d and met together--namely,
the overwhelming of an Italian warehouseman and the retention of a
parliamentary seat in an unimportant provincial district.

Once only have I heard that speech bettered, and that was in the House
of Commons on a night in June fifteen years later, when a Prime Minister
started up from the Treasury Bench to defend a colleague whose
Bill--since recognised as one of the most statesmanlike measures of our
generation--was being submitted to the narrowest and meanest canons of
party criticism. It was another appeal for fair-play, unbiassed
judgment, and breadth of view, and it took a hostile and captious House,
Government and Opposition alike, by storm. The name of the Prime
Minister on that occasion was John Champion, and the colleague whom he
defended was Robert Chalmers Fordyce.

After Champion had sat down--nominally his speech was a vote of
confidence in my unworthy self--Robin rose to second the motion. I did
not envy him his task. It is an ungrateful business at the best, firing
off squibs directly after a shower of meteors. Even a second shower of
meteors would be rather a failure under the circumstances. Robin
realised this. He put something into his pocket and told his audience a
couple of stories--dry, pawky, Scottish yarns--which he admitted were
not new, not true, and not particularly relevant. The first was a
scurrilous anecdote concerning a man from Paisley,--which illustrious
township, by the way, appears to be the target of practically all
Scottish humour,--and the other treated of a Highland minister who was
delivering to a long-suffering congregation a discourse upon the Minor
Prophets. Robin told us how the preacher worked through Obadiah,
Ezekiel, Nahum, Malachi, "and many others whose names are doubtless
equally familiar to you, gentlemen," he added amid chuckles, "placing
them in a kind of ecclesiastical order of merit as he proceeded; and
finally he came to Habakkuk.

"'What place, my friends, what place will we assign to Habakkuk?' he
roared.

"That, gentlemen," said Robin, "proved to be the last straw. A man rose
up under the gallery.

"'Ye can pit him doon here in my seat,' he roared. 'I'm awa' hame!'

"Gentlemen," added Robin, as the shout of laughter subsided, "I fear
that one of you will be for offering _his_ seat to Habakkuk if I go on
any longer, so I will just second the motion and sit down."

After that I rose to my weary feet and offered my contribution. I