ELECTION AGONIES.

Yes, there I stood beside my wife,

And called it—whilst the mob cheered wildly—

"The proudest moment of my life,"

Which it was not, to put it mildly.

Heavens, how they cheered! Up went their caps,

To see their Member safely seated;

Who in his inmost soul, perhaps,

Had almost wished himself defeated.

The girls are pleased. And Mrs. T.,

Has fairy visions of a handle

To grace the name she shares with me;

But is the game quite worth the candle?

Six years of unremitting work,

Of flower-shows, bazaars, and speeches,

Of sturdy mendicants who lurk

In wait to act as sturdy leeches.

The faddists—Anti-This-and-That—

Blue-spectacled "One Vote, One Person"—

Extract a promise, prompt and pat,

The while their heads you hurl a curse on.

And in return? The dull debate,

The dreary unimportant question,

The pressure of affairs of State,

A muddled brain, a lost digestion.

Six years of it. I cannot stand

At any cost another bout of it;

But, given away on every hand,

I don't quite see how to get out of it.

Ah, happy thought! My seat is safe,

And so 'mid general adulation,

I'll rescue some poor party waif

By Chiltern Hundreds resignation.

The world will quickly roar applause,

Of martyrs I shall be the latest;

But I'm the party and the cause

To whom the service will be greatest!

SONG OF GRATITUDE (by a Nervous Equestrian on the exceptional absence of 'Arry-cyclists or "Wheelmen" from the road to Wimbledon).—

"Oh, Wheelie, have we missed you?

Oh no, no, No!"