"The hen that laid thee moons ago, who knows
In what Dead Yesterday her shades repose;
To some election turn thy waning span
And rain thy rottenness on fiscal foes."


I thought there was enough suggestion of decay in that to
satisfy a jackal, and to me there was something infinitely
pathetic and appealing in the idea of the egg having a sort
of St. Luke's summer of commercial usefulness. But the
Duchess begged me to leave out any political allusions; she's
the president of a Women's Something or other, and she said
it might be taken as an endorsement of deplorable, methods.
I never can remember which Party Irene discourages with her
support, but I shan't forget an occasion when I was staying
at her place and she gave me a pamphlet to leave at the house
of a doubtful voter, and some grapes and things for a woman
who was suffering from a chill on the top of a patent
medicine. I thought it much cleverer to give the grapes to
the former and the political literature to the sick woman,
and the Duchess was quite absurdly annoyed about it
afterwards. It seems the leaflet was addressed "To those
about to wobble"--I wasn't responsible for the silly title of
the thing--and the woman never recovered; anyway, the voter
was completely won over by the grapes and jellies, and I
think that should have balanced matters. The Duchess called
it bribery, and said it might have compromised the candidate
she was supporting; he was expected to subscribe to church