One day in 1877 Mr. Gladstone sent me a postcard, inviting me to breakfast with him. He was as open in his friendship as in his politics. In all things he was prepared to dare the judgment of adversaries. Incidentally I mentioned the invitation to two persons only, but next day a passage appeared in a newspaper--much read in the House of Commons at that time--to the effect that Mr. Gladstone was inviting unusual persons to his house, who might be useful to him in his campaign on the Eastern question, so anxious was he to obtain partisan support in the agitation in which he was engaged. There was no truth whatever in this, as Mr. Gladstone never referred to the subject, nor any of his guests. But I took care at that time not to mention again an invitation lest it should occasion inconvenience to my host. The visit to the Tyne had some picturesque incidents. By happy accident, or it might be from thoughtful design, Mrs. Gladstone wore an Indian shawl having a circle in the centre, by which she was distinguishable. Every person whom thousands come out to see, should have some individual mark of dress, and should never be surrounded by friends, when recognition is impossible and disappointing to the crowd. At Middlesboro', Mrs. Gladstone was taken to see molten metal poured into moulds. I knew the ways of a foundry, and that if the mould happened to be damp, a shower of the liquid iron would fall upon those near. The gentlemen around her seemed to think it an act of freedom to warn her of her danger, so I stepped up to her and told her of the risk she ran. She said in after years, that if I did not save her life, I saved her from great possible discomfort. Middlesboro* was then in a state of volcanic chaos. Mr. Gladstone predicted that it would become what it is now, a splendid town. It was in the grey of a murky evening, when blast furnaces were flaming around him, that Mr. Gladstone began in a small office--the only place available--a wonderful comparison between Oxford and the scene outside. Alas! the dull-minded town clerk stopped him, saying that they wished him to make his speech in the evening--not knowing that Mr. Gladstone had twenty speeches in him at any time. The evening came, but the great inspiration returned no more.