Now that I am no longer bound by the rules of the game, it is good to feel a free, honest man.
Never again shall I stretch forth my arms and thunder invectives against well-meaning people with whom in my heart I secretly sympathise.
Never again shall I plead passionately for principles which a horrible instinct tells me are fundamentally futile.

Never again shall I attempt to make mountains out of mole-hills or bricks without straw or sunbeams out of cucumbers.
I shall conduct no more inquiries into pauper lunacy, thank Heaven! And as for the public engagements which Dale Kynnersley made for me during my Thebaid existence on Murglebed-on-Sea, the deuce can take them all--I am free.
I only await the stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds, for which quaint post under the Crown I applied, to cease to be a Member of Parliament.
And yet, in spite of all my fine and superior talk, I am glad I am giving up in the recess.

I should not like to be out of my seat were the House in session.
I should hate to think of all the fascinating excitement over nothing going on in the lobbies without me, while I am still hale and hearty.
When Parliament meets in February I shall either be comfortably dead or so uncomfortably alive that I shall not care.
_Ce que c'est que de nous!_ I wonder how far Simon de Gex and I are deceiving each other?
There is no deception about my old friend Latimer, who called on me a day or two ago.

He is on the Stock Exchange, and, muddle-headed creature that he is, has been "bearing" the wrong things.

They have gone up sky-high.