Oh pity an unhappy man
Reduced to desperate dejection!
There's nothing happening but an Election.
Eternally it worries me,
Inducing cerebral affection,
This never-ending topic the Election.
I don't love politics, or care
A pin for Liberal defection,
Or if the Tories gained in their Election.
Unworthy citizen, perhaps
I need reproof and stern correction,
Indifferent to any chap's Election.
Unless I flew beyond the sea,
I'm certain that in no direction
Could I escape at all from the Election.
For no one writes, and no one speaks,
Of anything but in connection
With some loquacious man who seeks Election.
I try my club; though men may come
And men may go, there's this objection
To all alike--they talk of some Election.
I go to bed; no rest for me,
I'm roused by yells, with shrill inflection
Of "Extry midnight speshul, the Election!"
The papers, taking any side,
Of any party, any section,
One sort of news alike provide--Election.
I'll go to see my love, and kiss
Her pretty face, her sweet complexion,
At least she will not talk of this Election.
* * * * *
"YOU ARE MOST APT TO PLAY THE SIR."
_Othello_, Act ii., Sc. i.
Friday, July 19, 1895, memorable in annals of British stage as a day
set apart for one of the greatest triumphs of the Drama. Sir HENRY
IRVING, fresh from the honours of Royal Windsor, received a
further distinction at the hands and hearts of his "brothers and
sisters" in that profession for which he has done so much. Squire
BANCROFT was the eloquent spokesman for the enthusiastic
audience of comedians and tragedians which filled the Lyceum; yet
before and behind the footlights there was not a suggestion of
histrionics. Unlike, too, the great unpaying, who have the dulness of
their _order_, the guests of Friday were remarkable for the tremendous
energy of their goodwill. If this theatre had not long been seasoned
to the sounds of vociferous cheering, the demonstration might "have
brought down the house" literally. _Mr. Punch_ takes this opportunity
of joining in the demonstration, and drinks to Sir HENRY
IRVING. May the Knight of the cheerful countenance prosper
according to his deserts. And, if that wish is realised, the lessee of
the Lyceum will be one of the happiest men on record.
* * * * *