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: