f
80 in House of 608 Members.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE NUTS? "No, the form of the right hon.
gentleman is not the embodiment of the Suburban Nut."--_Mr. Lulu
Harcourt on the Member for Wimbledon, Mr. Chaplin, in the Debate on the
Plural Voting Bill._]

_Thursday._--Amid turmoil of Parliamentary week pleasant to look in on
Wedgwood Benn in snug little den arranged for himself off quiet
staircase leading from Central Lobby. When last week he mounted to roof
of Westminster Hall, the way led for a quorum of Members by that
youthful athlete Sir Thomas Roe (_aeat._ 80), he came upon party of grubs
which, obedient to family tradition that goes back for centuries, had
eaten into it. Conveyed choice specimens to his room and carefully
provided for their comfort.

His favourite is the _Xestobium tesselatum_, which boasts that at least
35 per cent. of the damage to historic roof stands to its credit. Turns
out to be lively, intelligent creature. Wedgwood, always thoughtful of
other people's tastes, brought down with him from the roof (in Thomas
Roe's pocket) a few chips. One of these he placed in a saucer borrowed
from the tea room. Here the grub, which for brevity we will call X.,
lives. In incredibly short time X. burrowed through the wood, its bright
intelligent eyes gleaming out on the other side, as who should say,
"Here I am again."

Expects in time to be able to make it converse. Busy teaching it
difference between a coup and a plot. Hasn't grasped it yet, its mother
tongue being Norman-French. But prospect promising.

_Business done._--In Committee of Supply on Post Office Vote.

* * * * *

JOHNNY RIGG.

Johnny Rigg, the ranger,
He walked in Wood-o'-Lea
And happened on a stranger--
A nut-brown maid was she;
His heart it did rejoice of her,
As you may recognise;
The wind was in the voice of her,
The stars were in her eyes.

Johnny Rigg, the ranger,
He followed far away,
He didn't know the danger
That lurks at time o' may;
She drew him with the smiles of her,
She left him with a laugh,
Bewildered with the wiles of her,
And moon-struck as a calf.

Johnny Rigg, the ranger,
The muckle oaf was he;
He followed of a stranger;
She led him bonnily;
The fox he marked the track of him
And watched him through the segs;
The tinkers ran a-back of him
And stole his pheasant eggs!

Now, all you jolly rangers