A number of newspapers are still speculating as to whether an early Federal election is likely.

Brothers, it is bound to come
(Death is kindlier to some),
But we who reamin in life
Have some day to face the strife.
Though faith dies and friendships sever,
Politics go on for ever.
Late or soon -- ah, late or soon,
Must we hear the ranters' rune.
Mystic still, uncomprehended,
Yet the thing is never ended.
In "The Game" we've been ensnared,
So my brothers, Be Prepared . . . 

Mr. Hughes
Will air his views
And sundry factions he'll abuse.
Mr Bruce
Will just cut loose
With sums and schemes somewhat abtruse.
Mr Pierce
Will grow quite fierce
As Labor's mail he strives to pierce.
Mr Watt
Will tell you what
The Liberal Party is -- or not.
Mr Greene,
In mood serene,
Will tell you what those axe strokes mean.
Mr Groom,
Abjuring boom,
Will prove the North has plenty room;;
Mr Rodgers
And such codgers,
Will deplore taxation-dodgers.
Doctor Page
Will straight engage
To prove that Country folk are sage.
Br'er Considine
In language fine
Will show how Bolsheviks may shine.
Mr Fenton,
Most intent on
"Wrongs," will scorch who shove the rent on.
Mr Wise
Will recognise
The A.N.A. has yet a prize.

Mr Chanter
(His supplanter
Fearing) will become a ranter.
Mr Brennan
Will show when an'
Why the land should cleave to Lenin;
Even austere Mr Speaker.
Growing weaker -- sadly weakly,
Will become a mere vote seeker.
Mr Austin Chapman, lost in
Dreams, will swear there's little cost in
Building capitals afar
Where his State's ambitions are.

And, my brother,
All th eother
Candiadtes
Defying Fates,
Loud will howl without the gates
In Melbourne, Brisbane, Sydney town.
Near and far and up and down
All the land will sound the voices,
Asking voters what their choice is --
As if voters could be chosers,
Seeing they are ever losers.

Voices, voices, voices, VOICES!
Where the picnicker rejoices;
Where the bather woos the sea
(Mixing with impunitee);
Where the money-spinner schemes;
Where the soulful poet dreams;
Where the spinster spins all vainly;
Where the draper drapes insanely;
Where the fellers fell the trees;
Where the grocer groces teas;
Where the sweating stoker stokes;
Where the simple punter blokes
Back the wrong 'uns
At the ponies;
Where old cronies,
Sinking long 'uns,
Glance
Askance
At bar-toom mashers
Where the noble haberdashers
Dash the habber unafraid
In the cause of some fair maid;
Where the chemists chem, and where
Mercers madly merce their ware;
E'en where butchers butch in hate,
Shall the Voices penetrate,
In all tones and all inflections;
For, my friends, such are Elections.
Everywhere the Voices bawling
Will be utterly appalling.
And, my friends, I ask you, What?
Is this Government - or not?
As a true-blue democrat
Atill, I have to doff my hat
And exclaim, "Get to it boys!
Votes is votes!  But -- cut the noise!"

"C. J. Dennis"
Herald, 3 June 1922, p8