Volume 156 — THOUGHTS IN COMMITTEE.

The War decays; the Offices disperse, And after many a bloomer flies the don; All kinds of Bodies perish with a curse, And only my Committee lingers on, Still rambles gaily in the same old rings, Still sighs, "At any rate, we are at one"; Yet even here, so catching, are these things, Something, I think, is going to be done. For me, I would not anything were done, But would for ever sit on this soft seat Each sweet recurrent Saturday, and run An idle pencil o'er the foolscap sheet, The free unrationed blotting-pad, and scrawl Delightful effigies of those who speak, But not myself say anything at all, Only be mute and beautiful and meek ... Are there not Ministers and ex-M.P.'s, A Knight, a Baronet, a Brigadier? Is it not wonderful to be with these, To watch, and after in the wifely ear Whisper, "This morning I exchanged some words With old Sir Somebody, who thought of Tanks; I saw the Chairman of the Board of Birds; I said, 'How are you?' and he answered, 'Thanks'"? So let us sit for ever—and expand; Let us be paid, not properly, but well. Let more men come, all opulent and bland, So that we qualify for some hotel, So that, as all the Constitution grows From little seeds long buried in the past, We too may be a part of it! Who knows? We may become a Ministry at last. And if indeed our end must be more tame, Let large well-mounted photographs be made Of this high gathering, and let each name Beneath each face be generously displayed, That I may say, when penury has crept Too near for decency, to some old snob, "That was the kind of company I kept When England needed me"—and get a job. A.P.H.