“But as years rolled on, and the sessions sped, My idol was shattered, my hopes all fled: For there came o’er the scene a parlous change, As the new M.P.’s brought their manners strange; Till one night, alas! was ‘Obstruction’ born, And I knew what it was to sit till morn; Ah! I learned what a Speaker’s strength could bear, As I sat out my life in that Grand Old Chair. “’Tis past! ’tis past! but I gaze on it now With quivering lips and with throbbing brow; For there full oft have I sat in vain, Till the day has peeped through the window pane; ’Twas there I was badgered; ’twas there I heard My solemn rulings declared absurd―― But I loved it! I loved it! and cannot tear My soul from that once-prized Grand Old Chair.” As the above is being softly sung, the SPEAKER ELECT, attracted by the sound, returns to the House, and remains an unobserved listener till the conclusion of the song, when, remarking MR. PEEL’S presence, the EX-SPEAKER thus addresses him:―― “Ah, ’tis well, my new successor, Aye, ’tis meet you thus have found me Lingering here in semi-darkness, And addressing mournful lyrics To the furniture about me.” _Truth._ February 28, 1884. ―――― THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. [“A German Professor has discovered that all the woodwork about our houses has power to absorb ‘noxious juices’ while still growing in its native forest, and that when a tree becomes part of the domestic furniture, and is cut up into chairs and tables and bookshelves, it immediately begins to pour its ‘noxious juices’ out into the air of the room.”――_Daily Paper_.] I dread it, I dread it! and who shall dare To chide me for dreading that old arm-chair? I’ve treasured it long as an antique prize, But Science has suddenly opened my eyes; So now I say to my startled heart That ’twere better the chair and I should part. Would you know my reason?――a mother sat there, And became the prey of that old arm-chair. In childhood’s hour I lingered near That treacherous seat without a fear, And mother, poor soul, no tremour knew As she worked at her knitting the morning through, For German savants had yet to produce Their ghastly theory of “noxious juice,” And my parent guessed at no cause for scare In the poisoned breath of her old arm-chair. The doctor watched her many a day, While she took her physic and pined away; And it failed to strike him that p’raps her cure Might be found in a smash of furniture. Time passed on, and I heard with glee That mater intended to try the sea; But though she recovered in Brighton air, I never suspected the old arm-chair.