"We shall descend into the valleys again; but as long as the men
and women of this generation last, they will carry in their hearts
the image of those mighty peaks whose foundations are not shaken,
though Europe rock and sway in the convulsions of a great war."
Now take a closing look at the man himself. You see a stocky, well-knit
figure, broad of shoulder and deep of chest. The animated body is
surmounted by a face that alternately beams and gleams. There are
strength and sensitiveness, good humour, courage and resolution in these
features. His eyes are large and luminous, aglow at times with the
poetry of the Celt: aflame again with the fervour of mighty purpose. He
moves swiftly. To have him pass you by is to get a breath of life.
To all this strength and power he brings undeniable charm. In action he
is like a man exalted: in repose he becomes tender, dreamy, almost
childlike. His whole nature seems to be driven by a vast and volcanic
energy. This is why, like Roosevelt, he has been able to crowd the
achievements of half a dozen careers into one. He is indeed the Happy
Warrior.
Yet Lloyd George knows how to play. I have known him to work incessantly
all day and follow the Ministerial game far into the night. Ten o'clock
the next morning would find him on the golf links at Walton Heath fresh
and full of vim and energy. At fifty-three he is at the very zenith of
his strength.
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