be demobilised.  Another exodus of a less desirable sort was that of the Sinn Fein prisoners, which gave rise to the rumour that the Lord Lieutenant had threatened that if they destroyed any more jails they would be rigorously released.  Sinn Fein, which refused to fight Germany, had already begun to play at a new sort of war.  Australia was preparing to welcome the homing transports sped with messages of Godspeed from the Motherland: 

  Rich reward your hearts shall hold,
    None less dear if long delayed,
  For with gifts of wattle-gold
    Shall your country’s debt be paid;
  From her sunlight’s golden store
  She shall heal your hurts of war.

  Ere the mantling Channel’s mist
    Dim your distant decks and spars,
  And your flag that victory kissed
    And Valhalla hung with stars—­
  Crowd and watch our signal fly: 
  “Gallant hearts, good-bye! Good-bye!"

[Illustration: 

THE 1919 MODEL

MR. PUNCH:  “They’ve given you a fine new machine, Mr. Premier, and you’ve got plenty of spirit, but look out for bumps.”]

February, a month of comparative anti-climax, witnessed the reassembling of Parliament, fuller than ever of members if not of wisdom.  As none of the Sinn Feiners were present, nor indeed any representative of Irish Nationalism, the proceedings were as orderly as a Quaker’s funeral, save for the arrival of one member on a motor-scooter.  Perhaps the most interesting information elicited during the debates was this—­that every question put down costs the tax-payer a guinea.  On February 20th there were 282 on the Order Paper, and Mr. Punch was moved to wonder whether this cascade of curiosity might be abated if every questionist were obliged to contribute half the cost, the amount to be deducted from his official salary.  The Speaker, the greatest of living Parliamentarians, was re-elected by acclamation.  Though human and humorous, he has grown into something almost more like an institution than a man, like Big Ben, that great patriot and public servant who never struck during the war.  The best news in February was that of M. Clemenceau’s escape, though wounded, from the Anarchist assassin who had attempted to translate Trotsky’s threat into action.  But it did not help on the proposed Conference with the Russians at Prinkipo or encourage the prospect of any tangible results from the deliberation of the Prinkipotentiaries.  The plain man could see no third choice beyond supporting Bolshevism or anti-Bolshevism.  But according to our Prime Minister, we were committed to a compromise.  The Allies were not prepared to intervene in force, and they could not leave Russia to stew in her own hell-broth.  Meanwhile the chief criminal, Germany, had begun to utter ad misericordiam appeals for the relaxation of the Armistice terms on the score of their cruelty; and Count Brockdorff-Rantzau gave us a foretaste of his quality by declaring that “Germany cannot be treated as a second-rate nation.”