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Gladstone agreed to write the political article for the 'Edinburgh' in October. It was called 'Sequel to the Session. Curious conversation with him about the Irish Church. August 3rd. Went down to Weybridge to see Mrs. Austin. It was the last time, for she died on the 8th, when I was at sea, on my way to Scotland. We arrived at Aberdeen on the 9th, and learned it there.
At the entrance of Weybridge was a deserted estate and dilapidated mansion, Portmore Park, once a royal domain, through which the river ran and where we used to go constantly to fish.
"Cloth of gold, do not despise That thou art mix'd with cloth of frieze; Cloth of frieze, be not too bold That thou art mix'd with cloth of gold." Back by St. George's Hill, snatching many a leaf and blossom as I rode to carry back to A mementoes of our dear Weybridge days, and so home by half-past seven, just time to dress for dinner.
"I've no wish to stop about here," said I. "I think I shall go to Leatherhead, for my wife was there." He shot out a pointing finger. "It is you," said he; "the man from Woking. And you weren't killed at Weybridge?" I recognised him at the same moment. "You are the artilleryman who came into my garden." "Good luck!" he said. "We are lucky ones! Fancy you!" He put out a hand, and I took it.
The ordinary traffic had been stopped, I believe, in order to allow of the passage of troops and guns to Chertsey, and I have heard since that a savage struggle occurred for places in the special trains that were put on at a later hour. We remained at Weybridge until midday, and at that hour we found ourselves at the place near Shepperton Lock where the Wey and Thames join.
What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent." For a time he sat in blank silence. "But how can we escape?" he asked, suddenly. "They are invulnerable, they are pitiless." "Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other," I answered.
They had nothing to tell beyond the movements of troops about the common, and the burning of the pine woods between Woking and Weybridge, until eight. Then the St. James's Gazette, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact of the interruption of telegraphic communication. This was thought to be due to the falling of burning pine trees across the line.
The turf has not withered with the heat, and the hawthorn lay thick and fragrant on every hedge, like snow that the winter had forgotten to melt, and the sky above was bright and clear, and I was very happy. I had taken "The Abbot" with me, which I had never read; but my mother did not sleep, so we chatted instead of my reading. She recalled all our former times at Weybridge.
"The mound," was the reply; and the mound was a delightful play-ground for us, and did infinite credit to my mother's powers of contrivance. Forty years and more elapsed between my first acquaintance with Weybridge and my last visit there.
We rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Swept out of existence! Why?" Another pause, and he broke out again like one demented. "The smoke of her burning goeth up for ever and ever!" he shouted. His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction of Weybridge. By this time I was beginning to take his measure.
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