Volume 146 — THE HOLIDAY MOOD.

Why was the timbrel's note suppressed? Why rang there not a rousing pæan When Ireland, waiting to be blest, Hanging about for half an æon, Achieved at length the heights of Heaven By a majority of 77? Why was the trombone's music dumb? Why did the tears of joy not splash on The vellum of the big bass drum To indicate your ardent passion For that Green Isle across the way Which you must really visit some fine day? Was it the three elections (by-) That left you for the time prostrated (They should have raised your spirits high, So Infant Samuel calculated), Concluding with the worst of slips which Occurred between the cup and mouth at Ipswich? Was it because your Home Rule Bill (Though perfect) craves to be amended, And to the Lords you love so ill That you would gladly see 'em ended The delicate task has been referred Of patching up the places where you erred? Was it that you were pained to find How Ulster took your noble Charter; With what composure she declined To bear it like a Christian martyr; How there she stood, too firm to shake, With no idea of stepping to the stake? Or did you hear a still small voice Under your waistcoat, where your heart is: "We fought by contract, not by choice, Ay, and the spoils are not our party's; The Tories may be beat, but we know This is not Asquith's, it is Redmond's beano"? Or did you doubt if all was right With Erin when you heard O'Brien Foreboding doom by second sight And roaring like a wounded lion, And saw what venomed hate convulsed her Apart from any little tiff with Ulster? Or could it be you felt so fain About your imminent vacation That the same breast could not contain The joy of Ireland-as-a-Nation? There wasn't room for both inside, And so the Bill gave way to Whitsuntide? If that was why you would not hail Your chance of bringing down the ceiling, But let the holiday mood prevail, I understand, and share your feeling; I find my bowl of joy o'er-bubbling Whenever Parliament has ceased from troubling.