w, the
principal function of the House of Commons nowadays is to provide
amusing "copy" for the late editions of the evening papers and to give
the "sketch"-writers a chance of exercising their pretty wits. As Mr.
SPENCER LEIGH HUGHES once remarked in an after-dinner speech to Mr.
BALFOUR, "You, Sir, are our raw material."

Now, what I complain of is that on the present occasion the voters
have entirely disregarded the needs of the journeymen of the Press,
and have ruthlessly deprived them of the greater part of their raw
material. Mr. HUGHES himself, I am glad to see, has been spared, but
he fortunately had not to undergo the hazards of a contest. I tremble
to think what his fate might have been if at the last moment some
stodgy statesman had been nominated to oppose him.

Against humour, conscious or unconscious, the voters seem to have
solidly set their faces. It was bad enough that Mr. JOE KING--who has
probably helped to provide more deserving journalists with a living
than any other legislator who ever lived--should have declined the
contest. Question-time without Mr. KING and his unerring nose for
mare's-nests will be like _Alice_ without _The Mad Hatter_. It was
bad, too, that Sir HEDWORTH MEUX should have decided to interrupt the
flow of that eloquence which we were forbidden to call "breezy," and
that Major "Boadicea" HUNT, Mr. JOHN BURNS, Mr. TIM HEALY, and Mr.
SWIFT MACNEILL should have withdrawn from a scene in which they had
provided so much profitable entertainment for the gods in the Press
Gallery.

These losses made it all the more incumbent upon the electors to see
that the House should retain as much as possible of the remnant of its
comic relief. But what do we find? Why, that practically every one of
the gentlemen who made the journalist's life worth living in the last
Parliament has been cruelly turned down.

For much of this grief the Sinn Feiners are responsible. They
have easily accomplished what a few years ago six stalwart British
constables could scarcely do and have removed the gigantic Mr. FLAVIN
from his emerald bench. With him have gone nearly all his comrades;
and the once-powerful Nationalist party, which for nearly forty years
has been such an unfailing source of sparkling paragraphs, is reduced
to the number immortalised by WORDSWORTH'S little maid.

Almost more distressing than the loss of individuals is the breaking
up of Parliamentary partnerships. What is the use of Mr. HOUS