easures. The rest proofs of the
energy and legislative capacity of private Members.

Of course at this stage of Session only small proportion of Government
Bills are likely to reach the Statute Book; those in hands of private
Members have no chance whatever. Still, imposing display looks well on
paper. In its various developments adds considerably to amount of
stationery bill.

_Business done._--In Committee of Supply on Post Office Vote, a trifle
of L26,151,830, the Holt Report on postmen's demand for higher wages
discussed.

_Thursday._--Walking down Victoria Street on way to House of Commons,
as is my custom of an afternoon, I come upon my old friend the
sandwich-board man. He stands in the shadow of Westminster Abbey
panoplied back and front with boards making the latest announcement of
newcomers to Madame Tussaud's. Morning and afternoon, all day long, he
stands there, the life of London surging past. We generally have a
little chat, and occasionally he gets a cigar.

One mystery that long piqued me he solved. If you chance upon
sandwich-board men marching to head-quarters, like old _Kaspar_ at his
garden gate their day's work done, you will notice they always carry
their boards upside down. The passer-by, consumed by desire to know what
truth these proclaim, must needs assume inverted attitude in order to
profit by announcement. Why do they so scrupulously observe that custom?

"Point of honour," says my sandwich-board man. "What you call class
interests. We are paid little enough for so many hours' tramp. When the
hour of deliverance strikes we turn the board upside down. So we do when
we sit down by crowded thoroughfare to eat our mid-day bread-and-cheese,
or bread without cheese as may happen. Not going to give the master more
than he pays for."

What specially attracted me to-day was communication received from
MEMBER FOR SARK. Says he hears that WINTERTON is about to be added to
Madame Tussaud's!

[Illustration: THE WINTERTON WAX-WORK.]

Suppose this, next of course to Westminster Abbey, is highest compliment
possible for public man. On reflection I say not quite. LULU stands on
triple pinnacle of fame. On one or other the New Zealander, bored with
the monotony of the ruins of London Bridge, sure to hap upon his name
writ large.

There is the Harcourt Room in House of Commons, a spacious dining-hall
cunningly contrived with lack of acoustical properties that make it
difficult to hear what a conver