The man who was scornfully described as "the great trimmer" was the most absolutely fearless man in political life I have ever known. I remember his coming to me when the question of extending Household Suffrage to the residents in the counties was first being broached in Parliament. He told me that he meant to move a resolution extending the measure to Ireland. No other statesman of importance had at that time suggested such a step, whilst Lord Hartington had openly denounced it. I implored him to leave such a measure, which was certain to be unpopular with that section of the party which had been most favourable to him, to somebody else. "You have suffered enough already for Ireland," I said. "Let somebody else knock his head against this stone wall." "Who else will do it?" he replied. "The thing is right, and it must be done. As for your stone wall, I have never been afraid of being the first man over a fence." Trimmer, indeed! As for his alleged jealousy of the men who were treading on his heels, I can only say that I never heard a syllable from his lips which gave countenance to this charge against him. Always frank and outspoken, he was at the same time invariably generous in his judgments upon his colleagues and his rivals. Rancour he never cherished, and he could forgive those who had injured him far more freely than most men I have known. I have spoken of his manner. This was, I think, his great misfortune. Again and again he offended men who were brought into contact with him by his bluntness of speech, and by his disregard of the mere niceties of deportment. I have heard him denounced as "a heartless ruffian" by someone who had suffered from an apparent lack of courtesy on his part. All the time Forster was absolutely unconscious of having given offence, and when his attention was called to the fact that he had wounded someone by his manner, he was filled with distress. One day an eminent publicist who had cruelly misjudged and misrepresented Forster came to me in the Reform Club and asked if I had ever stayed at Wharfeside. I replied in the affirmative. "Then," said my friend, "you can perhaps tell me if what I hear is true. I am told that, rude and bearish as he is to people who meet him casually, it is nothing in comparison with his brutality in his own house, and especially to his wife." Angry as I was at this charge against my friend, I could not refrain from bursting into a roar of laughter at its absurdity. No woman that ever lived was treated with a more tender and chivalrous affection and reverence than that which Mrs. Forster received from her husband. That she was eminently worthy of being worshipped by the man whose name she bore, all who knew her must admit. She had inherited great intellectual qualities from her father, Dr. Arnold, of Rugby. She shared the delicate critical spirit of her brother Matthew; and, above all, she was a delightful woman, gentle, refined,