watching the royal box. When the performance was nearing the end he
amused me still more by suggesting that we should hurry out and watch
the Prince drive off. "I do so like to see that sort of thing," he
added.

Mr. Chamberlain, however, is not the man to care what his foes or his
old political friends think or say about him. Water on a duck's back is,
I fancy, an oppressive agony compared with the right honourable
gentleman's feelings when he hears or reads the condemnatory and abusive
remarks of some of his former allies. If at any time he does perchance
feel at all stung by any of the adverse criticisms he hears or reads, he
takes care not to show that he is hurt.

Sparks will fly upwards, and Mr. Chamberlain has had his troubles, but
he does not wear his heart on his sleeve, or carry his woes into the
market place. I remember many years ago, under the stress of severe
domestic affliction, he retired into private life for a considerable
period, and it was said that during his self-imposed obscurity he sought
occupation and solace in the study of Blue Books. Anyway, when he
emerged into public life again he appeared as the author of a magazine
article of an advanced political character, which seemed to shew that he
had spent his solitude in studying and trying to solve some of the large
political problems of the day.

In contemplating Mr. Chamberlain's remarkable career and his high rise
in the political world, I am tempted to wonder whether he would have
built his large mansion near Birmingham if he could have foreseen the
immediate future. When he made up his mind to erect his house at a great
cost he perhaps scarcely dreamed he would so soon become a Cabinet
Minister. Possibly he looked forward to being little more than a local