A courteous and discreet Private Secretary, having attended to those who have come to the wrong department, and to those who are satisfied with an interview with him or with the officer who would have to attend to their particular business, brings into my not august presence a procession of all sorts and conditions of men.

Some know me personally, some bring letters of introduction or want to see me on questions of policy.

Others--for these the human link is most needed--must see the ultimate source of responsibility, which, in Ireland, whether it be head of a family or of a Department, is reduced from the abstract to the concrete by the pregnant pronoun 'himself.' I cannot reveal confidences, but I may give a few typical instances of, let us say, callers who might have called.
First comes a visitor, who turns out to be a 'man with an idea,' just home from an unpronounceable address in Scandinavia.

He has come to tell me that we have in Ireland a perfect gold mine, if we only knew it--in extent never was there such a gold field--no illusory pockets--good payable stuff in sight for centuries to come--and so on for five precious minutes, which seem like half a day, during which I have realised that he is an inventor, and that it is no good asking him to come to the point.

But I keep my eye riveted on his leather bag which is filled to bursting point, and manifest an intelligent interest and burning curiosity.