Lazy Thoughts of a Lazy Girl | Page 8

Anything placed

above dinner, in their opinion, must be important indeed.
There is such a polite element abroad on polling day. Men are so
respectful and hurl such affectionate terms at one another. Even the
dogs are upset, and strut about in quite a different manner than on
ordinary days, so puffed out with vanity are they, on account of their
decorations. The members' wives and their friends are all taking part in
the scene too, bringing voters along in their carriages, and shaking
hands with everybody indiscriminately. I heard an old navvy protesting
once that "Lady ---- never troubled to shake 'ands with him any other
time, but was generally that 'orty she'd step over you as soon as look at
you."
Poor old men are dragged out nolens volens to add their mite to the
public voice, and are sometimes so aged that they scarcely know what
their opinions are. I hope I shall not live to be very old. It is a terrible
thing when you make such a prolonged stay on this earth that you have
to be helped off it.
It is very curious too, how exceedingly disobliging old people are. I
know a family who have never worn anything brighter than grey for
years. "In case we have to go into mourning soon--our poor old aunt,
you know. It's so very sad!" and they squeeze a tear out from
somewhere, but whether on account of their relative's illness, or her
prolonged life, is open to opinion. The old lady is flourishing still, and
the family is as soberly clothed as ever. When she has been dead a few
months what rainbows they will become, to make up for lost time!
"A disappointing man," I have heard a dutiful nephew term his uncle.
True, he (the uncle, I mean) is ninety-four, and therefore old enough to
know better than to rally so many times. But after all, he does nothing,
runs into no danger, is tended as carefully as a new-born baby; I should
not at all wonder if he still continued "disappointing" and took a new
lease of life for seven years. But I am digressing, and must return to
politics.
I went to a Primrose meeting once and the experience was not so happy
as to make me wish to try it again.

It amused me, certainly. The conclusion I eventually arrived at, when I
left, was that the chief element in the Primrose League was gratitude!
This virtue seemed to be the point round which all the speakers rallied.
First the secretary rose, ran off a quantity of statistics, as to what had
been done by the great League, what it was going to do, and how many
converts had been induced to join, which was exceedingly uninteresting,
I think, but which elicited loud applause from the rest of the audience.
Then some resolution was passed, at which if you agreed you were
begged "to signify the same in the usual way." After which those who
thought differently were asked to show their feelings in the same
fashion. I held my hand up here, but I suppose the ruling councillor did
not expect any opposition, for he never even looked round to see, but
gabbled off by rote, "On the contrary? carried unanimously!" and my
amiable attempt at running counter to the rest was not even noticed!
Then the ruling councillor gave way to Mr. ---- (here a sickly smile was
directed at the great man), who had so very kindly come to speak to us
this evening, who would, he felt sure, quite enchant us with
his--er--great eloquence (another leer to his right).
The great man then came forward, and with a superior smile on his
countenance waited until the applause which greeted his entrance had
ceased, and then began. He commenced somewhat softly, detailing all
the advantages of the Primrose League: what it had done for England,
the fear it arouses in the heart of the Liberal faction, how it will raise
the country to a summit it never before has reached! No! and never
would have reached had it not been for this flourishing, this powerful
League! &c., &c., &c. His voice gradually grew louder and louder until,
with beating his hands on the table, stamping violently over the sins of
the Radicals, and perspiring vehemently in the effort, he presented
anything but a pleasing spectacle.
Of course animation like this brought down the house. The applause
nearly deafened me, and I was quite glad when he drew near the end of
his most tedious speech. He concluded by calming down very suddenly,
returned to his original tones, and thanking his audience for his
exceedingly kind reception, retired to his seat looking, as Mr. Mantalini

would say, a "dem'd damp, moist, unpleasant