THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SONG.
(The Up-to-date Version.)
Oh! pity the lot of a harassed Lord Chancellor,
Suffering badly from too much to do.
Appointments to give, and appointments to cancel or
Magistrate making, not knowing who's who.
Work of a quantity highly distressing,
Jack-like it's dull with all work and no play.
I start in the morning when hurriedly dressing.
And stick to it then for full twelve hours a day.
Selecting with care and the utmost propriety,
I wade through long lists of the would-be J.P.'s,
Who wish to be benched for the sake of Society,
Till I sigh for repose and a quantum of ease.
It's hard—Ananias would hardly deny it,
After all it's £10 000 a year at the most.
Resignation's a virtue. I'm minded to try it;
A chance for some aspirants—who's for the post?
Motto for Editors of Very-Latest-News-Evening-Journals (hard up far a paragraph).—"When in doubt play Jabez Balfour."
Mrs. R. on the Dynamite Outrage in the French Chamber.—"Hanging's too good for such a scoundrel," said Mrs. R., indignantly; "but they don't hang in France, so the wretch will be taken and gelatined."
