I

Catherine, elder daughter and third child of Sir Stephen Glynne, eighth Baronet, by his wife, Mary Neville, daughter of the second Lord Braybrooke, was born at Hawarden Castle, Flintshire, on 6th January 1812. Lady Glynne was a granddaughter of George Grenville—Sir Richard Grenville of the Revenge was a member of this family—the Minister whose Government was responsible for the “Stamp Act” (1763), which led to the loss of the American Colonies, and niece of Lord Grenville, Prime Minister in 1806–7, and head of the Cabinet of “All the talents,” which abolished the Slave Trade. His only sister became the wife of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and the mother of William Pitt, the Younger. Thus Catherine Glynne was related by birth with four famous Prime Ministers of England, and was destined to become the wife of a fifth.

The families of both parents were of great antiquity, and directly descended from Crusaders; the names of Sir Stephen and Lady Glynne are on the Plantagenet Roll. Ancestors had been settled at Glynllifon, Carnarvonshire, in very ancient times. The founder of the Hawarden branch of the family, Sir John Glyn (1603–66), won distinction as a lawyer both under Cromwell—he was Lord Chief Justice from 1655 to 1659—and Charles II. Notwithstanding his support of the Parliamentary party, he seems to have been a Monarchist at heart and to have urged Cromwell to take the title of King; and we know that he served quite happily as King’s Serjeant under Charles II., even acting for the Crown in the prosecution of Sir Henry Vane for high treason in 1662. It was through him that Hawarden came into the Glynne family, for he purchased it at a nominal sum when it was sequestered in the Civil Wars. The castle itself was nearly in ruins and was never rebuilt. In 1752 Sir John Glynne, Mrs. Gladstone’s great-grandfather, acquired through marriage the adjoining property of Broad Lane, and the house belonging to it, with much rebuilding and various additions, became the Hawarden Castle with which the name of Gladstone is always associated. The ruins of the old original castle still exist and form a picturesque object in the grounds.

Sir Stephen Glynne died in 1815, and the care of the four children, two boys and two girls, all under six years old, devolved on the mother. She returned to her father, and she and the children lived with him in Berkeley Square, at Audley End, and at Billingbere. It was only after his death that she resided at Hawarden, where she was assisted in the duties connected with the estate by her brother, the Rev. the Hon. George Neville, to whom her husband, shortly before his death, had presented the living of Hawarden.

A journal is still in existence in which Lady Glynne made notes about her children during the years 1815–20. She describes Catherine as beautiful, high-spirited, and strong-willed.

Catherine Glynne was not highly educated in the sense in which that phrase is now understood. As a girl, she lived more out of doors than indoors, became a good horsewoman and proficient in all the athletic exercises, archery among them, then permitted to girls. She was not a great reader then nor later, but contact with the life of the village, the witnessing and even assisting in the schemes of improvement of her mother and uncle in regard to the cottagers and the education of their children, added to intercourse with people of intelligence in her own rank of life, taught her valuable lessons. Her training helped to lay the foundation of the excellent philanthropic work she accomplished on her own account after her marriage, and to develop the qualities which made her so admirable a companion for a great statesman. She could scarcely be called intellectual, but she possessed a natural intuition that never failed her, an equally natural shrewdness, and a keen sense of humour. Another quality that stood her in good stead was a capacity for making friends. One winter was spent at Hastings, and next door were staying Prince George of Cambridge and his cousin Prince George of Hanover. The young people speedily made acquaintance, and to the end of her life Mrs. Gladstone had no warmer friend and admirer than the Duke of Cambridge.

In 1829, when her daughters were about fifteen or sixteen, Lady Glynne took them to Paris for educational purposes, and, among other advantages, they enjoyed pianoforte lessons from Liszt. The sisters were girls of singular beauty, and attracted much admiration. Lord Douglas was so impressed that he induced his mother, the Duchess of Hamilton, to call on Lady Glynne, and persuade her to let the girls go to two or three balls at the Tuileries, the British Embassy, and the Duchess of Hamilton’s. Lady Glynne yielded, and the girls had a very enjoyable time.

Their brother Stephen, the head of the family, sat in the House of Commons as Liberal Member for Flint Burghs, and afterwards for Flintshire, from 1832 to 1847; his interests and tastes, however, lay rather in archÆology than in politics. He was a man of great refinement and remarkable modesty, but he lacked the business capacity, as will be seen later, needed for managing landed estates. Among his friends at Oxford was W.E. Gladstone. The Glynnes, after the girls grew up, often went abroad, and once when Catherine was with her brother in Florence, they passed a gentleman who raised his hat. She asked Stephen who the handsome young man was. “Don’t you know him?” he replied. “That is young Gladstone, the Member for Newark, and the man who everybody says will one day be Prime Minister of England.” Catherine was first introduced to Gladstone at the house of Mr. Milnes Gaskell in London, and then they used to meet at Lady Theresa Lister’s musical parties and elsewhere. The two sisters were known as “the twin flowers of North Wales,” were greatly admired in London society, and received numerous proposals of marriage. They were, however, bound up in each other, and were determined that one could not be engaged or married without the other. Gladstone admired Catherine in silence, scarcely dreaming that he dared aspire to her hand. In 1835 he was invited by Glynne to pay a visit to Hawarden. But still he did not venture to speak. In the winter of 1838–39 he was suffering from overwork, and was ordered abroad. He had been a junior Lord of the Treasury, and also Under-Secretary for War under Sir Robert Peel, and had published his book on Church and State, and so was not without claims to distinction. In Rome in December he met Stephen Glynne and his sisters, and there found courage to propose to Catherine one moonlight night in the Coliseum. He had repeated to her Byron’s lines from “Manfred” beginning:

Notwithstanding his eloquent appeal Miss Glynne refused him, and it was not until the following June at Lady Shelley’s garden party that she accepted him. About the same time her sister Mary became engaged to the fourth Lord Lyttelton.

When the two bridegrooms arrived at Hawarden for the wedding, they walked down the village street, “Gladstone, tall and upright in figure, pale and strong in face, with dark flashing eyes like an eagle’s; Lord Lyttelton, something of a rough and awkward youth of twenty-one, with rugged features, massive head, and intellectual brow; some one said, gazing at Gladstone, ‘Isn’t it easy to see which is the lord?’”

The double wedding took place on 25th July 1839, at Hawarden Parish Church, and was made the occasion for much festivity and rejoicing on the part of the family and their friends, and of the humble inhabitants of the district. Sir Francis Doyle was Gladstone’s best man, and he wrote a poem for the occasion entitled “To Two Sister Brides,” of which the following stanzas refer to Catherine:

Immediately after the ceremony Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone drove to Norton Priory, Cheshire, the seat of Sir Richard Brooke, whose daughter, Lady Brabazon, was the bride’s best friend, where the honeymoon was spent.

Neither sister had been specially accustomed to the society of highly intellectual or bookish men, and during the engagement neither Gladstone nor Lord Lyttelton, as ardent lovers, had felt the necessity of resorting to the classics when in the company of their fiancÉes. The young brides, when comparing notes after the honeymoon, confided to one another their dismay that at odd spare moments both husbands produced pocket editions of Horace or Sophocles (or some other classical poet), and filled the minutes by reading in them.

At the outset of their married life, Gladstone gave his wife the choice: either to know nothing of the great matters of State in which he would be involved and so be entirely free of responsibility, or to know everything and be bound to secrecy. Needless to say, she chose the latter. Fifty years later Gladstone declared, “My wife has known every political secret I have ever had, and has never betrayed my confidence.” He became a Cabinet Minister in 1843 as President of the Board of Trade, and was six times Chancellor of the Exchequer and four times Prime Minister, so that his wife had ample opportunity for intimate acquaintance with State secrets, and for a corresponding exercise of discretion. It is related that once in the early days of Cabinet office she unwittingly said something that showed she had some important knowledge of a confidential nature. She was terribly upset and immediately sent Gladstone a little note of confession and penitence,—he was engaged at work in his study in Carlton House Terrace, where they were living,—to which her husband responded with ready forgiveness, saying, “It is the only little mistake you ever made.” Once she congratulated a man on his promotion before he knew anything about it himself, but no harm was done by that, and it only serves to prove how intimate was her knowledge of affairs. As a matter of fact, no one could ever extract anything from her, though many tried to do so. When she was asked what Gladstone was going to do in some crisis or other, she would answer with the greatest naÏvetÉ, “Well, I wonder, don’t you? What do you think he ought to do?” Some undiscerning persons attributed her manner to stupidity, but Mrs. Gladstone always knew what she was doing and saying, and why she did and said it.

After the honeymoon, and a visit to Fasque, Kincardineshire (the home of Sir John Gladstone, where, so long as he lived, they spent some time each year), Gladstone and his wife when in London lived at 13 Carlton House Terrace, which he purchased in 1840. About six months after her marriage Mrs. Gladstone began to keep a fragmentary diary. Some extracts, printed here for the first time by kind permission of Mrs. Drew, form a record of her early married life, and illustrate her intelligent observation of the people around her, and her sense of humour.

“April 1840.—Dined at the Archbishop of York’s, meeting the Queen Dowager, also the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Lady Harrington, etc. The Queen heard me speak of some one who was ill, and asked me all about it when we came upstairs. She beckoned to me to sit down by her. The Duchess of Cambridge very kind and talkative to me, speaking of our marriage at Hawarden, Mary’s and mine, upon the same day, and the Queen joined in the conversation and also talked to William.

“I sat next to Guizot at Mr. Hallam’s; he only made out my husband towards the end of dinner. He spoke English to me. We also met Mr. and Mrs. Grote (she is dreadful), the Bishop of London, George Lewis, Mrs. Austin, Dr.50 and Mrs. Hawtrey.

“To a party at Buckingham Palace, arriving in time to see the Queen51 enter the room. She does this more gracefully than I can possibly describe; it is quite a thing to see. Prince George of Cambridge talked to me. Lord Melbourne looked aged and careworn.

“At Northumberland House we met the Duke of Wellington—interesting to watch the people’s manners with him. He went out of his way to speak to William.”

The first baby, a boy, William Henry, was born on 3rd June 1840.

“April 1841.—Lord Lyndhurst52 was on the platform at Twyford station. I saw him look at Baby, and the nurse said he noticed his intelligence, and having asked whose child he was, said, ‘Will you ever be as clever a man as your papa?’

“Sir Robert Peel desired William to introduce me to him at Lady Jersey’s; he talked of his daughter’s approaching marriage to Lord Villiers.53 He seemed in great force, which the events of the past few weeks would account for. Lady Peel said to William, ‘Has not he done it well? It is very soon after the want of confidence motion and the majority of one.’ The Duke of Cambridge was very loquacious, but I was not a little relieved at his fastening upon William.

“I sat next the Duke of Wellington at the Archbishop of York’s dinner, but I had his deaf ear; yet I was pleased to think he had spoken to me before either of us died—have long wished for this.”

“September 21, 1841.—Dinner-party at home. The future Bishop of New Zealand was with us; his conversation was very interesting as to his going to New Zealand, very touching the way he spoke of his wife: ‘She feels just as I could most wish; she has all the tenderness of a woman joined to the greatest firmness and resolution.’ I was present at his Consecration at Lambeth Chapel, that fine touching service never to be heard without emotion, but in the present instance how peculiarly affecting. He was leaving his native land and all that he held most dear. I believe there was scarcely one dry eye. May I be the better for this day!

“William and I visited the Bishop at his house at Eton, so as to be present at the farewell dinner given by Mr. Coleridge the day before his farewell sermon at Windsor. There were forty present. I sat between Judge Patterson and Dr. Hawtrey. Afterwards Mr. Coleridge proposed the health of the Bishop in a touching speech, for which the Bishop returned thanks. Devoted to the service of his God, he is able to feel the step he has taken not as a sacrifice but as a privilege; he unites unusual tenderness of feeling to great manliness of character. The scene was an extraordinary one. Casting the eye down a long dinner-table, most of the guests were in tears, men and women sobbing, poor old Dr. Keate (to-day was my first introduction to him), his head upon the table, his face buried in his pocket-handkerchief.54 I never witnessed such devotion. His sermon (i.e. the Bishop’s) the following day was striking and affecting; a crowded congregation, there was not even standing room. Evidently he is not allowing himself to have any idea of returning to live in England.”

“December 20, 1841.—I find London very empty. William is absent from twelve to seven in the daytime,55 and works hard all the time he is at home, but I am greatly relieved to be with him again, though it is a little dreary sometimes in the day. I have been reading Hook’s Sermons, and I have finished Ten Thousand a Year,56 which, although vulgar, is clever and interesting. I sat an hour at his office at the Board of Trade.

“January 1, 1842.—A new year is always an awful thing. God give me grace to become better in the future! I feel acutely how little good I do—but to feel is not enough.

“January 6.—I am thirty to-day—a terrible thought. We had a dinner-party for Mr. Grenville (Uncle Tom).57 He sat nearly an hour with me in the afternoon. As he walked from Hamilton Place and back this was pretty well for eighty-seven.

“January 17.—William dined in the city to meet Prince Albert. Peel spoke well, and the Prince was evidently affected in alluding to his dear ties which bind him to England. Elizabeth Fry sat between the Prince and Sir Robert Peel.

“January 20.—William dined at Putney with Lord and Lady Ripon. He liked her extremely, and she was particularly thoughtful in wishing me to come there for country air.

“January 22.—Dined with the Barings to meet Lord and Lady Stanley, Lady Granville, etc., Lord Stanley58 taking me in to dinner. I was very shy, he was in great spirits, full of fun and jokes. At all events he can shake off the cares of office. I was interested, but relieved when we went upstairs, where I got on with both the ladies well.

“January 24.—George, the page, did not know what event we celebrated on Christmas Day! I hope he will come on, but it is sad, as he is near fifteen.

“January 29.—To-day William met the King of Prussia59 at Bunsen’s. H.M. recognised him, and said he wished to have some conversation with him about his book. Lady Canning was the only lady except the hostess. A queer medley of people—clergymen, Quakers, scientific men. I dined at Mrs. Grenville’s, meeting the Duchess of Sutherland,60 Lord and Lady Mahon, Mr. Harcourt, and Mr. Samuel Rogers. Pleased with both Duke and Duchess; she spoke so nicely and naturally about nursing her babies.

“January 31.—We dined at the Duchess of Beaufort’s alone, and to Stafford House61 afterwards. Never so struck by that splendid house, specially the staircase, where a band was playing. Saw the King of Prussia; a strong likeness to O’Connell, with an ingenuous countenance.

“February 1.—At the Duke of Wellington’s to meet the King of Prussia—the first time I had been to Apsley House—which gave me great pleasure; he sat near the pianoforte listening to the music, apparently lost to everything besides.

“February 5.—William told me something of great interest; he was harassed, and we were glad to escape quietly to pass our evening alone.

“February 6.—At St. Martin’s and St. James’s Churches. Before the end of the day William a different being, and his appetite returned.

“Sunday, February 13.—A note from Sir Robert Peel desiring William to follow Lord John Russell in the House on Monday. He made no preparation to-day.

“February 14.—This has been a happy chance which fixed my night at the House of Commons for his speech. Lady Stanley was in the next division. I found myself nearly upon Lady John Russell’s lap—with Lady Palmerston and some other wives near; funny, we began talking, though before unacquainted, and I told her my husband was to answer hers, which news she received with the greatest interest. She said her heart was beating, and she was all attention when Lord John began. He spoke for an hour and a half with eloquence and cleverness, but he made one slip, which William made much of in a speech which lasted two hours. It was quite pain to me before he got up, but before he had said many words, there was something at once so spirited, so collected, in his manner that all fright was lost in intense interest and delight. Pride is not perhaps the right feeling; great thankfulness was, however, mixed up with it. We heard him very well; he was rapid, and without the smallest hesitation throughout. Peel was evidently much delighted, and from all I gather this speech has made a very great sensation. We had coffee in our room—how snug I need hardly describe, indeed I could not.

“March 2.—Went to Lady Peel’s. I was struck by Sir Robert’s cordiality for William’s sake, and never had more satisfactory things said of him than from Mrs. Dawson, Peel’s sister. A very popular party with all kinds. M.P.’s wives make obeisance to Lady Peel, which was fun to watch.”

In view of the philanthropic work Mrs. Gladstone was to do later, the following entry is of interest:

“March 3.—Lord de Tabley drove me in his cabriolet to the Mendicity Society, where we spent a long time. Most interesting to hear the examination of the numberless cases of poverty, and to see the quickness and the knowledge of the interrogators. I could have wished to see less asperity and suspicion in their manner. Alas! that such glaring and constant imposition should cause this, as I believe that a certain degree of severity is necessary. Out of thirty cases only one, in all likelihood, will turn out true.

“March 19.—Dined with Lord and Lady Stanley. Lady Stanley very nice and looking better than I have seen her. After dinner Lord Stanley came and sat by me and was particularly agreeable. I found I lost my awe of him, he was so easy and pleasant. The conversation took the turn of an official life, and he questioned me about William. He said that he had the chief brunt of the work now. Lord Stanley has cold chicken and weak wine and water late at night, and is very apt to sit, while eating it, with his feet in hot water, specially if excited or after speaking. Then he takes a suitable novel for half an hour, which composes him to sleep. When Chief Secretary for Ireland, he worked eighteen hours a day. He maintains that with mental work there is no need for bodily exercise, which accordingly he never takes now. He prides himself upon twenty years’ experience. This may be all very well, but the truth is his health is particularly good. He went off afterwards on the various tricks in speaking. He took off Peel, who, he says, is very nervous at times. He could not remember any trick of William’s. He was full of interesting anecdotes. A few days ago at Peel’s some one was placed by the Duke of Wellington, who gave an elaborate account of things relating to India. The Duke sat in his armchair, his chin upon his chest, listening with occasional grunts. The man having gone on—on, the Duke suddenly came out in the quietest manner with, ‘I’ve been in India.’ Stanley told it very well.”

Mrs. Gladstone was present at the Queen’s fancy dress ball at Buckingham Palace on 12th May. She went as Claude, wife of Francis I. of France, and wore a deep red petticoat opening in front, large sleeves of gold tissue and a crimson cap. She found the ball a striking and amusing sight.

At a dinner-party at Lord Ripon’s in July, Peel took Mrs. Gladstone in to dinner. She was glad of this because it enabled her to thank him for the letter62 he had written to her father-in-law about Gladstone. In it Peel said: “At no time in the annals of Parliament has there been exhibited a more admirable combination of ability, extensive knowledge, temper, and discretion. Your feelings must be gratified in the highest degree by the success which has naturally and justly followed his intellectual exertions, and that the capacity to make such exertions is combined in his case with such purity of heart and integrity of spirit.”

Mrs. Gladstone gives the following interesting account of Peel’s talk at dinner:

“He was in great force, some of the conversation very interesting. He had seen a letter written by the Duke of Wellington soon after entering the army, in which he expressed the hope that he should be taken out of the army, as there seemed to be no chance of any promotion!!

“Peel told me he required very little sleep, that he was a light sleeper at any time, and got but a small portion when his mind was occupied. He still regretted the political power which some had, the Duke of Wellington for instance.”

Mrs. Gladstone in these years saw something of the Royal children, as their governess, Sarah, Lady Lyttelton,63 was the mother-in-law of her sister Mary. The following visits to the Palace are recorded in the Journal:

“July, 1842.—Went to see Lady Lyttelton and the Royal children. The Princess64 is a very interesting child, no longer answering to Mary’s65 description, ‘a sadly delicate thing.’ She is the image of the Queen. I played on the pianoforte, which delighted her, she tried to dance, and when I stopped called for ‘more.’ The Prince of Wales a fine, fair, satisfactory baby, whom William and I gazed upon with deep interest. We kissed his little hand. Who could look at him and think of his destiny without mixed emotion?”

“March 8, 1844.—Took Willie and Agnes66 to Buckingham Palace by desire of the Queen. Lady Lyttelton received us, and we took off the children’s things before going in to H.M. She shook hands very kindly and desired me to sit down by her. The three Royal children were with her. Princess Alice a nice fat baby, thoroughly good humoured and benevolent. Princess Royal about a head shorter than Willie, very engaging, not exactly pretty but like the Queen and Prince Albert. The Prince of Wales small, and the head not striking me as well shaped, his long trousers tied below the ankles and very full, most unbecoming. His manners very dear and not shy. They are evidently quite unspoilt, and I observed the Queen made them obey her. Princess Royal and Willie kissed each other, and she patronised little Agnes who stood by her and the Prince, quite at home and nearly as tall as the Prince, so much so as to make the Queen observe, ‘The Prince is the tallest of the two’ (he was a year older). I was much relieved at my children being so good and doing no harm. The Queen observed, ‘What care Willie takes of Agnes,’ admired his hair and his width. Agnes’s independence amused her, and she was in fits of laughter occasionally at her. Before leaving the Queen kissed both my children.”

“January 30, 1846.—Dined at the Palace; the Queen ill dressed; very kind to us, talking much of Mary’s children and my own. The Queen has ordered me to bring my children to her on Saturday.

“I accordingly took the four, Willie, Agnes, Stephen,67 and Jessy.68 H.M. came in with her four, and was very nice and kind. Princess Royal a nice quiet thing, not so much difference in the heights as last time. Prince of Wales has a striking countenance, Alfred very pretty, all have such fat white necks. Prince Alfred is a year and a half old, Stephen head and shoulders taller at a year and ten months. The Queen commented on Agnes’s looks: ‘I had not heard about her being so very pretty.’ Thought Willie pale and Stephen gigantic, baby fat and like her father. She took great notice of them all, kissed Agnes and gave them a huge lamb between them all, which the Royal children and ours played with very happily during the visit. The Queen spoke of their goodness, asked if they were always so good.”

We must now return to 1842. In September, at Hawarden, Gladstone met with the shooting accident that caused the loss of the forefinger of his left hand. Except for that no harm was done, and Mrs. Gladstone records her husband’s calmness and cheerfulness, “only thankful for his escape and thinking how he could make the best of it for me. He only seemed to think of others, evincing the greatest coolness and presence of mind, quietly submitting to the operation, which lasted five minutes. It gave him terrible pain, which he bore with unflinching courage.” There were really two operations, but this was kept from his wife, who was expecting her confinement in a month. The surgeon found he had made the cut in the wrong place and had to do it all over again. As the days of chloroform had not yet dawned, the acutest agony was endured. All went well, and in a few days Gladstone was able to play chess and whist without inconvenience.

On 18th October Mrs. Gladstone drove in the park with her husband, and at 8 p.m. her little girl (Agnes) was born, “a fine healthy baby with pretty features, complexion nice and clear, never red.”

Christmas was spent at Hawarden.

“December 29.—My dear William’s birthday. God bless him! How every day that passes more and more impresses me with the treasure I am blessed with, but alas! how very far I am behind him.

“January 6, 1843.—Thirty-one to-day. Time passes so quickly, and in reviewing the past year how little I have done. May God enable me to act upon the resolutions I have formed.

“January 7.—Most people struck by baby’s beauty, the eyes particularly large and fine and very expressive, dark blue in colour, the sweetest thing that ever was.

“January 30.—We all left dear Hawarden, a party of seventeen, including the Lytteltons and mama, besides children. Willie a very fatiguing traveller, Agnes excellent. William69 met us at the station, all well. Whirled by the bustle of London and the contrast of Hawarden.

“March 3.—Engaged a cook after a long conversation about religious matters, chiefly between her and William. She interested me greatly.

“March 6.—To Mr. Richmond with my boy, he finds him difficult to paint and varying in expression.

“Dined with Samuel Rogers. Archbishop of Canterbury, Bishop of London and Mrs. Blomfield, Wordsworth, Lord Glenelg, and others. Mr. Rogers whispered to me that he was much impressed at having the heads of the Church to dine with him. I never saw him so little at ease.

“March 17.—We dined at the Palace. Clanwilliams, Lord Palmerston, Lord Rosebery, Lord Jersey. Lord Sydney took me in. After dinner the Queen asked me about William’s accident and the children and Mary. She has a good deal of expression when speaking, more than I had thought. Was surprised to find it so little formal, really enjoyed my evening.”

Mrs. Gladstone was piling up experiences of many kinds. She was learning the cares and pleasures of motherhood; she had become familiar with the life of palaces and of political centres. She also gained some acquaintance with a more sordid side of existence. One of her housemaids had to be prosecuted for theft; Mrs. Gladstone had to spend two mornings at Bow Street and to attend the trial. “Having with the policeman, the searcher, and the pawnbroker sworn to speak the truth, the whole truth, I went into the box. I felt very shy; they would not admit William with me. To find myself there gave quite a new view of life.” Mrs. Gladstone visited the girl at Newgate and at the Penitentiary.

In 1843 Gladstone first became a Cabinet Minister.

“May 13, 1843.—A letter from Sir Robert Peel offering William a seat in the Cabinet, to succeed Lord Ripon as President of the Board of Trade. He went to Peel, having taken a short time for consideration, and came back to tell me there was a hitch, because of the Church question. I walked with him in Kensington Gardens. He was oppressed by the great anxiety to act rightly, he asked me to pray for him. How thankful I am to be joined to one whose mind is purity and integrity itself. If I have received joy in reading Peel’s letter, how much more ought I to feel in seeing the way he received it, in witnessing that tenderness of conscience which shrinks at the bare idea of any worldly gain lest it should in any way interfere with higher duties.

“May 15.—A consultation with Hope and Manning of some length. They persuaded him to go himself to Peel. He has accepted; God bless and prosper him in his new office. He has been very happy in his former place. May the increase of responsibility not injure his precious health. How I wish he could have a horse!”

In August Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone and the children went to Fasque on a visit to his father. From Glasgow to Fasque she travelled on the outside of the mail coach, a twelve hours’ drive, her first experience of such a mode of journeying, enjoying it immensely. When returning in October, prevented by bad weather from going by sea as they had intended from Dundee to London, they caught the midnight mail from Perth. Only one inside place was available, so Mrs. Gladstone elected to mount to the top with her husband, and so travelled all night, “cold and blowing a high wind.”

Some of the entries in the Journal for 1844 show that Mrs. Gladstone’s mind was turning towards the distress in London which, later on, she was to do so much to relieve. At dinner in March with the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch, her host talked to her of the misery existing in London, and she thought his conversation showed the interest and pains he took. At this period she often went to the House of Commons, and one night heard Shiel, “his style fluent and brilliant, but ranting, and the voice peculiarly discordant and unpleasant”; and on another, Lord Ashley on the Factory question. On 4th April her son Stephen was born, “a plain baby, small eyes,” but a few months later she notes, “baby greatly improved.” In June she was present at a party at Buckingham Palace given for the Emperor of Russia,70 “a grand-looking personage, his figure so striking, tall, and commanding, his manner remarkable, so very civil and courteous, friendly without losing his dignity. The form and manner struck me more than the face itself. But he has an expression that seems to look straight through one, something peculiarly awful in the eyes. The profile, however, is good, and combined with the figure there is something grand and noble. It was interesting to watch him and the Duke of Wellington talking together. When the Queen and the Emperor had finished with refreshments, the manner in which she took his arm, and his in giving it to her, was striking and graceful beyond description; the great inequality of their heights would never have been suspected, such was the grace and ease with which they walked off together.”

Mrs. Gladstone thoroughly enjoyed the continual meetings with interesting persons; she liked listening to the conversation of such men as Peel and Brougham, and was hugely delighted when after a concert at the Palace the Duke of Wellington insisted on escorting her husband and herself to their carriage. “I was fearful lest he should catch cold, there was such a draught; he merely placed his cocked hat upon his head. How characteristic is all he says, and the honesty and peculiar straightforwardness of his character.”

On 27th July 1845 a second daughter was born, Catherine Jessy, “a nice fat thing, with famous lungs to judge by her voice, the mouth so small with short upper lip, the hair darkish, very placid, and takes much notice for her age.”

There were some interesting dinners at Sir Robert Peel’s. One in March 1848 she thus describes:

“Anxiety and sorrow sat on many of the countenances assembled. There stood Guizot, with that piercing eye of fire, his whole appearance eagle-like, his countenance beaming with sagacity and a great intellect, in earnest conversation with Peel, full of gesture, and now and then his voice raised, as if bursting with feeling that would out. There were the poor Jarnacs, with full marks of sorrow for their King and Queen! The Princess Lieven; the Austrian Ambassador harassed afresh with the increasing troubles in Austria which so afflicted his wife as to make it impossible for her to be present. The party was relieved by Lord Aberdeen, Lord and Lady Mahon. I had some talk with Madame Jarnac. Her account of the poor Queen of France especially was touching, of the dangers and trials connected with their flight, of the sad deprivations to which they were subject, the terror of the poor Queen about her husband and then her children. Sir Robert Peel joined in our conversation; he views the state of Europe with much alarm. He had received private information respecting the Prince of Prussia (now at Bunsen’s), who is said to have broken his sword, and laid it with his spurs at the feet of the King of Prussia. Lady Peel looks so wonderfully young and pretty. I returned home excited with the evening we had passed with that remarkable party.”

Next year (1849) dining again at Sir Robert Peel’s, Peel talked to her after dinner. “I confess I had never known him so well before, for now his conversation turned on subjects which specially brought out feeling, his children and their education, Lady Lincoln, Mr. Goulburn’s trials and excellences. Speaking of his children he enlarged upon the satisfaction of having no permanent governess, liked his girls to travel with him, said it enlarged their minds, and a good deal more, showing that amidst all his great cares the domestic element was very near his heart.”

Two more daughters were born, Mary, in 1847, and Helen in 1849. The first sorrow of their married life occurred in 1850, when on 9th April their little girl Catherine Jessy (born 1845) died of meningitis after a long and painful illness. In her Journal Mrs. Gladstone writes:

“Yes, to look at her face after death was a privilege. I dread lest the solemn remembrance of her loved face should in any way fade, so holy it was.

“My loved child, my own Jessy, to think that the quiet countenance in its deep repose is the same which but a few hours before seemed racked with pain. The hair waved softly on the marble forehead, the dark lashes fringing her cheeks, the little white hands folded across one another. We had placed roses and lilies of the valley about her. I could not describe the sublimity of her expression.”

In 1850, after the death of their second daughter, Catherine, Gladstone took his wife to Brighton to recruit, and although Mrs. Gladstone looked worn and found it difficult to join in general conversation, she felt as if a great calm had set in “after the storms before.”

Two more sons were born, Henry Neville in 1852, and Herbert John71 in 1854. Thus between 1840 and 1854 Mrs. Gladstone became the mother of eight children, seven of whom survived. While never neglecting her duties as a mother, from the first she studied her husband and sought to secure him the quiet at home which he needed during the Parliamentary Session. He used to say to her, “It is always relief and always delight to see and to be with you.” Her sister Lady Lyttelton gave him the same sense of restfulness; the two sisters were as united after marriage as they had been before, and their close association was only broken by Lady Lyttelton’s death in 1857. Gladstone wrote at the time: “They so drew from their very earliest years and not less since marriage than before it, their breath, so to speak, in common.” Lady Lyttelton left twelve children, and Mrs. Gladstone, despite the cares of her own family, and the rest of her various pre-occupations, never ceased to look after these children as long as they needed her.

Mr. Gladstone was the soul of method, neatness, and punctuality; the girl he had married was exactly the reverse, and she used to tease her husband and tell him it was good for him to have an untidy, unmethodical wife, it made him more human. Many stories are told of her delinquencies. It is said that on one occasion when cards of invitation were being sent out for a great party, certain letters of the alphabet were mislaid and ultimately found after the party, hidden in the interstices of a sofa into which they had fallen. The deep offence of those persons who had received no invitation may be better imagined than described. Most of us have known the queer experience of the sudden disappearance of a pencil case or a pair of scissors, when sitting on a chair or sofa of a certain type of upholstery.

When Mrs. Gladstone was beginning philanthropic work and had charge of money connected with it, her husband told her that she must have a cash box to keep it in, and must take great care of the key. One day she triumphantly showed him the box with the key carefully fastened on to it! But be it said that where such casual ways would have been harmful to her husband’s interests, she was able to overcome them.

She managed all the details of their daily life; the meals were punctually served, the carriage at the door to the moment. Mr. Gladstone was never, through her instrumentality, kept waiting for anything. She contrived with what almost amounted to genius to have a hot dinner consisting of suitable food ready at any time between eight and twelve o’clock that Mr. Gladstone might come home from the House. It was always she who made the arrangements for journeys; she looked after all the details of, and carefully guarded him from, the tiresome inconveniences and annoyances inseparable from travel. She used laughingly to tell him that while he, no doubt, could govern the country admirably, arrangements for a railway journey were better left to her. She accompanied him to the House of Commons whenever he had an important speech to make, and from the Speaker’s little gallery listened to every word and watched every gesture. She herself mixed the egg-flip with which Mr. Gladstone provided himself when his voice was to undergo a prolonged strain. In 1847, when she canvassed for her husband at Oxford, she was described as a “potent canvasser.” At Newcastle in 1862 she told a friend that it had been the happiest day of her life, while her husband averred: “Catherine is a great part of the whole business everywhere,” and twenty years later she said, “I shall never forget that day! It was the first time that he was received as he deserved to be.”

Sometimes she would herself receive his callers on business and usher them into the library. Indeed, she shielded him from all the cares and worries that it was possible for her to take on herself. She looked after his health, and in her powers as physician Gladstone had an intense confidence. He often consulted his wife when there were difficulties between Ministers, and averred that her mother-wit often hit on a solution. Even in comparatively small matters she sought to save him physical fatigue. Every one who has held any kind of public office knows the pain incurred in shaking hands with hundreds of people. Mr. Gladstone used to stiffen his hand and to place his thumb against the palm so that people could not grasp it, but even so when his wife thought he had gone through enough fatigue of the kind, standing close behind him she would thrust her hand forward in place of his, and no one noticed the exchange.

She accompanied Gladstone on all his political campaigns, on all his recreative travels. When in 1891 he went into residence at All Souls’, Oxford, for a week, she invited herself to stay with Sir Henry Acland, and her husband was in and out of the house as often as he wished.

Sir Stephen Glynne’s taste for the study of ecclesiastical architecture72 led him to rely on others for the management of his estates, and in 1851 it was discovered that their financial condition was in so bad a way, that it was feared Sir Stephen would have to leave Hawarden. Mr. Gladstone had just inherited a large sum of money from his father, and he devoted a portion of it to clearing off the debts that through the indiscretions of an agent, left too much to his own devices, encumbered the Hawarden estates. It was then arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone and their young family should regard Hawarden as their country home, Sir Stephen Glynne still continuing to live there. He died suddenly in 1874; he was unmarried, and as his brother Henry, who died in 1872, left no male issue, it had been settled by will that the estates should pass to the eldest surviving son of his eldest sister, but that Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone were to have the use and enjoyment of Hawarden Castle and grounds for their lives. Thus Mr. William Henry Gladstone became the heir to the property, which descended on his death in 1891 to his eldest son, the late William Glynne Charles Gladstone. But Hawarden continued to their death to be the country home of Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone and their children.

Mrs. Gladstone was devoted to the gardens and park of Hawarden, and was sometimes seriously concerned for the trees that it was her husband’s recreation to cut down, and would earnestly plead for them. But it should be stated that Mr. Gladstone knew what he was doing, and his knowledge of forestry only made for the improvement of the estate and for the better health of the trees left standing.

II

Although the greater part of Mrs. Gladstone’s time was given to the care of her husband and of her children, and to the social duties entailed by her position, she found sufficient leisure during the period we have traversed to initiate and carry through philanthropic work of an important and useful kind, involving a large amount of actual personal service.

She began by visiting the House of Charity in Soho, founded in 1846, to provide shelter for a few of those persons, not of the ordinary vagrant class, who through misfortune or ill-health had become homeless wanderers, but could not bring themselves to ask for poor-law relief, and indeed for many reasons would not have been received into the casual wards of the workhouses. Mrs. Gladstone soon saw that something further was needed. Throughout her life she was a most successful beggar. She raised the sum of £1200 among her friends, rented some disused slaughter-houses in Newport Market, made the necessary alterations, and early in 1864 the place was opened as a Night Refuge. In October a woman’s ward was added. All this was done mainly through Mrs. Gladstone’s exertions. The interest of the public was thereby aroused in the question of casual relief, and the passing of the Houseless Poor Act73 was the direct result. At the end of 1865 it was stated by the authorities that there was far less misery and distress about the streets of London than was the case before the Act came into force. The Newport Market Refuge, as it was called, did admirable work. A Boys’ Industrial School was also soon established there—for many of the casuals were friendless, little, half-starved, half-naked boys between the ages of five and twelve.

Mrs. Gladstone not only wrote appeals for funds and enlisted the sympathy of the Times, but regularly visited the Refuge and the School, and used to make excellent little speeches to the boys, full of kindness and admirable advice. In 1882 the old buildings were condemned, and after temporary housing in Long Acre, the Refuge and School went into a building of its own in what is now Greencoat Place, Westminster. The Refuge ceased to exist after 1905, but the Boys’ School is still carried on as the Newport Market Army Training School, and does excellent work.

There were many other sides to Mrs. Gladstone’s philanthropic work. She was a constant visitor to the London Hospital in Whitechapel, and when cholera broke out in 1866, instead of seeking to avoid infection and the distressing sights of a large hospital at the time of an epidemic, she only redoubled her zeal. She was indeed one of the very first to face all the difficulties when most people were panic-stricken for fear of infection. She moved freely about the wards among the patients, speaking kindly words of comfort and encouragement. She saw that one great necessity was a place to which convalescent patients, especially children, could be sent, and she made a public appeal for funds wherewith to provide such accommodation. Mainly through her instrumentality and exertions a sum of £70,000 was soon subscribed. Convalescent homes are now regarded as indispensable, and their existence taken as a matter of course, but Mrs. Gladstone’s share in promoting the good work that led to that result can scarcely be overrated. It is said that in the beginning a few of the convalescent children wrapped in blankets were received in an attic in Downing Street until suitable shelter could be provided. The Home was established first at Snaresbrook, and then removed to Woodford, on the borders of Epping Forest, as “Mrs. Gladstone’s Free Convalescent Home for the poor, more especially of the east of London.” In considering the history of such institutions, it must be remembered that it was Mrs. Gladstone who initiated the system of giving the subscribers no privileges either in admitting patients or in the management of the Home. The money was handed over to the Committee who were responsible for everything, and applications for admission were made as simple as possible. Mrs. Gladstone herself attended the meetings of the Convalescent Home Selection Committee at the London Hospital, and made patient and sympathetic inquiries of the applicants. She also on those occasions, as far as her time allowed, visited the wards and showed her interest in patients and nurses. And she often paid the patients at Woodford Hall visits which were a source of intense pleasure. She had the gift when talking to them of conveying her real personal interest in them each individually, and they felt no shyness in her society. Sometimes she would sit down at the piano and play dance music for them; they generally chose country dances like Sir Roger de Coverley in which the older people could join, and a very merry time they had. Her visits ceased in 1894, but her interest never flagged. During the last weeks of Mr. Gladstone’s illness, a letter of application to her from a girl who wished to be received into the Home was put aside and forgotten. When Mrs. Gladstone came across it she was terribly concerned lest her inadvertence, which any one would have excused at such a time,74 had caused a delay that should have done the girl any hurt. Happily it was not too late for her admission. It may be stated that 33,000 patients were admitted to the Home down to the end of 1897. It was removed to Mitcham, Surrey, in 1900.

It should be remembered that in the years when Mrs. Gladstone was most active in her ministrations there were no motor-cars, and indeed no quick and convenient communication between the west end of London and the Whitechapel Road, and it is marvellous how she found time to do all she did. She mostly went down to Whitechapel by omnibus and train, travelling third class. On one occasion there was a lady in the train with whom Mrs. Gladstone entered into conversation and who confided her troubles. It seemed her husband had an appointment in Australia, but she could not accompany him as they had not money enough to pay the passage for both. In talking Mrs. Gladstone passed the station at which she should have got out, and on looking in her purse found she had no money, having expended what she had on her return ticket. Thereupon she borrowed some from the lady, giving her name and address, and told her if she would call next day she would in the meanwhile see what could be done to help her. When the lady told her husband of the adventure, he said, “Well, you must be green. As if Mrs. Gladstone would travel third class and be without any money!” He insisted on accompanying his wife next day, fearing some hoax. To his surprise she was let in to the house, and he walked up and down till she came out in a great state of joy. Mrs. Gladstone had been at a dinner-party the night before and had collected £70, a sum she had just handed to her for her journey!

But Mrs. Gladstone’s charities were not confined to the east end of London. She established an orphanage and an asylum for aged women at Hawarden, and during the distress that prevailed among the cotton operatives in Lancashire at the time of the American Civil War, Mr. Gladstone gave employment to some of the men in making footpaths in Hawarden park and woods, an improvement of the property that had been long meditated. Mrs. Gladstone invited the men to bring with them their unemployed daughters, asked her brother to give her the use of an old house—a former dower-house—situated in the courtyard of the castle, fitted it up as a house for the girls, and had them trained in domestic work; as soon as they attained some degree of efficiency she found them situations. Others then came from Lancashire to take their places at the Home.

Later on, after the cholera outbreak in London, she brought to Hawarden some of the orphans75 she had taken charge of at Clapton and lodged them in a smaller house; they attended the village school and were taught trades. When the Lancashire trouble was past, and the hands had returned to the mills, the orphans were transferred to the larger house, where thirty children could be accommodated. It has only lately been given up. The smaller house then became a Home for aged women. When Mrs. Gladstone was at Hawarden, she paid frequent visits to the Orphanage and Home, accompanied generally by her daughters and any lady who chanced to be staying with them.

In the forties of last century the only political work in which women took any part was in canvassing, and even that was done individually without any sort of organisation. Women did not speak on public platforms, did not form political associations, and although the wives of the great politicians in or out of office talked freely of all that was going on, and undoubtedly had through their husbands and their men friends great influence on affairs in many ways, it never occurred to them to band themselves into an organisation or to demand the Vote. Yet women had managed to effect important social reforms. Elizabeth Fry as early as 1813 brought the conditions of prison life into notice, and reforms were instituted. Elizabeth Barrett Browning helped to better the conditions of the children who worked in mines and factories,76 and Helen Taylor through her public spirit brought about drastic reforms in the industrial schools of London, to mention only a few instances that, were this a suitable place, might easily be multiplied. Mrs. Gladstone did her share of canvassing, and especially helped her husband in the Oxford election of 1847. She was said to be very skilful at the work and hard to resist. But it was not until Gladstone’s Midlothian Campaign of 1879 that there arose any thought of political organisation among women. A presentation was made to him and Mrs. Gladstone at Dalkeith77 of an album of photographic views of Scottish scenery from the ladies of the county, and a velvet tablecover from the women workers at a carpet factory at Lasswade. In acknowledging the gifts, Mr. Gladstone spoke of those political interests which appealed more especially to women, and pointed out how women might assist in the regeneration of the world. Addressing the women present he said:

“The harder and sterner and drier lessons of political economy are little to your taste. You do not concern yourselves with abstract propositions. It is that side of politics that is associated with the heart of man that I must call your side of politics.” He then pointed out how “peace” was the one thing that must make a strong appeal to women, and how they could do much to influence its preservation among the nations; and to prevent the “mischief, indescribable and unredeemable, of causeless and unnecessary war.” At the same time Gladstone made it clear that he knew that the state of society did not permit a vow of universal peace and the renunciation in all cases of the alternative of war. He concluded his address by an appeal to women to bear their part in the crisis, and thought that he was making no inappropriate demand but was asking them as women “to perform a duty which belongs to you, which, so far from involving any departure from your character as woman, is associated with the fulfilment of that character and the performance of its duties, and the neglect of which would in some future time be to you a source of pain, but the accomplishment of which will serve to build your future years with sweet remembrances, and which will warrant you in hoping that each of you, within your own place and sphere, has raised your voice for justice, and striven to mitigate the sorrows and misfortunes of mankind.”

The appeal was to bear great fruit. Towards the end of 1880, after the General Election of that year placed the Liberal party in power, small associations of women Liberals began to be formed in London and the Provinces, and by the spring of 1886 there were about fifteen of such associations in existence. But it was not until 1887 that the central organisation of the Women’s Liberal Federation was formed, with Mrs. Gladstone as president. The inaugural meeting was held, 25th February 1887, with Mrs. Gladstone in the chair. Thus Mrs. Gladstone was seventy-five years of age before she took any really active part in politics, or made any speeches from a public platform. Her voice, though very sweet, was not strong, and she could only be heard by those seated in her immediate neighbourhood; her ingrained lack of method prevented her ever properly grasping the technical routine of a public meeting. But others more efficient in such matters were always ready to help her through, and there is no question that her acceptance of the presidency made for the strength of the Federation, and caused it to count in the political world. Her record as wife, mother, and philanthropist was a fine one, and it was felt that, combining in perfection as she did the new and the old ideal of woman’s mission and work, she was eminently the right person in the right place. In her inaugural address she said that she understood there were a number of women anxious to work for the Liberal cause and able to do so with advantage. Such work on the part of women should be open and clear and carried on by direct not by backstairs influence. She herself held rather old-fashioned views regarding the part to be taken by women in the world’s work, but they could all, without in any way impairing their efficiency as women, help the Liberal cause, which had always been one of progress and justice. She was present at meetings wherever she could manage it, most often arranged in conjunction with some speech of her husband, as at Nottingham in October 1887, or at Birmingham in November 1888, where, in referring to the Irish question, she pointed out how women could do great things for the cause with gentleness, patience, kindness, and charity, by tenderly and quietly educating and not quarrelling with their opponents. “We must persevere, combining our efforts, reassuring the doubtful, stimulating the weak, working and waiting with courage and with faith.” In May 1889 the annual meeting of the Federation was held in London during the sittings, as it chanced, of the Parnell Commission, at which Mrs. Gladstone was a regular attendant. The forty associations of 1887 had increased to 133, with over 43,000 women members in 1890, and in that year the question of their attitude towards woman suffrage had to be considered. It led to a split in the camp, but contrary to expectation Mrs. Gladstone continued her presidency of the old society, which now put the Parliamentary enfranchisement of women in the forefront of its objects; but while she did not feel keen about it, and had no inclination personally to advocate it, she saw that it had become a question of the hour, and the fact that the Federation supported it did not seem to her a sufficient reason for resigning, especially as the party were straining every nerve to bring Mr. Gladstone back to power, and the Whips desired to retain the influence that was wielded by her position as president. But when Mr. Gladstone became Prime Minister again in 1892, there was no longer a special reason for the continuance of the office, and in October she signified her intention of resigning: “I have already on my hands,” she wrote to Lady Aberdeen, “as much as I can do, and every year makes it more necessary for me to be free from any extra cares and responsibilities.”

Mrs. Gladstone’s active political work was undertaken solely because she thought she could thereby be useful to her husband and the causes he had so deeply at heart. It extended only over some half-dozen years, from her seventy-fifth to her eighty-first year. She disliked publicity, though she was quite ready to accept the share of it inevitable from her husband’s great position, but she had no idea of aggrandising women as women, of setting sex against sex; she believed that organisation would enable women to take their share of the larger life of the world without any risk of hurting “distinctive womanhood,” and her own life set an example of the possibility for a woman to gain mental breadth without failing in “childward care” or losing “the childlike in the larger mind.”

III

On 25th July 1889 Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone celebrated their golden wedding, completing fifty years of a married life in which they had abundantly realised “all the unclouded blessings of the home.” The year before, on entering their fiftieth year of married life, colleagues and personal friends presented them with their portraits, that of Mr. Gladstone painted by Holl and of his wife by Herkomer, and three massive silver cups. In thanking them Mr. Gladstone said that it was difficult for him to give an adequate idea of the domestic happiness he had enjoyed during the fifty years of his married life. Other presentations were made on the wedding anniversary itself, both in London and at Hawarden, and again Mr. Gladstone said that no words he could use would ever suffice to express the debt he owed his wife in relation to all the offices she had discharged in his behalf during the long and happy period of their conjugal union.

Mr. Gladstone was Prime Minister for a short time in 1886. From 1892 to 1894 he again held the office, and in the latter year retired for good from public life. Mrs. Gladstone was much disturbed by his decision and did everything in her power to persuade him to continue in office, but he stood firm as the rocks at Biarritz, where the discussion was held. It had always been his belief that men ought not to go on with official work after they had become really old. He was eighty-five, so that no one could say he had not done his share of the work of the world.

The nature of the pains in the face from which Gladstone suffered was recognised early in 1897. His wife went with him to Cannes in the hope that a more genial climate might be beneficial, but when it became certain that the malady was incurable, they returned to Hawarden. Though there was nothing she could do for him, she sat by his bedside till the end, only consenting with great reluctance to take a few hours’ rest. When, on 19th May 1898, all was over, and her lifelong companion had gone from her, even in her deep grief she thought of others, and before the remains of her beloved husband were taken from Hawarden to their last resting-place in the Abbey, she drove out to offer consolation to two Hawarden women whose husband and fiancÉ had been killed in a mine accident the day before. She and her sorrow were in every one’s hearts, and Lord Rosebery, speaking in the House of Lords, expressed in memorable words what all were feeling when he referred to the “solitary and pathetic figure who for sixty years shared all the sorrows and all the joys of Mr. Gladstone’s life, who received his every confidence and every aspiration, who shared his triumphs with him and cheered him under his defeats, and by her tender vigilance sustained and prolonged his years.”

Mr. Gladstone’s body was brought to London for burial in the Abbey. Mrs. Gladstone accompanied the mournful convoy, and stayed in London at the house of her niece, Lady Frederick Cavendish. She was present at the funeral, an impressive and touching scene, seated at the head of the grave, the group around which included, besides children and grandchildren, sons and daughters-in-law, princes, statesmen, high dignitaries and functionaries of every kind. When all was over the Prince of Wales78 went up to the chief mourner and, bending down, kissed her hand, and said a word or two of sympathy; Prince George79 did the same, thus reversing the usual attitude of sovereign and subject. The example so greatly set was followed by the other pall-bearers, and Mrs. Gladstone was so much revived by the wonderful tribute the whole funeral had been to her husband’s worth, that she was able to say to each the most suitable thing, reminding, for example, the aged Duke of Rutland that he had been Gladstone’s colleague at Newark when he had been returned for his first Parliamentary seat. Some one said that Mrs. Gladstone went into the Abbey a widow and walked out of it a bride.

The death of her eldest son in 1891 and the retirement of Gladstone in 1894 had seemed to break her spirit, and it was clear to all for the first time that she really showed signs of age. But after the great testimony of the Abbey her vitality in large measure returned, and she was almost her old self until her death, which occurred at Hawarden, 14th June 1900. A few days later she was buried near her husband in Westminster Abbey.

Although Mrs. Gladstone was never a great social force, her grace and charm of manner won her a large circle of attached friends. When the occasion called for it, she could be the grande dame, and could act with great dignity. Beneath her simplicity of manner lay great cleverness. She disliked bores, and showed peculiar skill in extricating herself from them without their perceiving her manoeuvre. With importunity, however, she had no patience; she would then summon all her dignity, and would put the sinner in his place without ado. She scarcely practised the social arts in the technical sense of the term. She was indifferent in the choice of guests, and seldom troubled to make sure that they would amalgamate. The Thursday 10 a.m. breakfasts became deservedly famous, because they comprised most of the celebrities of the day—a prima donna, a popular actor, an editor, Mme de Novikoff, Canon Liddon, a great Whig peeress. Dinners would include a mixed company of Members of Parliament and a few non-political friends. At Hawarden the great Whig nobles of the party, like Lord Spencer, Lord Rosebery, and Lord Aberdeen, were chiefly entertained, at whose houses also the Gladstones stayed. Life at Hawarden, even with visitors in the house, was simple; food was good but plain, the hours regular and early. Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone always attended the eight o’clock service at the parish church, a walk of three-quarters of a mile, returning to breakfast, which was enlivened with brilliant talk. It was with difficulty that in later years they could be persuaded to use a pony carriage for the early attendance at church, and at last to substitute attendance at evensong at five o’clock three times a week. Gladstone’s library was known as the “Temple of Peace,” and when the books overflowed into the adjoining lobby, that was christened the “Chapel of Ease.”

Punctuality was a rule of the house for all. Dinner was at 8 p.m., and no late-comer was waited for, unless he or she happened to be some distinguished stranger. As soon as three were assembled Mr. Gladstone would cry, “Quorum! Quorum!” and march into the dining-room.

Gladstone always notified where he himself wished to be entertained, and Mrs. Gladstone showed great dexterity and tact in arranging such invitations. She was similarly skilful in the general management of her husband. She secured that he should enjoy all his little peculiarities, such as eating slowly, and supplying him with the glass of good port he liked to drink after dinner, and allowing him to see the friends he preferred, both men and women—an excellent way, if wives in general would only believe and practise it, to keep husbands young and fresh.

They were both fond of walking, and very often walked home after dining out. Mrs. Gladstone was indifferent to dress, and her general untidiness and absence of method in minor matters occasionally got her into trouble. But she managed dexterously to escape it. Mr. Gladstone used to say, “My wife has a marvellous faculty for getting into scrapes, but also a marvellous faculty for getting out of them.” She had a regal carriage, and her movements were swift and light. Her eyes were of a deep sapphire blue, long in shape, set well apart, in expression according to her mood, merry or tender or mischievous. Abundant soft brown hair waved on her forehead.

After the first few years of married life, when children were born in quick succession and her health was therefore somewhat delicate, she enjoyed for the rest of her existence wonderfully fine health. She took a daily cold bath until the year of her death. One winter, when she was over eighty, a mission was held at Hawarden. As the service began at 4 a.m. she consented to sleep at the Rectory. Her son, the Rector, got up at three, made some water hot, and took it to his mother’s room. She opened her door fully dressed and ready, having taken her cold bath as usual.

One reason of Mrs. Gladstone’s ability to resist fatigue and to get through so large an amount of work was her practice of sleeping for short periods. She could lie down on a sofa and go to sleep at will for ten or fifteen minutes, and awake perfectly refreshed. Sometimes, too, in the House of Commons, during one of her husband’s long speeches, she would take a short nap, for as she always sat with her head bent and eyes looking down on Mr. Gladstone, her companions never detected that she was asleep, and indeed were lost in admiration at the rapt way in which she listened, and the manner in which she endured the fatigue of sitting there so many hours.

Amid all her activities she found time for much letter-writing, and corresponded with numbers of interesting people. With the slightest materials she contrived to get an atmosphere into her letters that made them delightful reading.

One who knew Mrs. Gladstone well writes:

“Helpfulness, that was the note of her character; in any difficulty, in the most impossible case, Mrs. Gladstone would plan, contrive, arrange, enlist others, and never rest until the difficulty was solved, and the persons put in the way of helping themselves—nay more, supported, befriended, encouraged, till they could stand alone. Perhaps few persons were so often consulted and appealed to as was Mrs. Gladstone. It might be young girls entering on life in the first joy of a marriage engagement, or young beauties to whom she would gently suggest thoughts that were unworldly. Very often it would be some hard-worked London priest toiling single-handed amongst his thousands, and thinking no one cared, who found in Mrs. Gladstone a listener not only sympathetic but suggestive, one who did not forget, but would forward his plans, and who had the rare gift of setting other people to work. “Mrs. Gladstone had the genius of charity. Good or to be helped to be good, that was the essence of it all. Religion not forced, not obtruded, but as natural and vital as fresh air, was, not an adjunct of life, but life itself. In her own devotions, in the daily services of the Church, in many a Eucharist did Catherine Gladstone renew her soul’s life, and increase the charity and the delightful gaiety of her temperament, and from the spirit of wisdom learn those intuitions which so rarely failed her. It seemed but natural that her last spoken words were, ‘I must not be late for Church.’”

In these days of storm and stress and feverish excitement and unrest among women, it is well to recall the life of a woman like Mrs. Gladstone who, in a period when such mechanical aids to activity as motor-cars and telephones were non-existent, yet contrived to be a devoted wife, smoothing her husband’s path in every direction, accompanying him everywhere, an equally devoted mother, as well as a charming hostess of country-house parties at Hawarden and of the more formal entertainments in London consequent on her position as the wife of a great Minister of State. In addition to such domestic and social duties she engaged in philanthropic work, and in no dilettante spirit; she visited hospitals, founded convalescent homes, and refuges and orphanages; she played her part in the public political work then undertaken by women. She accomplished all these things without an idea that she was doing anything worthy of note or of record, and yet quietly, unostentatiously, and unconsciously leaving an ineffaceable mark on every phase of life with which she came in contact.