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.