And he had it very badly. He looks convalescent now, But the frenzy of the meeting brought the crimson to his brow, And his thorax is still husky with his eloquent appeal To the mustered working-men at the hour of mid-day meal. How they swarmed about his waggon! How their oily fustian filled The summer air with fragrance that his fine olfactories thrilled! How very loud their shouts were, and how very rude their jeers, And how very strong the _bouquet_ of clay pipes and bitter beers! His arguments amused them, and his peroration fine, About "standing for old England stoutly all along the line," Would have surely proved impressive, but for some sardonic ass, Who produced an anti-climax with the shouted comment "Gas!" Then the mob broke up in laughter, to return to pipe and can, And--plumped for his opponent pretty nearly to a man; For of all ungrateful cynics, and of all impervious clowns, Commend me (says our wanderer), to the workmen of our towns. Well, _experientia docet_. That confounded "local Club" (Blend of Institute and Chapel with a savour of the pub.) Where the pallid-faced cheesemongers, and the clammy-handed snobs, Swarmed around to "patronise" him, was the toughest of tough jobs. Its rooms were wondrous stuffy and its members scarce "good form," For they mostly dropped their aitches, and they always looked _so_ warm. Why political enthusiasts so run to noise and heat, And crude manners, and bad grammar, is a _crux_ that's hard to beat. But he bore it,--yes, he bore it; he shook heaps of 'orny 'ands, Heard the shindy of their shoutings, and the braying of their bands; Stood their "heckling," which was trying, and their praises, which were worse, All the claims upon his time, and taste, his patience, and his purse. Then they "chucked" him by three figures! Well, he's "out of it," thanks be! And he "offs it by the Special" to the river or the sea. He heard the "Declaration," _and_ the rival Party's roar, And--"the subsequent proceedings interested him no more." "'_Latest Results! Helections!!_' Oh, confound the boy! Get out! Let the winners sum their winnings, let their blatant backers shout. What have I to do with pollings? Cease, cacophonous urchin, cease! I am going to read _The Wrecker_, and possess my soul in peace!" * * * * * "D.G." and MRS. R.--_Mr. Punch_ begs to congratulate the _Daily Graphic_ on the electioneering ladder showing every day the position of the Parties. Very "Happy Thought." His ancient friend, Mrs. RAM, in speaking of this journal, observed, that "_Daily Graphic_ was not by any means a new name, and the paper ought to have been purely theatrical, as the person after whom it is evidently called was the celebrated actor, you know, my dear, in the last century, whom Dr. JOHNSON used to call 'Little Daily Graphic.'" * * * * *