_Thursday, March 13th_.--Ministers left at home to "mind the shop" would rather like, I fancy, to put up a notice over the Palace of Westminster, "Closed till after the Peace Conference." Nearly every problem presented to them depends for its ultimate solution upon the decisions arrived at in Paris. Lord STUART OF WORTLEY, for example, put a series of most pressing questions regarding the present condition and future prospects of Poland; but Lord CURZON in reply could only shrug his shoulders (at considerable length) and refer him to the Conference. The LEADER of the House of Commons labours under similar disabilities, which are beginning to try even his amiable temper. Until Paris has spoken he cannot give definite information about the Government's fiscal policy, the amount of the German indemnity and other pressing topics, and, as he told some of his persistent questioners this afternoon, it is no good putting the same question to him every week and expecting a different answer. The best news of the day is that there will be an ample supply of currants for Whitsuntide school-treats, and _Smith minor's_ translation of "_Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum_" as "Not everyone is lucky enough to find a currant in his war-bun" will no longer be applicable. Five years ago General SEELY, then Secretary of State for War, asked timidly for a single million for aircraft. To-day, as Under-Secretary for Air, he boldly demanded sixty-six millions, and explained that but for the Armistice the amount would have been two hundred millions. And the House, after hearing his glowing account of the wonderful achievements of our airmen, readily voted the money. A good deal of it is to go, quite rightly, to relieving the hardships of demobilisation, which fall with peculiar severity on men whose special training is not much use to them in civil life. The least we can do when they are forced to descend from their chosen element is to insure them against a bad landing. * * * * * TO A VEGETABLE-MARROW. O monstrous, O Gargantuan, overgrown! O huge! O gross! O squat! Whose one redeeming virtue--one alone-- Is that you weigh a lot; Who will not thrive upon the common soil, So that the patient digger e'en must toil To raise a special mound Above the level ground That you may sun yourself upon the sloping earth And, like the wicked, wax to an uncommon girth. But it is not your vast circumference That stirs this passing strain; I would not sing although, to move you hence, They fetched their biggest crane; It is that men should shovel tons of _that_ Into the maws of some capacious vat, Add sugar (half-a-pound) And stir it round and round; Then, at the last, throw in some ginger with a spade And label the result as "Lemon Marmalade." * * * * * From a description of the first flight of R 33:--