_Thursday._--Amid turmoil of Parliamentary week pleasant to look in on Wedgwood Benn in snug little den arranged for himself off quiet staircase leading from Central Lobby. When last week he mounted to roof of Westminster Hall, the way led for a quorum of Members by that youthful athlete Sir Thomas Roe (_aeat._ 80), he came upon party of grubs which, obedient to family tradition that goes back for centuries, had eaten into it. Conveyed choice specimens to his room and carefully provided for their comfort. His favourite is the _Xestobium tesselatum_, which boasts that at least 35 per cent. of the damage to historic roof stands to its credit. Turns out to be lively, intelligent creature. Wedgwood, always thoughtful of other people's tastes, brought down with him from the roof (in Thomas Roe's pocket) a few chips. One of these he placed in a saucer borrowed from the tea room. Here the grub, which for brevity we will call X., lives. In incredibly short time X. burrowed through the wood, its bright intelligent eyes gleaming out on the other side, as who should say, "Here I am again." Expects in time to be able to make it converse. Busy teaching it difference between a coup and a plot. Hasn't grasped it yet, its mother tongue being Norman-French. But prospect promising. _Business done._--In Committee of Supply on Post Office Vote. * * * * * JOHNNY RIGG. Johnny Rigg, the ranger, He walked in Wood-o'-Lea And happened on a stranger-- A nut-brown maid was she; His heart it did rejoice of her, As you may recognise; The wind was in the voice of her, The stars were in her eyes. Johnny Rigg, the ranger, He followed far away, He didn't know the danger That lurks at time o' may; She drew him with the smiles of her, She left him with a laugh, Bewildered with the wiles of her, And moon-struck as a calf. Johnny Rigg, the ranger, The muckle oaf was he; He followed of a stranger; She led him bonnily; The fox he marked the track of him And watched him through the segs; The tinkers ran a-back of him And stole his pheasant eggs! Now, all you jolly rangers, When nesting-time is on, Don't go to follow strangers, Nut-brown nor white as swan; Beware of 'em, be wise of 'em, For sooth it is that's said: When stars get in the eyes of 'em The moon gets in your head. * * * * * THE FUSER. In a moment of expansion, Sheila Armitage confided in me that she has worked it out, and that we are third cousins twice removed. I accept her word for this, because I have to work at other things, getting a living and so forth, while her sole occupation is to acquire a _flair_ as a hostess, week-ends being her speciality.