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!" * * * * * [Illustration: A MATTER OF "COURSE." _Eminent German Specialist_. "VAT VATERS 'AVE YOU BEEN IN ZE 'ABIT OF TAKING?" _English Gouty Patient_. "WATER! HAVEN'T TOUCHED A DROP, EXCEPT WITH MY TEA, FOR THE LAST THIRTY YEARS!" [_Upon which a mild course of Homburg, Kissengen, Marienbad, and Karlsbad is at once prescribed._] * * * * * HOW INSULTAN'! _British Envoy, Timbuctoo, to Foreign Minister, London._ No end of a row! Grand Vizier, Lord Chamberlain, Keeper of Privy Purse, and other high Officials, assembled outside my house, and smashed windows, aided by furious crowd. Certain that Sultan is at bottom of it. Mayn't I say something vigorous to him? _Foreign Minister, London, to British Envoy, Timbuctoo._ Awkward, as General Election going on. Temporise. Appear not to notice stone-throwing. Very difficult to get to Timbuctoo with British Force. If hit with stones, try arnica. Rather think Timbuctoo was discovered by an Irishman, and called after him, TIM BUCKTOO. Eh? _British Envoy to Foreign Minister._