FROM YOUTH TO AGE.
[A Confidential Correspondence between Eminent Personages.) “ Immortal Age beside immortal Youth,
And all I was in ashes.”—Titkonus.
No. I.—From W. E. Gladstone, M.P. for Newark (1832), to the First Lord of the Treasury (1881),
My dear William,
I hope you have not forgotten me. I have little chance of omitting to think of you. You are always doing something start
ling— felling a tree or knocking down a Minis
try, bringing in a Land
Bill or trotting out Ash
mead - Bartlett. That last is the most astonish
ing thing I have seen in a career watched with pardonable interest. To think of you coming out as a Humorist! It is too startling, and is one of the severest blows dealt to me, and you know they have been many. There
was nothing like that when we were young. “ The rising hope of the stern, unbending Tories ” didn’t smile much.
You think of me, William, sometimes, I trust, with kindly feelings. You have got on in life, whilst Newark is disfranchised, and I am remembered only by a phrase in an Essay. But wouldn’t you give all your honours, all vour power, to he me once more, and Member for Newark ? Wouldn’t you give your Majority for my Minority P There’s where I have the pull on you, and I mean to take advantage of my superiority, and talk franldy to you.
It’s no use arguing with you on Politics. Brother Thomas has tried that, and failed. But in other ways, you know, there is a great deal that is foolish and reprehensible about you. What do you mean at your age by going skylarking about the country, Leed-ing a reckless life, as I may say, in recognition of your new humour. Mid
lothian was all very well. You’d a great work to do then, and,
really, although, like Brother Thomas, I abhor your politics, I must say you did it well. But let well alone. Stop at home, and let young men like LIarcourt and Chamberlain do the commercial travelling. Also, don’t you go sitting up till all hours of the night next Session. Take watch about with Hartington—as good a fellow as ever lived, and wasn’t a Church-and-State man. Turn in at mid
night, and, for goodness’ sake, have a little more common sense about those lads on the benches opposite. Now you ’re a humorist don’t
be so dreadfully and perpetually serious, treating Randolph as if he were a responsible person, Gorst as if he were in earnest, and the Land-Leaguers as if it wasn’t their business to kick up a rumpus. Eagles, as you wiU have read in the original tongue, don’t catch flies.
Keep your arguments for reasonable men, your eloquence for suitable occasions, and your indignation for worthy objects. In brief, to quote a phrase from the modern drama, simmer down. The dis
interestedness of this advice should serve to enforce it. You have gone very far wrong since you and I were boys together. A little more added to the heap won’t matter. Take my advice. Simmer down, and so avoid the winter of old age.
Yours, in sad disappointment, W. E. G.
P.S.—Simmer and Winter—do you Spring at the joke P Thought I’d better point it out, as you ’re still young in the humorous line.
No. II.—From Lord Robert Cecil, M.P. for Stamford, to the Marquis of Salisbury.
Dear Salisbury,—I have observed in you a certain air and demeanour indicative of complete indifference to the opinion of
other people. Neverthe
less, I flatter myself that you will be glad to hear from me—your ear
liest, closest, and at one timeperhaps onlyfriend— an expression of absolute approval of your conduct and career. There was a time when you and I, thinking it over, did not see the prospect of the brilliant position you now fill. We would have made our way, and indeed
we did. Whatever may be said by prejudiced persons to the detriment of vitriol, it cannot be denied that it does make its way. We were lively in the House of Commons, and stinging in the Press.
Do you remember the digs we used to give to Dizzy P How we hated and despised him in those days, and what perfect freedom from indebtedness he left on his side ! He was a tough fellow to meet,
and between you and me, there is no practical use—and practical use is everything—in shirking the fact that he won in the end. Marquis mine, you know we are not given to boisterous mirth, yet I’ve
been nearly killed with laughing to see you tied to his glittering gingerbread car of triumph. No one can describe the temptation I
have undergone to go back to my; old avocation, and send in an article to the Quarterly, dealing with this little episode. Or I had a notion of turning up in the House of, Commons, and from my old place below the gangway offering a few remarks on the situation. “ Lord Robert Cecil on the Marquis of Salisbury!” Wouldn’t that have looked well in the Parliamentary Reports the next day P You know how I would have done it, and 1 believe that, regarding it of course purely as a work of art, and putting someone else in your place, you would have enjoyed the execution. But honour among Cecils. I wouldn’t for whatever fierce joy, hurt a hair of your head. We are still one, though a quarter of a century and an unexpected Marquisate separate us.
You are all that I promised to he, and all my heart desires,— older, of course, with an added stoop to the shoulders. Your style is, as befits your years and position, graver. But there is the same neatness of thrust, and the same twist of the sword when in the wound, which I taught myself and you. I do not remember that I had that profound etymological knowledge that you display, and might not on an emergency have found quite so many shades of meaning in the word “ Authentic.” That is a new accomplishment of your own, and I am not quite sure that I grudge it you. For the rest I am proud of you, and subscribe myself
Your devoted friend and admirer, Robert Cecil.
No. III.—From John Bright, M.P. for Durham, to the Right Hon, the Chancellor of the Duchy.
Friend John,
Glancing occasionally over the newspapers, I come upon little scraps of correspondence which pleasantly remind me of your
continued _ existence and undiminished vigour.
Always a straightnitter
myself, I like to see that your arm is not weakened nor your aim disturbed.
Do you remember what
Bentinck said of us about the time when we were parting company, I halt
ing in the green glades of perennial youth, and you mounting the ever-steep
ening hill of age P “If
Bright had not been a
Quaker, he would have been a prizefighter.” Of course that is not quite true. Nothing said about us by Noble Lords is quite true,
any more than there is absolute exactitude in what we say of Noble Lords. Still, there is something in this. Do you mind, John, our first campaign in this old city P How I harried Dungannon till his Lordship grew purple and speechless, and how I rasped the Clergy— “a body of men especially appointed to take charge of the flocks,
who, instead of being the shepherds, appear to all men’s eyes as the shearers of the flock ” P
You’re changed since tlieim, my jo, John, hut marvellously little. Most men who started as Radicals as they get older turn, 1 am told, Tory-wards. You are mellowed a little, but uncommonly little, considering you have been to Court, know several Dukes, and are
“Right Honourable.” When you write some of those charming little notes in which you show so clearly that any one differing from you on a matter of opinion is a fool, if not a knave: and, even more,
when you stand face to face with an actual or an imaginary Tory cohort, then you arc back in Durham days, and my youth revives in
you, inspiring your minatory forefinger, giving an extra tingle to your voice, and marking your speech with that personal directness which was one of my most effective habitudes. Scratch the Privy Councillor, and they find the Freetrader, Try a fall with the Chan
cellor of the Duchy, and they become immediately conscious of a lefthander from the young Member for Durham.
This is as it should be, J ohn ; but if 1 may hint at a fault in one so good anil great, you are a little too conscious of your own surpassing wisdom. Even I have been a trifle wearied of hearing how right you were at the time of the Crimean War. You have been right
ever since, of course, and everyone differing from you has been wrong. That is so clear, that if I were you (which I am glad I am not, being nearly forty years younger) I would leave it for the dis
covery of other people’s eyes. Saving this little weakness, you do very well, and are a great credit to
Your early friend and constant backer, John Bright.
[A Confidential Correspondence between Eminent Personages.) “ Immortal Age beside immortal Youth,
And all I was in ashes.”—Titkonus.
No. I.—From W. E. Gladstone, M.P. for Newark (1832), to the First Lord of the Treasury (1881),
My dear William,
I hope you have not forgotten me. I have little chance of omitting to think of you. You are always doing something start
ling— felling a tree or knocking down a Minis
try, bringing in a Land
Bill or trotting out Ash
mead - Bartlett. That last is the most astonish
ing thing I have seen in a career watched with pardonable interest. To think of you coming out as a Humorist! It is too startling, and is one of the severest blows dealt to me, and you know they have been many. There
was nothing like that when we were young. “ The rising hope of the stern, unbending Tories ” didn’t smile much.
You think of me, William, sometimes, I trust, with kindly feelings. You have got on in life, whilst Newark is disfranchised, and I am remembered only by a phrase in an Essay. But wouldn’t you give all your honours, all vour power, to he me once more, and Member for Newark ? Wouldn’t you give your Majority for my Minority P There’s where I have the pull on you, and I mean to take advantage of my superiority, and talk franldy to you.
It’s no use arguing with you on Politics. Brother Thomas has tried that, and failed. But in other ways, you know, there is a great deal that is foolish and reprehensible about you. What do you mean at your age by going skylarking about the country, Leed-ing a reckless life, as I may say, in recognition of your new humour. Mid
lothian was all very well. You’d a great work to do then, and,
really, although, like Brother Thomas, I abhor your politics, I must say you did it well. But let well alone. Stop at home, and let young men like LIarcourt and Chamberlain do the commercial travelling. Also, don’t you go sitting up till all hours of the night next Session. Take watch about with Hartington—as good a fellow as ever lived, and wasn’t a Church-and-State man. Turn in at mid
night, and, for goodness’ sake, have a little more common sense about those lads on the benches opposite. Now you ’re a humorist don’t
be so dreadfully and perpetually serious, treating Randolph as if he were a responsible person, Gorst as if he were in earnest, and the Land-Leaguers as if it wasn’t their business to kick up a rumpus. Eagles, as you wiU have read in the original tongue, don’t catch flies.
Keep your arguments for reasonable men, your eloquence for suitable occasions, and your indignation for worthy objects. In brief, to quote a phrase from the modern drama, simmer down. The dis
interestedness of this advice should serve to enforce it. You have gone very far wrong since you and I were boys together. A little more added to the heap won’t matter. Take my advice. Simmer down, and so avoid the winter of old age.
Yours, in sad disappointment, W. E. G.
P.S.—Simmer and Winter—do you Spring at the joke P Thought I’d better point it out, as you ’re still young in the humorous line.
No. II.—From Lord Robert Cecil, M.P. for Stamford, to the Marquis of Salisbury.
Dear Salisbury,—I have observed in you a certain air and demeanour indicative of complete indifference to the opinion of
other people. Neverthe
less, I flatter myself that you will be glad to hear from me—your ear
liest, closest, and at one timeperhaps onlyfriend— an expression of absolute approval of your conduct and career. There was a time when you and I, thinking it over, did not see the prospect of the brilliant position you now fill. We would have made our way, and indeed
we did. Whatever may be said by prejudiced persons to the detriment of vitriol, it cannot be denied that it does make its way. We were lively in the House of Commons, and stinging in the Press.
Do you remember the digs we used to give to Dizzy P How we hated and despised him in those days, and what perfect freedom from indebtedness he left on his side ! He was a tough fellow to meet,
and between you and me, there is no practical use—and practical use is everything—in shirking the fact that he won in the end. Marquis mine, you know we are not given to boisterous mirth, yet I’ve
been nearly killed with laughing to see you tied to his glittering gingerbread car of triumph. No one can describe the temptation I
have undergone to go back to my; old avocation, and send in an article to the Quarterly, dealing with this little episode. Or I had a notion of turning up in the House of, Commons, and from my old place below the gangway offering a few remarks on the situation. “ Lord Robert Cecil on the Marquis of Salisbury!” Wouldn’t that have looked well in the Parliamentary Reports the next day P You know how I would have done it, and 1 believe that, regarding it of course purely as a work of art, and putting someone else in your place, you would have enjoyed the execution. But honour among Cecils. I wouldn’t for whatever fierce joy, hurt a hair of your head. We are still one, though a quarter of a century and an unexpected Marquisate separate us.
You are all that I promised to he, and all my heart desires,— older, of course, with an added stoop to the shoulders. Your style is, as befits your years and position, graver. But there is the same neatness of thrust, and the same twist of the sword when in the wound, which I taught myself and you. I do not remember that I had that profound etymological knowledge that you display, and might not on an emergency have found quite so many shades of meaning in the word “ Authentic.” That is a new accomplishment of your own, and I am not quite sure that I grudge it you. For the rest I am proud of you, and subscribe myself
Your devoted friend and admirer, Robert Cecil.
No. III.—From John Bright, M.P. for Durham, to the Right Hon, the Chancellor of the Duchy.
Friend John,
Glancing occasionally over the newspapers, I come upon little scraps of correspondence which pleasantly remind me of your
continued _ existence and undiminished vigour.
Always a straightnitter
myself, I like to see that your arm is not weakened nor your aim disturbed.
Do you remember what
Bentinck said of us about the time when we were parting company, I halt
ing in the green glades of perennial youth, and you mounting the ever-steep
ening hill of age P “If
Bright had not been a
Quaker, he would have been a prizefighter.” Of course that is not quite true. Nothing said about us by Noble Lords is quite true,
any more than there is absolute exactitude in what we say of Noble Lords. Still, there is something in this. Do you mind, John, our first campaign in this old city P How I harried Dungannon till his Lordship grew purple and speechless, and how I rasped the Clergy— “a body of men especially appointed to take charge of the flocks,
who, instead of being the shepherds, appear to all men’s eyes as the shearers of the flock ” P
You’re changed since tlieim, my jo, John, hut marvellously little. Most men who started as Radicals as they get older turn, 1 am told, Tory-wards. You are mellowed a little, but uncommonly little, considering you have been to Court, know several Dukes, and are
“Right Honourable.” When you write some of those charming little notes in which you show so clearly that any one differing from you on a matter of opinion is a fool, if not a knave: and, even more,
when you stand face to face with an actual or an imaginary Tory cohort, then you arc back in Durham days, and my youth revives in
you, inspiring your minatory forefinger, giving an extra tingle to your voice, and marking your speech with that personal directness which was one of my most effective habitudes. Scratch the Privy Councillor, and they find the Freetrader, Try a fall with the Chan
cellor of the Duchy, and they become immediately conscious of a lefthander from the young Member for Durham.
This is as it should be, J ohn ; but if 1 may hint at a fault in one so good anil great, you are a little too conscious of your own surpassing wisdom. Even I have been a trifle wearied of hearing how right you were at the time of the Crimean War. You have been right
ever since, of course, and everyone differing from you has been wrong. That is so clear, that if I were you (which I am glad I am not, being nearly forty years younger) I would leave it for the dis
covery of other people’s eyes. Saving this little weakness, you do very well, and are a great credit to
Your early friend and constant backer, John Bright.