In the old House of Commons, which was swept away by the great fire of 1834, there was but one smoking-room. What it was like Macaulay describes in a letter to his sister, dated July 23, 1832. “I am writing here at eleven o’clock at night,” he said, “in the filthiest of filthy atmospheres, in the vilest of all vile company, and with the smell of tobacco in my nostrils.” In the Palace of Westminster to-day there are several rooms devoted to the enjoyment of tobacco. The engaging spectacle to be witnessed, by all accounts, in the chief smoking-room any night of a session suggests the question: Is there any reality in Party conflicts? If half what M.P.’s say of each other be true, a man who is not a politician and is careful of his reputation would not like to be discovered associating with them. Yet opponents who have just been raging furiously against each other in the Chamber, are, we are told, to be seen exchanging opinions of politics, questions and personalities, with mutual good humour, frankness and confidence over coffee and cigarettes, in the delightful companionship of the smoking-rooms. Political controversy has there its fangs drawn. The only emulation between Members of opposite political parties when they foregather in clouds of tobacco smoke is as to who will say the cheeriest word and tell the most amusing story, with the result that many fast friendships between them are formed. Chess is also played. It is the only game permitted at Westminster. One year there was a great match played over the telegraph wires between the House of Commons and the United States Congress, and though at one time the defeat of America seemed imminent, the match ended in a draw. In 1920 the introduction of billiards and cards was again suggested. “It is contrary to the traditions of the House that cards and billiards should be played within the precincts,” said Sir Alfred Mond, First Commissioner of Works, in reply. Then there is that most agreeable of all the adjuncts of the House, the Library. It consists of five pleasant rooms overlooking the river. The bookcases are of carved oak; the volumes are beautifully bound; Members move about silently, for all sound is deadened by the thick carpets, and the atmosphere is delightfully pervaded with the aroma of Russian leather. The books are about 50,000 in number, mainly historical, constitutional, legal, and political—just the works, in fact, where Members are certain to find the necessary material for confuting each other’s arguments.