ODE TO COMPENSATION.

"That blessed word—'Compensation.'"

Come Compensation, come!

Not in thy terrors clad,

But in thy fairest, gentlest guise,

Thy "blessed" name but terrifies

The "Templar" and the "Rad."

Thou must not come as "Right,"

That is—alas!—"too steep."

The Law has put its foot hard down,

And "BUNG," so far, is quite done brown;

It makes the "Witler" weep!

No "Vested Interest,"

Whereon to found a claim?

And after all that we have done

To keep the Tories in the run!

It is a thundering shame!

We deemed Sir EDWARD CLARKE

Knew what he was about;

We thought good GOSCHEN, sharp and slick,

Had "gently, gently done the trick,"

We have been sold, no doubt.

But FORREST FULTON comes,—

Sharp fellow that F.F.!

And in the Commons sneaks a vote

Which sticks hard in the "Temperance" throat,—

Dull churls, to justice deaf!

Come, Compensation, come!

Come in by the back-door,

Come unawares, come anyhow,

Only do come to smooth the brow

Of Wittlers weak and poor.

GOSCHEN has played us false;

It makes our bosom ache.

But to abate our indignation

If he'll secure us Compensation,

'Twill compensation make.