t who has
crowned a long, disinterested and distinguished career by an act of
grievous disservice to his country. British grit will win, declares Sir
William Robertson; but our elderly statesmen must refrain from dropping
theirs into the machinery. Happily the Government are determined to give no
more publicity to the letter than they can help. On the Vote of Credit for
550 millions the Chancellor of the Exchequer has been invited by Mr. Dillon
to make a survey of the military situation, and has replied that all the
relevant facts are known already. "The War is going on; the Government and
the country intend it shall go on; and money is necessary to make it go
on." That was a good answer to a member who has certainly done little to
receive special consideration. Not only do we need money; we need men to
supply the gaps caused by our withdrawal of troops to Italy and the
constant wastage on all fronts.

Mr. Balfour, as we have seen, abstains from prophecy. Mr. Dillon, who, with
other Nationalists, bitterly resents the decision of the Government to
apply the rules of arithmetic to the redistribution of seats in their
beloved country, has indulged in a terrifying forecast which ought to be
placed on record. He has threatened the House with the possibility that at
the next General Election he and his colleagues might be wiped out of
existence.

Tommy is a very great man, but he is not a great linguist, though he always
gets what he wants by the aid of signs or telepathy. Three years and some
odd months have not changed his point of view, and now for Thomas to find
himself in Italy is only to discover another lot of people who cannot
understand or make themselves understood. "Alliances," as a correspondent
from Italy puts it, "are things as wonderful to see as they are magnificent
to read about. I do, however, regard with something approaching alarm the
new language which will be evolved to put the lot of us on complete
speaking terms."

[Illustration: THE NEED OF MEN

MR. PUNCH (to the Comber-out): "More power to your elbow, sir. But when are
you going to fill up that silly gap?"

SIR AUCKLAND GEDDES: "Hush! Hush! We're waiting for the Millennium."]

[Illustration:

THE NEW LANGUAGE

TOMMY (to inquisitive French children): "Nah, then, alley toot sweet, an
the tooter the sweeter!"]

Lord Rhondda, who listened from the Peers' gallery to the recent debate in
the Commons on Food Control, has received a quantity of ad