s's, and on
returning from Windsor the Premier drove him there. His rooms were at
Number 7, and here the street ended in a sharp incline, with somebody's
yard beyond.

Sir George suggested that the coachman should stop, and let him down at a
point where the horses could readily turn. 'Not at all,' Lord Rosebery
insisted, 'I'll drive you to the door and we'll manage to turn somehow.'
A trifle anxious, Sir George waited on his door-step to see how this was
to be done.

'Quick of eye,' he related, 'the coachman discerned the possibilities of
the yard at the top of the incline. Accordingly, he whipped into it,
wheeled round, and trotted gently away past me. There sat the Premier in
the carriage, waving his hat in a triumph, the fun of which quite
infected me.'

Sir George appreciated kindly attentions the more, in that he was himself
a king in courtesy, with his heart ever on the latch. He estimated the
side of Lord Rosebery's character, thus manifested, to be among the best
ornaments he could have. 'It seems clear to me,' were his words, 'that he
is a man of sincerity and simple nobility, one who wishes with all his
heart to do what he can for his fellow men.' That was Sir George's test
of all public effort, as it had been what he applied to himself. There
could be none higher.

Mere weight of years could not quench the ardour and hope which had
always burned so brightly in Sir George Grey. As well expect him to
forget that chivalrous manner of his, bewitcher of the veriest stranger.
He would, find his tall hat, search out his staunch umbrella, and convoy
the visitor forth, when the hour of parting had arrived. Nothing less
would suffice him, and as to his company, it was a delight for ever.
Another veteran might have been lonely with a younger generation knocking
at the door, indeed in full possession. He was not; he strode in the van
with the youngest.

Yet he felt, perhaps, the void time had wrought in the circle of his
friends. He held the fort silently, while the long scythe cut another
swathe very near him. He heard that his friend, James Anthony Froude, who
had been lying ill in Devonshire, was steadily losing strength.

'I have made inquiries about him, poor fellow,' he murmured, 'but now I
must telegraph for the latest particulars. He and I are old companions,
and I have liking and admiration for him. When he visited me at my island
of Kawau, off the New Zealand coast, we had a capital while together. He