Those back-bench days!  Ah me, ah me, rude Members christened me “F.E.”  And even Punch, in kindly glee, once on a time, did picture me a prowling beast, beside the sea, all spotted o’er with signs, “F.E.”  That patronymic thus will be preserved for immortality.  Newspapers, too, I chance to see sometimes apply that name to me.

Although I found smart repartee, shot forth from back seats, gave me glee, still I aspired to climb the tree, so with restrained temerity I donned a gown of silk, i.e. became a fully-fledged K.C.  Then, after able A.J.B. was shunted by his great party and A.B.L. assumed the see, the latter’s finger beckoned me to face direct the enemy.  Anon the KING created me a member of his own P.C.

And then “the active life” for me, as Galloper to “Gen’ral” C., the loyal Ulsterman, to free from acts of Irish devilry.  I thanked “whatever gods may be” for training with the Yeomanry!

Then came the war with Germany.  Alas, again I sighed, “Ah me,” and viewed the aspect gloomily, for I was then in apogee from all that mighty company that domineered the H. of C. A. ruled the roast, not A.J.B.  But happy thought, that company of muddlers held one hope for me—­my constant pal of Yeomanry, the smashing, dashing WINSTON C.; result—­the Censorship for me.  But not for long.  The fresh and free and open air was calling me, so off I went across the sea to join the fighting soldiery.  But soon there came a call for me, and back I came across the sea to be His Majesty’s S.-G.

What next was I?  Eureka! “The Right Hon. Sir F.E.  SMITH, K.C.”

Then came the storm.  Sir EDWARD C. threw up his job and let in me, before I scarce could laugh, “He, he!” to be His Majesty’s A.-G.  That wasn’t bad, I think, for me—­a mild young man of forty-three!

Next came “the quiet life” for me.  I held my tongue, but drew my fee and eke my A.-G. salary.  Not e’en the great calamity that overtook A.’s Ministry and raised the wizard, D.L.G., to offices of high degree disturbed my sweet serenity.  Nor did I jib when Sir R.B.  FINLAY took on unblushingly the job that seemed cut out for me.  Unwilling he his weird to dree! I whispered, “Mum’s the word for me!”

Now, after waiting patiently, as fits a man of my degree, the Woolsack cries aloud for me, and soft and soothing it will be to my whole frame and dignity.  And unto those who wish from me to know what will the ending be of my august biography, I answer in a minor key and classic language, “Wait and see!”

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TRANSFORMATION.

My house, which I am trying to let, is a modest little affair in the country.  It has a small meadow to the south and the road to the north.  There are some evergreens about the lawn.  The kitchen garden is large but most indifferently tended; indeed it is partly through dissatisfaction with a slovenly gardener that I decided to leave.  The nearest town is a mile distant; the nearest station two miles and a half.  We have no light laid on except in a large room in the garden, where acetylene gas has been installed.