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."
[Illustration: "How was it you never let your mother know you'd won the
V.C.?"
"It wasna ma turrn tae write."]
[Illustration: ENGLAND EXPECTS
(With Mr. Punch's best hopes for the success of the National Industrial
Conference.)
BOTH LIONS (together): "Unaccustomed as I am to lie down with anything but
a lamb, still, for the sake of the public good ... "]
At home, though the rays of "sweet unrationed revelry" were still to come,
and _Dulce Domum_ could not yet be sung in every sense, February
brought us some relief in the demobilisation of the pivotal pig. And the
decision to hold a National Industrial Conference was of encouraging augury
for the settlement of industrial strife on the basis of a full inquiry and
frank statement of facts. In other walks of life reticence still has its
charms, and even in February people had begun to ask who the General was
who had threatened not to write a book about the War.
March, the mad month, remained true to type. Even Mr. Punch found it hard
to preserve his equanimity:
O Month, before your final moon is set
Much may have happened--anything, in fact;
More than in any March that I have met,
(Last year excepted) fearful nerves are racked;
Anarchy does with Russia what it likes;
Paris is put conundrums very knotty;
And here in England, with its talk of strikes,
Men, like your own March hares, seem going dotty.
Abroad the ex-Kaiser was very busy sawing trees, possibly owing to an
hallucination that they were German Generals.
[Illustration: