" he answered, "Yes, indeed, I know you far too
well, and I don't want to have anything more to do with you." He
had mistaken the monarch for a prominent politician with whom he
had had a sharp encounter on a deputation a few days before! For
social purposes Lowe might almost as well have been blind; yet he did
not receive that kind of indulgence which is extended to the
blind. In the interesting fragment of autobiography which he left,
he attributes his unpopularity entirely to this cause, declaring that
he was really of a kindly nature, liking his fellow-men just as well
as most of them like one another.[42] But in truth his own character
had something to answer for. Without being ill-natured, he was deemed
a hard-natured man, who did not appear to consider the feelings of
others. He had indeed a love of mischief, and gleefully tells in
his autobiography how, when travelling in his youth through the
Scottish Highlands, he drove the too self-conscious Wordsworth wild
by his incessant praise of Walter Scott.[43] He had not in political
life more than his fair share of personal enmities. One of them was
Disraeli's. They were not unequally matched. Lowe was intellectually
in some respects stronger, but he wanted Disraeli's skill in
managing men and assemblies. Disraeli resented Lowe's sarcasms, and
on one occasion, when the latter had made an indiscreet speech, went
out of his way to inflict on him a personal humiliation.

Nor was this Lowe's only defect. Powerful in attack, he was feeble in
defence. Terrible as a critic, he had, as his official career showed,
little constructive talent, little tact in shaping or recommending his
measures. Unsteady or inconstant in purpose, he was at one moment
headstrong, at another timid or vacillating. These faults, scarcely
noticed when he was in Opposition, sensibly reduced his value as a
minister and as a Cabinet colleague.

In private Lowe was good company, bright, alert, and not unkindly. He
certainly did not, as was alleged of another famous contemporary,
Lord Westbury, positively enjoy the giving of pain. But he had a most
unchristian scorn for the slow and the dull and the unenlightened, and
never restrained his scorching wit merely for the sake of sparing
those who came in his way. If the distinction be permissible, he was
not cruel but he was merciless, that is to say, unrestrained by
compassion. Instances are not wanting of men who have maintained great
influence in spite