And “Please your Worships,” said he, “I’m able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures――with ears――beneath the sun; After me they are bound to run In such a style as you never saw. I’m willing,” said he, “to try my charm On the Tories――they’re doing the country harm. I’m also possessed of a spell, you’ll see, To strengthen limp Libs, who’ve gone weak at the knee; The time-serving Rat and the envious Viper; And they call me Wandering WILLIE the Piper.” And here they observed that he carried his pipes, This man of the breeze-blown Galashiels stripes, And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying, As if impatient to be playing. But the Big-Whigs looked just a little bit cool, Inclined to believe that the man was a fool; Whilst the Tories yelled “You may do your worst, And blow away till your Bagpipes burst.” Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling a little sardonic smile, As if he knew what music slept, In his quiet pipes the while. Then like a regular Scotch adept, To blow the pipes his lips he bagged, His fingers flew, ne’er a moment they lagged, And e’er three notes the pipes had uttered You heard as if all Scotland muttered; And the muttering grew to a mighty roaring, And out of their strongholds the Tories came pouring, With many a grunt and many a groan: And not the Tory hosts alone, But the Liberal rats. There were swell rats, seedy rats, Bold rats, timid rats, plump rats, greedy rats, Nor the rats and the Tories alone came forth, But the long-silent Radical hosts of the North, Willingly, gleefully, shouting and cheering, Heedless of “fagots,” of jibe, and of jeering, Grave old plodders, and gay young friskers, Grandfathers, fathers, sons, uncles, and cousins; Greybeards, boys with scarce-budding whiskers, Valiant voters, by twos, tens, dozens. And as still that Piper (a plague on him!) played. Not the North alone in his train was arrayed, But the Voters flocked from east, west, south, And the Midlands, witched by that magical mouth; Voters from counties, and cities, and boroughs, From toil at the furnace, from work at the furrows; Voters from mansion, mart, meadow, and mine, Voters of all sorts and sizes, in fine, Rushing and crushing, ran eagerly after That wonderful music, with shouting and laughter. Then the Big-Whigs stared, and the Tories stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to fashion a fetching cry To rally those Voters hurrying by―― Could only follow with envious eye, Hearts in the doldrums and heads on the rack, That numberless crowd at the Piper’s back, A mighty flood whose resistless roll Swept that Piper’s foes from their place at the Poll. * * * * * OFF FOR THE HOLIDAYS.――THE PIED PIPER OF WESTMINSTER LEADING THE WAY.