A "Bob Lowe" Story.

Golden Bay Argus, Volume VI, Issue 155, 18 May 1899, Page 3

A " Bob Lowe" Story.

An interesting book might be compiled if it were possible to obtain from Ministers ar account of their feelings, reflections, and experiences on the first occasion they ttre privileged to take their seat on the Treasury Bench. It is an enormous stride (generally, by the way, taken across the gangway) when a man quits the benches where private members sit and finds himself enrolled as one of her Majesty's Ministers. Once launched on those waters he may steer .his course in various direction.-;, and sometimes hits upon currents that carry him into the office of Prime Minister. Talking With a member of the late (Ministry on the epoch as it affected him, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

" 1 don't remember anything about the first night." he said, "except that after I 'had been sitting on the Treasury Bench a quarter of an hour Bob Lowe dropped in. and gave me enough to 'think of for the rest of the night. It was early in the session—a nasty, wet evening, the pavements thick with mud. Lowe had evidently walked, at least part of-the way, for his"boots were all muddy. As he crossed one leg over the other I became painfully conscious of a piece of once white tape ha.ng.ng out from the trouser by the heel, evidently connected with some under-gar-ment. He wore a curious coat, with Wg pockets outside, below the hips, such as in quiet country places one associates with the working poacher. I should not have been at all surprised if .he had brought out one of these huge receptacles a line hare, and out of the other a brace of pheasants. There was evidently something there. I guessed that by a certain bulkiness. In fact, as the bench filled up I was conscious of pressing against it. " With the ardour of a novice, I sat in my new place till close upon the dinner hour. So did Lowe. Just bef< re 8 o'clock I said I would go and get some dinner. Lowe said he thought he wouldn't trouble. Then he dived into 'the recesses of the pocket next to me, dragged out a chunk of bread, and ate it on the Treasury Bench. That, I fancy, was his dinner."—-H. W. Lucy, in the " Strand Magazine."