the handsome, open
countenance, as mobile as an actor's, the flashing eye that in moments of
passion lit up so wonderfully, the crop of waving brown-black hair. I
have seldom seen a finer-looking man. I hear once again the beautiful
voice, so sonorous, so varied in tone, so emphatic in accent. To the boy
of twenty a first sight of this great historic figure was a revelation.
He seemed different from everybody else, almost a being from another
world. I suppose that my admiration of Mr. Gladstone, which some have
considered idolatrous, is to be dated from that hour. Thirty years
afterwards I still regarded him as my political leader, and as the chief
of men.

On the second day of his visit to Newcastle, Mr. Gladstone, as the guest
of the River Tyne Commissioners, steamed down the Tyne from Newcastle to
its mouth. His progress was like that of a conqueror returning from the
wars. The firing of cannon, the waving of flags, the cheering of
thousands, acclaimed his passage down the coaly stream. An immense train
of steamers and barges, all gaily decorated, followed in his wake. At
different points of the journey his steamer was brought to a standstill,
in order that addresses of welcome might be presented to him by different
public bodies. He made speeches without end in reply. I think I reported
eight of them myself. It was evident that he was deeply impressed by this
demonstration, and I have always held that it was on that fateful day in
October, 1862, that he discovered that his unpopularity with the upper
classes was more than counterbalanced by his hold upon the affections of
the people. As we were returning to Newcastle in the evening, I happened
to be standing near Mrs. Gladstone, and she entered into conversation
with me. It was the first time that I had ever seen her. "I think this
has been the happiest day of my life," she said to me, with that