PEOPLE AND THINGS
By HAROLD NICOLSON
IT was a strange experience, last Friday, to watch the stages by which Herr Hitler's Reichstag speech per- colated into London. The House of Commons found itself in a mood of such impatient anxiety that it shuffled through its Private Members' Bills and adjourned before luncheon. Nothing, unless it be an undergraduate, can put itself to bed so rapidly as the House of Commons. The light goes out in the Clock Tower, the wail of " Who Goes Home?" ululates through the corridors, and in a few seconds that animated Chamber is lit only by a single electric bulb re- flecting sadly the litter of order-papers upon the floor. The Whips flick away from the doorway, the Members herd out amicably together with their satchels in their hands, the Lobby Correspondents light exhausted cigarettes, and in the space of three minutes the Palace of Westminster is empty of all but a few strayed revellers in the smoking-room. Even upon them, after ten minutes of careless rapture, descends the immense silence of the encircling palace. Louder and louder do the hoots of the Thames steamers echo upon their diminishing conversations. They rise guiltily and creep into the outer darkness of the corridors. A night-watchman (firm but obsequious) steers them with his lantern towards the outer door.
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