confronted, when packing-up time arrived, with the problem of the sponge.
No matter how muscular the fingers that wring this article, no matter how
thick and costly the rubbered receptacle that holds it, there is always the
chance of dampness communicating itself to other things in the bag. Isn't
there?

How so to squeeze the sponge as to drive out the last drop of moisture was
the problem before the massive intellect of the Grand Old Man. Need I say
that he solved it? His method, as he himself in his unselfish way, told one
of the diarists, possibly Sir M.E. GRANT-DUFF, possibly Mr. G.W.E.
RUSSELL--I forget whom--was to wrap up the sponge in a bath-towel and jump
on it. Here, for the historical painter, is a theme indeed--something worth
all the ordinary dull occasions which provoke his talented if somewhat
staid brush: the great Liberal statesman, the promoter of Home Rule, the
author of _The Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture_, leaping upon the
bath-towel that held his sponge. But no historical painter could do justice
to such a scene. It needs the movies.

Those of us then who dry our sponges in this way--and I am a fervent
devotee--owe the inventor a meed of praise. And equally those of us who put
into our hot water bottles at night hot tea instead of hot water (as I
never have done and never mean to do), so that, waking in the small hours,
we may yet not be without refreshment, owe a meed of praise to the same
inspired innovator, for, if the chroniclers are correct, it was Mrs.
GLADSTONE'S habit to retire to rest with a bottle thus nutritiously filled,
which would be ready for her great man on his return from the House weary
and athirst.

Here we see the difference between Liberal Premiers. For what has Mr.
ASQUITH done towards the solution of domestic problems? Who can name a