222 ROME AND PARIS

language is already destined ere the close of this century
to be spoken by a greater number of millions than any
other tongue and the chief necessity for whose prosperity
and welfare is the continuance of universal peace, and
the spread of amity and goodwill among the nations.'

Having delivered himself of this oration he retired to
his bed at Claridge's Hotel and remained there for a
fortnight.

In August, after a week's yachting in the Solent,
he crossed to Ireland. He travelled via Dublin and
Belfast and from there took the little train that runs
along the Lough. The familiar stations passed him
one by one—Holywood, Cultra, Craigavad. The
smell of the seaweed puffed into his carriage and
across the water lay Carrickfergus and the line of the
Antrim coast. The train stopped at Clandeboye
station which he had rechristened Helen's Bay. He
was home again after five years.

The station at Helen's Bay was in those days (and
indeed until the advent of the motor-car eliminated
the train journey from Belfast) one of the most
fantastic in the United Kingdom. Just before entering
the station the train crossed a high bridge which
spanned the two and a half mile avenue between
Clandeboye and the sea. The station itself did not,
at first sight, differ from the other stations of the Bel-
fast and County Down Railway. There were the
same long low buildings, the same weather-boarding
painted a faint pink, the same ' approach * where the
jaunting cars waited for possible passengers, their
drivers standing up upon the footboard waving ex-
pectant whips. Yet the last door on the left opened
upon a little corridor which in its turn led to Lord