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!"

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