The Military Service Bill has passed through both Houses, and may be trusted to hasten still further the amazing growth of our once “contemptible little” Army.  The pleasantest incident during the month at Westminster has been the tribute paid to the gallantry and self-sacrifice of the officers and men of our mercantile marine.  The least satisfactory aspect of Parliamentary activity has been the ventilation of silly rumours at Question time, in which Mr. Ginnell has been so well to the fore as to suggest some subtle connection between cattle-driving and hunting for mares’ nests.

Steps have already been taken to restrict the imports of luxuries, and Ministers are believed to be unanimous in regarding “ginger” as an article whose importation might be profitably curtailed.  It has been calculated that the annual expenses saved by the closing of the London Museums and Galleries amount to about one-fifth of the public money spent on the salaries of Members of Parliament.  In other words: 

  Let Art and Science die,
  But give us still our old Loquacity.

Intellectual retrenchment, of course, is desirable,

  But let us still keep open one collection
    Of curiosities and quaint antiques,
  Under immediate Cabinet direction—­
    The finest specimens of talking freaks,
  Who constitute our most superb museum,
  Judged by the salaries with which we fee ’em.

Lord Sumner, however, seems to have no illusions on this score.  He is reported to have said that “if the House of Lords and the House of Commons could be taken and thrown into a volcano every day the loss represented would be less than the daily loss of the campaign.”  It sounds a drastic remedy, but might be worth trying.

Field-Marshal Lord French has taken over the responsibility for home defence against enemy aircraft, with Sir Percy Scott as his expert adviser.  But the status of Sir Percy, who, as officially announced, “has not quite left the Admiralty and has not quite joined the War Office,” seems to suggest “a kind of giddy harumfrodite—­soldier an’ sailor too.”

The War fosters the study of natural and unnatural history.

[Illustration:  FIRST LADY:  “That’s one of them Australian soldiers.”

SECOND LADY:  “How do you know?”

FIRST LADY:  “Why, can’t you see the Kangaroo feathers in his hat?”]

Many early nestings are recorded as the result of mild weather, and at least one occasional visitor (Polonius bombifer) has laid eggs in various parts of the country.

March, 1916.

The month of the War god has again justified its name and its traditions.  Both entry and exit have been leonine.  The new submarine “frightfulness” began on the 1st, and the battle round Verdun, in which the fate of Paris, to say the least, is involved, has raged with unabated fury throughout the entire month.

Germany’s junior partners, Turkey and Bulgaria, are for the moment more concerned with bleeding Germany than with shedding their blood for her; Enver Pasha is reported to have gone to pay a visit to the tomb of the Prophet at Medina; Portugal, our oldest ally, is now officially at war with Germany, and the dogs of frightfulness are already toasting “der Tagus.”