His gaiety was infectious, and few more lovable men have ever enriched the happiness of those to whom he extended that generous sympathy—the secret of the affection in which he was held by all with whom he came in contact, from Queen to Peer and Peasant. The gracious manner, the happy turn of an epigrammatic sentence, the droll humour, the gift of being a listener as well as a talker—who shall say that these are not valuable assets even in a statesman’s wallet? I first made his acquaintance about the year 1858 and used constantly to be invited to the Grove, which surely was the merriest and brightest country house in all England. And there were two or three other homes hard by, also filled with young people ready for fun of all sorts—the Rokebys, Eburys and the Mill, where Mrs. Edward Villiers lived—all furnishing their quota of dancing dogs and pretty girls, so that there was a perfect succession of balls, theatricals and music; but I doubt whether any of us young people took more delight in all the entertainments than the great statesman and diplomatist whose gaiety was so infectious. He was strikingly handsome and had that air of distinction which means so much more than mere beauty; when the two are combined their possessor ranks with the demigods. As a host he had the rare gift of drawing out every one of his friends to the best advantage, so that after a dinner-party of sixteen or eighteen people in Grosvenor Crescent every guest was sent home on the best of possible terms with himself, feeling that he, too, had played his little part not altogether in vain. To younger men his kindness knew no bounds. When I came back from Russia in 1864 he was not Secretary of State, but he sent for me and told me that he had had a very flattering letter about me from my chief, Lord Napier, which made him wish to have a quiet talk about Russian policy and the great men in St. Petersburg, where he had himself been in his youth as attaché. Lord Napier, it seemed, had told him that I had had rather special opportunities of becoming acquainted with some of the various Russian statesmen and influential persons, and had, from time to time, been able to supplement his own information. Lord Clarendon kept me with him for an hour or more, and when I took leave of him he said: “I shall tell Palmerston that he must see you, so do not go out of town till you hear from him.” Two days afterwards I received a summons to Cambridge House and had another long talk with Lord Palmerston, who was as genial and kind as he always had been, cross-examined me at length, and sent me on to see Lord Halifax at the India Office. The difference between the three interviews was curious. The two great men were not above seeing whether the young man could tell them anything worth hearing—Lord Halifax was kindness itself, but he only wished to talk. As for wanting to hear what I might be able to say he had no care for that.