d here. Glad to know I was
intimately acquainted with the House and, with rare exceptions, with the
principal personages in either political camp through a long stretch of
older, more picturesque time.

I close the Diary here, not because I am tired of writing it, nor, as
continuous testimony indicates, because a generous public is tired of
reading. But I am not disposed to linger superfluous on the stage. So I
withdraw, carrying with me my little bag of tricks, the sententious Dog,
the cynical SARK and the rest of the contents.

Henceforward some new form will be given to the "Essence of Parliament"
which was created by SHIRLEY BROOKS, and enlivened by the hand of TOM
TAYLOR.

_Business done._--TOBY, M.P.'S.

* * * * *

A DIRTY NIGHT.

THE night is starless, with a darkness so enveloping that it seems to
possess palpability. As we reel westward in a smother of water the
miracle of how any human being equipped with but five senses can find
and keep his course in the chartless void that envelops us smites me
afresh.

A longing for an atmosphere unimpregnated with petrol eventually sends
me stumbling up the companion-way to the deck. Gripping the rail, I make
my way forward, and, peering through the mirk, distinguish a huddled
figure in a sou'wester. Aloof, detached, he steers the shrewdest,
swiftest path ever carved through a wall of blackness on behalf of
dependent fellow-creatures.

"A wild night," I shout.

He turns slightly and answers in a hoarse bellow, "The better for us,
mister. Keeps the track clear. Ought to get in ahead o' time."

The yellow glare from our lights glances in broken splashes of colour
over the waters, as the squat craft heaves and rolls with rhythmic
regularity. From somewhere below comes the monotonous throb of the
protesting engines. A red light gleams suddenly on our starboard, and I
catch my breath. AEons pass, it seems, before a panther-like clutch at
the wheel carries us aside in time to let the offender plunge drunkenly
past. We were near enough to throw a biscuit on her deck. A swift
exchange of badinage follows.

"Lost yer job o' puntin' coal-barges?"

"Yuss--they're usin' donkey-power instead. I give in your name 'fore I
left, but they 'adn't a spare stable." After which, the immediate danger
past, we plough our way down a blurred track on either side of which
lurks Peril in a hundred grim and invisible shapes.

The temperature, already