At one of my earliest dinners with the Society of Authors I sat between him and Mr. Hall Caine. No greater contrast than that between these two men could be found, I am sure—the latter quick and sharp; Henry Stanley, on the other hand, stolid in temperament and a person not easily put out or disturbed. “I walk for two hours every day of my life,” said Stanley. “Unless I get my six or seven miles’ stretch, I feel as if I would explode, or something dreadful happen to me. So every afternoon after lunch I sally forth, generally into Hyde Park, where, in the least-frequented parts, I stretch my legs and air my thoughts. I live again in Africa, in the solitude of those big trees, and I conjure up scenes of the dark forest and recall incidents the remembrance of which has lain dormant for years. Taking notes, going long walks, studying politics, compose the routine of my daily life. “I am a Liberal-Unionist, and shocked that you should say you are a Radical—no lady should ever hold such sentiments.” And he really appeared so terribly shocked I could not help telling him a little story of how on one occasion an old gentleman was introduced to take me down to dinner. Some remark on the staircase made me say, “I am a Radical.” “Ma’am!” he replied, almost dropping my arm, and bending right away from me. “Are you horrified? Do you think it dreadful to be a Radical?” I asked. “Yes, ma’am, I am indeed shocked that any lady—and let alone a young lady—should dare to hold such pernicious views!” Really, the old gentleman was dreadfully distressed, seemed to think me not even respectable, and, although I did my best to soothe him with the soup, to chat to him on other topics with the fish, it was not until dessert was reached that he was really happy or comfortable in his mind that his young neighbour was fit society to be next to him at a dinner-party.” Stanley laughed. I asked him if he had any desire to go back to Africa. “None,” he replied. “I may go some day, but not through any burning desire; for, although I have been a great wanderer, I don’t mind much if I never wander again.” During the evening he proposed the health of the late Mr. Moberly Bell, our chairman, whom he had known for twenty-eight years. Stanley had a tremendously strong voice, which filled the large hall, and seemed to vibrate through my head with its queer accent. He spoke extremely well, without the slightest nervousness or hesitation; his language was good and his delivery excellent.