lofty soul
  Who in a deck-chair lolls, and marks the map
  And says, “Push here,” while I and all my kind
  Scrabble and slaughter in the appointed slough. 
  But I, presumptuous, wore it, till the gods
  Called for my laundry with a thunderbolt.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  HOW TO LOSE THE WAR AT HOME.]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Monday, October 22nd.—­The fact that a couple of German raiders contrived to slip through the North Sea patrol the other night was made the excuse for an attack upon the Admiralty.  Sir Eric Geddes came down specially to assure the House that if it viewed things “in the right perspective” it would realise that such isolated incidents were unavoidable.  Members generally were convinced, I think, by the sight of the First Lord’s bulldog jaw, even more than by his words, that the Navy would not loose its grip on the enemy’s throat.

If “darkness and composure” are, as we have been told, the best antidotes to an air-raid, where would you be more likely to find them than in a CAVE?  The HOME SECRETARY’S explanation did not, of course, satisfy “P.B.”—­initials now standing for “Pull Baker”—­who, in a voice of extra raucosity, caused by his al-fresco oratory in East Islington, demanded that protection should be afforded to—­ballot-boxes.  But he and Mr. JOYNSON-HICKS and Mr. DILLON—­whose sudden solicitude for the inhabitants of London was gently chaffed by Mr. CHAMBERLAIN—­were deservedly trounced by Mr. BONAR LAW, who declared that if their craven squealings were typical he should despair of victory.

Who says that the removal of the grille has had no effect upon politics?  Exposed to the unimpeded gaze of the ladies in the Gallery the House decided with great promptitude that the female voter should not be called upon to state her exact age, but need only furnish a statutory declaration that she was over thirty.

Tuesday, October 23rd.—­So far as I know, the duties of a Junior Lord of the Treasury have never been exactly defined.  Apparently those of Mr. PRATT include the compilation of a “London Letter,” to be sent to certain favoured newspapers.  In one of them he appears to have stated that Mr. ASQUITH’S condition of health was so precarious that there was little likelihood of his resuming an active part in politics.  It was pleasant, therefore, to see the ex-Premier in his place again, and able to contribute to the Irish debate a speech showing no conspicuous failure either of intellect or verbal felicity.

[Illustration:  Mr. Duke.  “HERE, I SAY—­”

Mr. Redmond.  “SURE AN’ I’M SORRY, BUT THE GINTLEMAN BEHIND PUSHED ME.”]

Both Mr. REDMOND and Mr. DUKE had drawn a very gloomy picture of present-day Ireland—­the former, of course, attributing it entirely to the ineptitudes of the “Castle,” and being careful to say little or nothing to hurt the feelings of the Sinn Feiners, while the latter ascribed it to the rebellious speeches and actions of Mr. DE VALERA and the other hillside orators whom for some inscrutable reason he leaves at large.