ut of various coats and comforters.
But he was in full possession not only of his intellects but of
his bodily power, showing, as many politicians do show, that the
cares of the nation may sit upon a man's shoulders for many years
without breaking or even bending them. For the Duke had belonged to
ministries for nearly the last half century. As the chronicles have
also dealt with him, no further records of his past life shall now be
given.

He had said something about the Queen, expressing gracious wishes for
the comfort of her Majesty in all these matters, something of the
inconvenience of these political journeys to and fro, something also
of the delicacy and difficulty of the operations on hand which were
enhanced by the necessity of bringing men together as cordial allies
who had hitherto acted with bitter animosity one to another, before
the younger Duke said a word. "We may as well," said the elder, "make
out some small provisional list, and you can ask those you name to be
with you early to-morrow. But perhaps you have already made a list."

"No indeed. I have not even had a pencil in my hand."

"We may as well begin then," said the elder, facing the table when he
saw that his less-experienced companion made no attempt at beginning.

"There is something horrible to me in the idea of writing down men's
names for such a work as this, just as boys at school used to draw
out the elevens for a cricket match." The old stager turned round and
stared at the younger politician. "The thing itself is so momentous
that one ought to have aid from heaven."

Plantagenet Palliser was the last man from whom the Duke of St.
Bungay would have expected romance at any time, and, least of all,
at such a time as this. "Aid from heaven you may have," he said, "by
saying your prayers; and I don't doubt you ask it for this and all
other things generally. But an angel won't come to tell you who ought
to be Chancellor of the Exchequer."

"No angel will, and therefore I wish that I could wash my hands of
it." His old friend still stared at him. "It is like sacrilege to me,
attempting this without feeling one's own fitness for the work. It
unmans me,--this necessity of doing that which I know I cannot do
with fitting judgment."

"Your mind has been a little too hard at work to-day."

"It hasn't been at work at all. I've had nothing to do, and have been
unable really to think of work. But I feel that chance circumstances
have put me