for accomplishing their ends. As a rule they were a nuisance and a
weariness to the flesh, but there were times when they verged on the
picturesque. There was the famous occasion when they enlivened and
diversified the customary pageantry of the Royal progress to open
Parliament by letting loose thousands of parrots, which had been
carefully trained to scream 'Votes for women,' and which circled round
his Majesty's coach in a clamorous cloud of green, and grey and scarlet.
It was really rather a striking episode from the spectacular point of
view; unfortunately, however, for its devisers, the secret of their
intentions had not been well kept, and their opponents let loose at the
same moment a rival swarm of parrots, which screeched 'I _don't_ think'
and other hostile cries, thereby robbing the demonstration of the
unanimity which alone could have made it politically impressive. In the
process of recapture the birds learned a quantity of additional language
which unfitted them for further service in the Suffragette cause; some of
the green ones were secured by ardent Home Rule propagandists and trained
to disturb the serenity of Orange meetings by pessimistic reflections on
Sir Edward Carson's destination in the life to come. In fact, the bird
in politics is a factor that seems to have come to stay; quite recently,
at a political gathering held in a dimly-lighted place of worship, the
congregation gave a respectful hearing for nearly ten minutes to a
jackdaw from Wapping, under the impression that they were listening to
the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who was late in arriving."

"But the Suffragettes," interrupted the nephew; "what did they do next?"

"After the bird fiasco," said Sir Lulworth, "the militant section made a
demonstration of a more aggressive nature; they assembled in force on the
opening day of the Royal Academy Exhibition and destroyed some three or
four hundred of the pictures. This proved an even worse failure than the