I am out of Society’s reach; At the Club I am well-nigh alone; And not e’en the smile of Hicks-Beach For my dulness extreme can atone. Yet the Irishmen, brutally stern, Have not the least pity on me, But they all make long speeches in turn In garments most shocking to see. Had I known it was certainly meant The House through September should meet, My money I’d never have spent In order to carry a seat! It is shameful, this tax on my brain, And this daily compulsion to work; And yet fussy voters complain If by chance a division I shirk! Each post brings to me a report That but makes my position more hard, As I read of the excellent sport From which I am wholly debarr’d. Whilst the “guns” I had asked to my moor, At Pittwithiebothie, N.B.; Big bags are content to secure By blazing away without me! Yes, I think of these fortunate men, As I aimlessly wander about, Or rush to my place now and then, When Biggar attempts a “count out.” And sometimes I doze till I dream Of the things which my thoughts always fill, Till I wake with disgust most extreme, To find Dr. Tanner up still! And then there are Radicals too, Who want all the votes to discuss, Instead of “Supply” rushing through At one sitting, without any fuss. Whilst some seek the people’s applause By stating that we of the House Had better be there making laws Than shooting at blackcock and grouse. Such rubbish I never have heard, For what, pray, becomes of my ease? It seems to me too, too absurd That I’m not to do what I please. The people elected me, true, But that, let me say, to be frank, Was the very least thing they could do, Consid’ring my fortune and rank; And yet they now tell me, forsooth, That, since I’ve become an M.P., I must give up the sports that in truth Make life most worth living to me; And, heedless what fashion may claim, In London continue to live; And the days I’d intended for game, To Crofters and Irishmen give! What nonsense it is, I repeat, That a rich young patrician like me Should be forced, for the sake of a seat, With a view so advanced to agree. But I will not submit; they shall find That I’ll start off for Scotland this day―― But what’s this, though――a whip five times lined? I suppose, after all, I must stay! __Truth._ September 16, 1886. ―――― THE MODERN ALEXANDER SELKIRK. (_By Sir Charles Warren._) I am monarch of all I survey; My might there is none to dispute; I will prosecute all whom I see If they argue, remonstrate, or hoot. O Liberty, where is the charm That Socialists see in thy face? The tradesmen have taken alarm At such views being heard in the place.