THE TENTH OF SEPTEMBER.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 93, 17 September 1874, Page 2

THE TENTH OF SEPTEMBER.

A Lyttelton Election Lyric. “ Veil’d in clouds the morning rose, Nature seem’d to mourn the day Which consign’d, before its close, Erickey to his kindred clay.” But we soon observ’d with pleasure Better prospects to prevail; Clothing all the skies with azure, Like the milk in Chalmers’ pail. Till, the afternoon declining, Made his rosy splendour less, Glowing, warm, the sun went shining, Bright and broad, like Murray’s face. Then the bold election friskers, Few in numbers, ’pon my soul; Few and thin, like N— ’s whiskers, Scrambled up to hear the poll. Who is this victorious riding, Winner, last and least of those ? Buist, by the powers, bestriding, Wrong side foremost, A r’s nose. Then the flour began to sprinkle, All the decent folks about ; And the stars began to twinkle Crisp and red, like K’s snout. Come along and wet your leather, Shabby gents who sponge for beer ; Little boys in chase of “ feyther” Perch on every vacant chair. Men ! Electors ! ! Freemen 1! 1 Mark you, Liberty’s our country’s boast ; Witness yonder hoary scarecrow, Washington’s vocif’rous ghost, Doant yer look as if you dunno me, I be vaarmer, zure enuf; Taalkin’ p’litical economy, Haarses, scows, and garden stuff ! “ Sitting like the gods together,” Or like vultures with their prey, Till, as black as Y ’s best leather, Darkness closed the upper day. When we sought upon our couches Rest to soothe our weary pains, Dreams, obscure as G ’s speeches Tumbled through our jumbled brains. Harry, frantic as a hatter, R expecting to be Mayor ; G become, a spout of water, Sluiced the meeting down the stair. H riled and little wonder, Why should H sbe defamed ? Public with a voice of thunder Bidding all the lot be blamed. PLUMPERS.