"To those who shrug their shoulders and say that a series of kaleidoscopic changes in Irish administration would never be approved by the good sense of the British electorate I can only urge that it is precisely this attitude of intolerance towards and ignorance of Irish psychology which has rendered our behaviour to Ireland for so many centuries a by-word not only throughout Europe but the whole civilised world and the United States of America. "I am, Sir, yours, etc." Through some accident or other, either because I have not followed exactly the prescribed rules of the competition, such as writing on one side of the paper only, or addressing it from the National Liberal Club, or obtaining the signature of five witnesses, my solution has not yet appeared in _The Times_ or in _The Westminster Gazette_ either. Feeling it a pity, however, that any helpful suggestion should be lost at a time when never in the annals of Irish misgovernment has vacillation vacillated so vacillatingly as it does to-day, I have repeated my strong but simple proposals here. K. * * * * * "Clever forgeries of Fisher notes are in circulation in St. Pancras. Last night, during the busy period, a number of publications in the Kentish Town district were victimised."--_Evening Paper_. We had no idea that Kentish Town was such a literary centre. * * * * * "Even Paris seems willing this season to add a few inches to the length of skirts, and six to eight inches is becoming the accepted length for street wear. This is an excellent length, not so long as to endanger the chic of the costume, nor so short as to be unbecoming in either sense of the word."--_Fashion Paper_. We refrain from any speculations as to the previous length of these skirts before the "few inches" were added. * * * * * [Illustration: THE POLISH HUG. BOLSHEVIST. "YOUR ATTITUDE CONVINCES ME, KAMERAD, THAT WE WERE MEANT TO BE FRIENDS."] * * * * * [Illustration: _Willium_ (_having at critical stage in four-handed game undertaken to spot the red_). "'TIS ALL OVER, GEARGE--MY HAND BE STUCK IN THE POCKUT."] * * * * * ELIZABETH OUTWITTED. "An' when I dies they give me fifteen pounds on the nail an' no waitin'," said Elizabeth triumphantly, as she explained her latest insurance scheme. "On what nail?" I asked distrustfully. I could not understand why Elizabeth felt justified in paying sixpence per week for a benefit fraught with so little ultimate joy to herself. But she is the sort of girl that can never resist the back-door tout. She is constantly being persuaded to buy something for which she pays a small weekly sum. This is entered in a book, and the only conditions are that she must continue paying that sum for the rest of her natural lifetime.