1. THE RIGHT HON. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE, O.M., M.P. 2. MR. WILLIAM GEORGE, THE FATHER OF DAVID LLOYD GEORGE 3. “HIGHGATE”—NOW “ROSE COTTAGE”—THE COTTAGE AT LLANYSTUMDWY WHERE MR. LLOYD GEORGE WAS BROUGHT UP AS A BOY 4. “UNCLE LLOYD”: MR. RICHARD LLOYD, THE UNCLE OF DAVID LLOYD GEORGE 5. THE SMITHY AT LLANYSTUMDWY: THE OLD “VILLAGE PARLIAMENT” 6. MRS. WILLIAM GEORGE, THE MOTHER OF DAVID LLOYD GEORGE 7. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE AT THE AGE OF SIXTEEN 8. MRS. LLOYD GEORGE 9. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE AS A YOUNG MAN THE PRIME MINISTER THE PRIME MINISTER CHAPTER I CHILDHOOD “When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.” SHAKESPEARE’S _Twelfth Night_, Act v, Sc. i. EVERY school-child is familiar with that striking shape taken by North Wales on the map of Britain, so like to a human being pointing with outstretched arm down St. George’s Channel towards the Atlantic. In that shape Anglesey is the head, and Carnarvonshire is the pointed arm. On the lower side of the arm, towards the hollow of the armpit, there lie a village and two small towns. Naming from west to east they are Llanystumdwy, Criccieth, and Portmadoc. In these three places and in the country around them the childhood and youth of David Lloyd George was entirely spent. It was there that he was trained and educated, and there that his mind first formed vivid impressions of the universe—there, on the sea-limits of Wales between the mountains and the ocean. It is a fertile country, watered by streams from the mountains and showers from the Irish Channel, a country of deep grasses and rich woods right up to the foot of the mountains and down to the verge of the sea. From every raised point you obtain wide-stretching views. Facing you along the south-eastern horizon are the hills of Merionethshire, often shrouded in sea-mist, but on good days clear to the utmost detail of field and hedgerow. Still farther away, in the very best weather, can sometimes be seen even the outline of St. David’s Head and of the Pembrokeshire hills. Nearer home, the great stretch of Cardigan Bay sweeps round to the east in many a bend and fold of the coast. From above Criccieth you can see the famous castle of Harlech and the golden glitter of the sands at Barmouth, though you cannot hear the “moaning of the bar.” Taking it all in all, there are few finer prospects along the immense and varied sea-board of these islands.