I do not pretend to know the purposes of Providence, but I am sure that no earthly power can now prevent an honorable peace between your country and mine." It has always been a matter of thankfulness that I should have been with the greatest of living Englishmen when his warm heart was relieved of the apprehension of the danger of a conflict with America.

After entering our names in the autograph book on the parlor table, we withdrew, and at the door we met the Duke of Argyll, a member of the Premier's Cabinet, who was calling on official business.
[Illustration: DR CUYLER AT 50.] My next meeting with Gladstone was a very brief one, in the summer of 1885.

He had lately resigned his third Premiership; his health was badly impaired, his splendid voice was apparently ruined by an attack of bronchitis, and the world supposed that his public career was ended.

I called at his house in Whitehall Terrace, and the servant informed me at the door that the physicians had forbidden Mr.Gladstone to see any one.
I handed in my card, and said to the servant: "I leave for America to-morrow, and only called to say good-bye to Mr.Gladstone." He overheard my voice (not one of the feeblest), and, coming out into the hall, greeted me most warmly, but in a voice almost inaudible from hoarseness.

I told him: "Do not attempt to speak, Mr.Gladstone; the future of the British Empire depends upon your throat." He hoarsely whispered, "No, no, my friend, it does not," and with a very hearty handshake we parted.