s inaugurated by a Member
of the Government automatically proved it wrong. No good could come from
such a corrupt agglomeration of salary-seekers as the Coalition
Ministry. Speaking as one who knew Germany from within, he would say
that to put any obstacle in the way of the public expression of opinion
in England was to help the foe. (Hear, hear.)

Mr. Bernold Pennit said that the Government's action paralysed him. For
years he had been in the habit of writing his ten thousand words a day.
It did not much matter what they were about; the point was that they
were written. Otherwise he could not keep in good health. Where another
man might do Swedish exercises, ride, walk, eat or play golf, he, Mr.
Pennit, wrote. (Hear, hear.) It might be an attack on British stupidity;
it might be a eulogy of Mr. ASQUITH; it might be a description of the
arrival of a ton of coal at an auctioneer's private residence in Handley
and its transference to the cellar and the discovery that there was one
hundredweight one stone short. Whatever the theme, there were ten
thousand words in any case, and unless he could write them daily he was
lost. The tragic thing was that he could write only in ink and with his
own hand. (Sensation.) Before meddling with ink there were all sorts of
things for the Government to forbid. Golf balls, for one. He wished to
express his complete dissatisfaction with Mr. RUNCIMAN's insane
proposal. (Cheers.)

Mr. Bolaire Hillock thought that a great deal too much fuss was being
made about ink. The Board of Trade was, of course, an ass; that goes
without saying (_ca va sans dire_); but it is childish of literary men to
come there and pretend to be nonplussed. Let them rather show themselves
superior to such trumpery legislation. As an old campaigner he could
tell them what to do. When he was an artilleryman in France, and writing
a series of articles on the Reformation at the same time, he mixed an
excellent substitute for ink out of the ashes of his pipe and claret.
There were countless things that could be utilised, including blacking,
seethed mushrooms, boiled ash-buds, and the juice of the pickled walnut.
With such resources as these we intended to go on writing and drawing
diagrams long after Mr. RUNCIMAN was forgotten. (Loud cheers.)

Lord Penge said that one of the purest pleasures of life was writing to
_The Times_, and how could that be done if there was no ink? Some people
doubtless could use pencil; but he pe