Diamond Tom died and his eldest son Robert came
into possession of the estate.

Now, Robert was commonplace and beautifully mediocre. It is one of
Nature's little ironies at the expense of the Law of Entail that she
will occasionally send out of the spirit-realm, into a place of worldly
importance, a man who is a regular chibot, chitterling and chump. Robert
Pitt, son of Diamond Tom, escaped all censure and unkind criticism by
doing nothing, saying nothing and being nothing.

But he proved procreant and reared a goodly brood of sons and
daughters--all much like himself, save one, the youngest son.

This son, by name William Pitt, very much resembled Diamond Tom, his
illustrious grandfather--Nature bred back. William was strong in body,
firm in will, active, alert, intelligent. Times had changed or he might
have been a bold buccaneer, too. He was all his grandfather was, only
sandpapered, buffed and polished by civilization.

He was sent to Eton, and then to Trinity College, Oxford, where
buccaneer instincts broke out and he left without a degree. Two careers
were open to him, as to all aspiring sons of Noble Beef-eaters--he could
enter the Church or the Army.

He chose the Army, and became in due course the first cornet of his
company.

His elder brother Thomas was very naturally a member of the House of
Commons for Old Sarum, and later sat for Oakhampton. Another of Nature's
little ironies here outcrops: Thomas, who was named for his illustrious
grandfather--he of the crystallized carbon--didn't resemble his
grandfather nearly so much as did his younger brother William. So Thomas
with surprising good sense named his brother for a seat in the House of
Commons from Old Sarum.

William was but twenty-seven years of age when he began his official
career, but he seemed one who had leaped into life full-armed. He
absorbed knowledge on every hand. Demosthenes was his idol, and he, too,
declaimed by the seashore with his mouth full of pebbles. His splendid
command of language was acquired by the practise of translation and
retranslation. Whether Greek or Latin ever helped any man to become a
better thinker is a mooted question, but the practise of talking off in
your own tongue a page of a foreign language is a mighty good way to
lubricate your English.

William Pitt had all the graces of a great orator--he was deliberate,
self-possessed, positive. In form he was rather small, but he had a way
of carrying himself tha