The HOME SECRETARY moved the second reading of the Representation of the People Bill with a suavity befitting a CAVE of Harmony; and by the clearness of his exposition very nearly enabled the House to understand the mysteries of proportional representation, though even now I should not like to have to describe off-hand the exact working of “the single transferable vote.”

The opponents of the Bill were well-advised in selecting Colonel SANDERS as their champion.  With his jolly round face, bronzed by the suns of Palestine, he looks the typical agriculturalist.  He may, as he says, have forgotten in the trenches all the old tricks of the orator’s trade, but he has learned some useful new ones, and while delighting the House with his sporting metaphors struck some shrewd blows at a measure which he regards as unfair and inopportune.

For almost the first time since the War Lord HUGH CECIL was discovered in quite his best form.  The House rippled with delight at his refusal to be forcibly fed with a peptonized concoction, prepared by the SPEAKER’S Conference in the belief that the Mother of Parliaments was too old and toothless to chew her own victuals.  “This Bill is Benger’s Food, and you, Sir, and your Committee are Bengers.”

The SOLICITOR-GENERAL’S solid and solemn arguments in favour of the Bill fell a little flat after this sparkling attack.  He should have said, “The noble Lord reminds me, not for the first time, of GILBERT’S ‘Precocious Infant,’ who

  ’Turned up his nose at his excellent pap—­
    “My friends, it’s a tap
    Dat is not worf a rap.” 
  (Now this was remarkably excellent pap).’”

Wednesday, May 23rd—­The Russian officers who adorned the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery this afternoon must be a little puzzled by the vagaries of British politics.  They had been informed, no doubt, that the most urgent problem of the day was caused by the desire of one of the British Isles to manage its own affairs.  Yet the first thing they heard at Westminster was the petition of another of these Isles—­that of Man—­begging release from the burden of Home Rule and demanding representation in the Imperial Parliament.  Perhaps this little incident will help our visitors to appreciate why Englishmen do not invariably form a just judgment of events in other countries—­Russia, for instance.

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[Illustration:  Our Win-the-War Garden Suburb Enthusiast (as the storm bursts).  “MADAM!  MADAM!  WILL YOU KINDLY PUT DOWN YOUR UMBRELLA?  IT’S KEEPING THE RAIN OFF MY ALLOTMENT.”]

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=SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION.=

V.

  Oh, for grapes a-growing
       In Ludgate and the Fleet! 
     Cauliflowers blowing
       Down Regent’s Street! 
     Oranges and Lemons
     Clustered by St. Clemen’s,
  And Sea Kale careering past the kerb on London Wall! 
  And oh, for private Mushroom beds rolling down the Mall!