At Dollis Hill, Sunday, Feb. 22, 1891.... A few minutes after eight Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone came in from church, and we three sat down to dinner. A delightful talk, he was in full force, plenty of energy without vehemence. The range of topics was pretty wide, yet marvellous to say, we had not a single word about Ireland. Certainly no harm in that.
J. M.—A friend set me on a hunt this morning through Wordsworth for the words about France standing on the top of golden hours. I did not find them, but I came across a good line of Hartley Coleridge's about the Thames:—
“And the thronged river toiling to the main.”
Mr. G.—Yes, a good line. Toiling to the main recalls Dante:—
“Su la marina, dove'l Po discende,
Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.”[264]
J. M.—Have you seen Symonds's re-issued volume on Dante? 'Tis very good. Shall I lend it to you?
Mr. G.—Sure to be good, but not in the session. I never look at Dante unless I can have a great continuous draught of him. He's too big, he seizes and masters you.
J. M.—Oh, I like the picturesque bits, if it's only for half-an-hour before dinner; the bird looking out of its nest for the [pg 424] dawn, the afternoon bell, the trembling of the water in the morning light, and the rest that everybody knows.
Mr. G.—No, I cannot do it. By the way, ladies nowadays keep question books, and among other things ask their friends for the finest line in poetry. I think I'm divided between three, perhaps the most glorious is Milton's—[Somehow this line slipped from memory, but the reader might possibly do worse than turn over Milton in search for his finest line.] Or else Wordsworth's—“Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.” Yet what so splendid as Penelope's about not rejoicing the heart of anybody less than Odysseus?