A MODERN TRAGEDY.
Our hostess told us off in pairs,
I had not caught my partner's name,
But learned, when half way down the stairs,
She long had been a Primrose Dame;
And, ere the soup was out of sight,
She'd found, and left behind, her text on
A speech, if I remember right,
Attributed to Mr. Sexton.
And I—I sat and gasped awhile,
And only when we reached the pheasant,
Assuming my politest smile,
And with an air distinctly pleasant,
Attempted firmly to direct
Her flow of talk to other channels,
Books—shops—the latest stage-effect—
The newest ways of painting panels.
I tried in vain. "Ah, yes," she said,
"And that reminds me—this Dissent"—
And thereupon began, instead,
Discussing Disestablishment!
The case was clearly hopeless, so
I hazarded no more suggestions,
But merely answered Yes or No
At random, to her frequent questions.
Yet, while that gushing torrent ran,
I made a solemn private vow
That, though no ardent partisan,
Those Ministers I'll vote for now
Who'll introduce a drastic bill
To bring about her abolition,
To banish utterly, or kill
The modern lady-politician!