ress, is
triumphantly pointing to the text in controversion of her statement.

Your host, chopping grimly at the furniture as he passes along--here
dexterously severing the leg of a Chippendale chair, and there hacking a
piece off a Louis Quatorze couch--leads the way to an annexe he has just
built for the reception of his treasured books. From the outside this
excrescence on the Castle has but a poverty-stricken look. It is, to
tell the truth, made of corrugated iron. But that is a cloak that
cunningly covers an interior of rare beauty and rich design. Arras of
cloth of gold hangs loosely on the walls, whilst here and there, on the
far-reaching floor, gleams the low light of a faded Turkey carpet. Open
tables, covered with broad cloths of crimson velvet, embroidered and
fringed with gold, carry innumerable Blue Books. On marble tables,
supported on carved and gilded frames, stand priceless vases, filled
with rare flowers. In crystal flagons you detect the sheen of amber
light (which may be sherry wine), whilst the ear is lulled with the
sound of fountains dispensing perfumes as of Araby. In an alcove,
chastely draped with violent violet velvet, the grey apes swing, and the
peacocks preen, on fretted pillar and jewelled screen. Horologes, to
chime the hours, and even the quarters, uprise from tables of
ebony-and-mother-of-pearl. Cabinets from Ind and Venice, of filligree
gold and silver, enclose complete sets of _Hansard's Parliamentary
Debates_; whilst lamps of silver, suspended from pendant pinnacles in
the fretted ceiling, shed a soft light over the varied mass of colour.

Casting himself down lightly by a cabinet worked with Dutch beads
interspersed with seed-pearls, and toying with the gnarled handle of the
axe, the Right Hon. WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE tells you the story of his
life. At the outset you are a little puzzled to gather where exactly he
was born. At first you think it was in Scotland. Anon some town in
England claims the honour. Then Wales is incidentally mentioned, and
next the tearful voice of Erin claims her son. But, as the story goes
forward with long majestic stride, these difficulties fade in the
glamour of the Old Man's eloquence, and when you awake and find your
host has not yet got beyond the second course--the fish, as it were, of
the intellectual banquet--you say you will call again.

Mention of the three courses naturally suggests dinner, and as you
evidently enjoy the monopoly of the ment