MRS. GLADSTONE
Covet not then the rest of those
Who sleep through life unknown to fame;
Fate grants not passionless repose
To her who weds a glorious name.
He presses on through calm and storm
Unshaken, let what will betide;
Thou hast an office to perform,
To be his answering spirit bride.
The path appointed for his feet
Through desert wilds and rocks may go.
Where the eye looks in vain to greet
The gales that from the waters blow.
Be thou a balmy breeze to him,
A fountain singing at his side;
A star, whose light is never dim,
A pillar, through the waste to guide."
Immediately after the ceremony Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone drove to Norton Priory, Cheshire, the seat of Sir Richard Brooke, whose daughter. Lady Brabazon, was the bride's best friend, where the honeymoon was spent.
Neither sister had been specially accustomed to the society of highly intellectual or bookish men, and during the engagement neither Gladstone nor Lord Lyttelton, as ardent lovers, had felt the necessity of resorting to the classics when in the company of their fiancees. The young brides, when comparing notes after the honeymoon, confided to one another their dismay that at odd spare moments both husbands
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