SONG OF THE AUTUMN SESSION.

Here we suffer grief and pain, Here we part to meet again: No field, no copse, no moor! O! it will be jawful, Jawful, jawful, jawful! O! isn't it awful? Autumn Meet's an awful bore! All who hate the "Lords," you know, Swear this misery below, We owe to peers above! O! that, &c. We'll be lammed by Labouchere, Who the Afric strife will swear Is due to Rhodes's rule. O! won't he be jawful, &c. Ashmead, too, will strive to prove Freedom, prestige, all we love We'll lose to gain no more, Through Gladstone the jawful, &c. O! how weary we shall be, Ere the two Big Bills, or three, Are passed and Peer-wards gone! O! Weg will be jawful, &c. Then the Rads will shout with joy, And the short Recess employ, In larrupping the Lords! O! won't they be jawful?— Awful, awful, awful! It shouldn't be lawful Autumn Meets to summon more!