My other scientific hero besides Sir Philip Watts is Sir Eustace D’Eyncourt. He also was the practical means, besides his wonderful professional genius, of bringing forth what are known as the “Hush Hush” ships on account of the mystery surrounding their construction; and notwithstanding the armchair “Know-alls” who have done their best to blast their reputation, they achieved--the five of them--a phenomenal success. Sir Eustace D’Eyncourt also gave us those incomparable Monitors, with their bulges under water, which were “given away” through the unmitigated folly of the Censors, who permitted a newspaper correspondent to describe how he had seen men, like St. Peter, walking on the water--they were walking on the protuberance which extended under the surface as the absolute protection against submarines; and when an old first-class cruiser called the “Grafton” had been so made submarine-proof, the captain of her, after receiving a torpedo fired at him at right angles and hitting him amidships, reported to the Admiralty that she went faster than before, simply because her hull proper had not been touched; the submarine had only blown away the submarine obstruction that Sir Eustace had fitted to her. Has he been made a lord? Personally I should say the tanks could never have existed without him; of that I am quite sure. Sir Philip Watts and Sir Eustace D’Eyncourt are enshrined in my heart. Previously in this chapter I mentioned Mr. Gladstone. I sat next to him at dinner once. At the other side of him was a very beautiful woman, but she was struck dumb by awe of Mr. Gladstone, so he turned round to me and asked me if I had ever been in China. Yes, I had. And he asked me who were the best missionaries. I said the Roman Catholics were the most successful as they wore the Chinese dress, were untrammelled by families, so they got better amongst the people in the interior, but furthermore in their chapels they represented our Saviour and His Apostles with pigtails and dressed as Chinamen. Yes, he said, he remembered that, and he told me the name of the Head of the Roman Catholic Mission, whose name I had forgotten, and said to me that the Pope considered he had gone too far in that respect, and had recalled him. That had happened some twenty years previously, and I had forgotten all about it. Someone said what a pity that all that is now being said is being lost. Mr. Gladstone said: “Nothing is lost. Science will one day take off the walls of this room what we have been saying.” This was years before the gramophone and the dictaphone and the telephone. He told us a great deal about Abraham and pigs, and why Abraham was so dead against them, and how he, Gladstone, had been driven by Daniel O’Connell in a four-in-hand, and how the Bishops in his early days were so much handsomer than now. One Bishop he specially named was called “The Beauty of Holiness.” When he left, he asked me to walk home with him, which I did. Mrs. Gladstone said, seated inside