Work, work, work!
Sang HOOD, in the "Song of the Shirt,"
Of the seamstress slave who worked to her grave
In poverty, hunger, and dirt.
Work, work, work!
The Bar-maid, too, can say,
Work for ten hours, or more;
Oh, for "eight hours" a day!
Is she a happier slave
Where gilding and mirrors abound?
Of what can she think when eternal drink
Is the cry of all around?
Stand, stand, stand!
Serving sots from far and near;
Stand, stand, stand!
More whiskey! More brandy! More beer!
Possibly some one may say,
"What can that matter to us?
She is frail, frivolous, gay;
She is not worth a fuss."
Prig, all her life is a snare,
You, so excessively good,
Would pity her rather if there
Once for ten hours you stood.
How would you feel at the end?
You may not think she is fit,
Quite, for your sister's friend—
Is she too wicked to sit?
Stand stand, stand!
In the smoke of pipe and cigar,
Always to think of eternal drink;
Oh, pity the Slave of the Bar!
BY A RIBBON GIRL WHO HAS BEEN TO FRANCE.—"Sure the town itself must be full of go-a-head young women that a decent female wouldn't be seen spaking to—else why is it called Belle-Fast?"
SCENE—Interior of Covent Garden on a Subscription Night. The house is filled in the parts reserved for Subscribers. The remainder of the Auditorium is less crowded. The Overture is over, when there is a loud cry for the Manager. Enter before the Curtain Courteous Gentleman, who bows, and waits in an attitude of respectful attention.
Person in the Amphitheatre. I say, Mister, look 'ere, after charging me sixpence for a seat, I'm 'anged if they don't want an extra penny for a bill of the play.
Courteous Gentleman. Highly improper, Sir. I will look into the matter to-morrow, and if you are kind enough to identify the attendant who has attempted this overcharge, I will have him dismissed. And now, with your permission, your Royal Highnesses, my Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, we will go on with the Musical performances.
[The Opera continues. At the end of the Third Act there is another cry for the Manager. The Courteous Gentleman re-enters before the Curtain, as before.
Very Stout Person in the Amphitheatre Stalls. I say, look here—I paid two shillings for this seat, and the back's coming off.
Cour. Gen. Perhaps, Sir, you have been leaning with a weight it is unable to bear.
Very S.P. Never mind about that. As I pay two shillings for my seat, I expect you to stop the show until it's mended.
Cour. Gen. As the show (as you call it, Sir) costs about two pounds a minute, I fear that would be rather an extravagant proceeding. If I may suggest, I would counsel you to change your seat to a more perfect one.
Very S.P. I like that! and get turned out by someone who had reserved it. No, thankee! But there, after all, I am rather heavy, so let's say no more about it.
Cour. Gen. I am infinitely obliged to you.
[Exit. The Opera continues until the commencement of the last Act, when there is a frantic cry for the Manager. The Courteous Gentleman again appears before the Curtain.
Voices from the Cheaper Parts of the House. Here, cut it short! Let's get to the end. Let's see how the story finishes!
Cour. Gent. I am at your disposal.
Spokesman. Well, look here, Mister. There's a lot of us here who want to catch the 11.40 train, so can't you cut the performance?
Cour. Man. Although your proposal, Sir, may cause some trouble and complications, I will honestly do my best. [Bows and exit.
O Boy!—O injudicious boy!—
Who, swayed by dark and secret reasons,
Dost love thine elders to annoy
At sundry times and frequent seasons,
Why hast thou left thy tempting top—
Thy penny-dreadful's gory garble—
Thy blue-and-crimson lollipop—
Thy aimlessly meandering marble?
Thy catapult, so sure of aim,
In cold neglect, alas! reposes,
And even "tip-cat's" cherished game
No longer threatens eyes and noses;
Thy tube of tin (projecting peas)
At length has ceased from irritating;
But how much worse than all of these
Thy latest craze—for roller-skating!
For, mounted on twin engines dread,
Thou rushest (with adventures graphic)
Where even angels fear to tread,
Because there's such a lot of traffic.
At lightning-speed we see thee glide,
(With malice every narrow shave meant),
And charge thine elders far and wide,
Or stretch them prone upon the pavement.
Round corners sharp thou lov'st to dart,
(Thou skating imp! Thou rolling joker!)
And hit in some projecting part
The lawyer staid, or solemn broker.
Does pity never mar thy glee,
When upright men with torture double?
Oh, let our one petition be
That thou may'st come to grievous trouble!
"MOTHER, ARE THE WONDERGILTS VERY RICH?"
"YES, SILVIA, VERY."
"MOTHER, I HOPE WE SHALL NEVER BE RICH?"
"WHY, DARLING?"
"IT MUST BE SO VERY EXPENSIVE!"
SCENE—Interior of the Universal Advertisement Stations Company's Offices. Managing Director discovered presiding over a large staff of Clerks. Enter Possible Customer.
Possible Customer. I see from the papers that it is proposed to turn the Suez Canal to account by erecting hoardings—have you anything to do with it?
Managing Director. No, Sir; but we do a very large cosmopolitan business of the same sort. Have you anything to advertise?
Pos. Cus. Well, yes—several things. For instance, I am bringing out a new sort of Beer. Can you recommend me good stations for that?
Man. Dir. Certainly, Sir. We have contracted for the whole of the best positions in the Desert of Sahara. If you get out a good poster in Arabic, it should be the means of furthering the trade amongst the Arabs.
Pos. Cus. Thanks. Then I have a fresh Pill. What about that?
Man. Dir. Well, Sir, pills (excuse the pleasantry) are rather a drug in the market; but I think we might try it amongst the Esquimaux. We have some capital crossroads in the Arctic Regions, and a really commanding position at the North Pole.
Pos. Cus. What can I do with a newly-patented Disinfectant?
Man. Dir. We have the Spire of Cologne Cathedral, and both sides of the Bridge of Sighs; in fact, if you like to push the sale in Venice, we would offer you the front of the Doge's Palace on the most advantageous terms.
Pos. Cus. Then I have an Everlasting Boot.
Man. Dir. I must confess, Sir, that boots (you will excuse the pleasantry) are rather worn out; but perhaps the Himalayas (where we have all the summits vacant) might suit your purpose.
Pos. Cus. Well, I will give your suggestions my best consideration.
Man. Dir. (anxious to trade). Can't I tempt you, Sir, with a million bills or so? We have all the best Royal Palaces in Europe, and the most frequented of the Indian Temples. There is scarcely a spot of any historical interest that we have not secured for our hoardings. Just added the Field of Waterloo, the Temple Gardens, and site of ancient Carthage to our list. We can do it very cheaply for you, Sir, if your order is a large one.
Pos. Cus. How about the papers?
Man. Dir. Well, we insert advertisements in them, too. Shall we begin with three columns in all the leading journals of the world?
Pos. Cus. No, thank you. I think I will commence on a somewhat smaller scale. (Gives document.) Here is an order for three inches for one insertion on the leader-page of the Pimlico Pump.
[Exit.
House of Lords, Monday, August 15th.—Lords met to-day in charmingly casual way. Since they were last here, Government been defeated; the MARKISS out, Mr. G. in, and all that means or portends. Not many present, but the MARKISS in his place smiling in unaffected joyousness, just as Prince ARTHUR did in Commons when the end came.
"Very odd," said PICKERSGILL, pressing his hat to his bosom; "it seems nothing amuses the CECILS and their family belongings so much as a reverse at the Poll."
The MARKISS in such exuberant good humour at seeing KIMBERLEY opposite to him, could not resist temptation to try on little joke. It was not, he said, either desirable or usual that he, as outgoing Minister, should say anything on present occasion. But perhaps KIMBERLEY would oblige, and would give House full exposition of intentions of new Ministry with respect to foreign and domestic affairs. KIMBERLEY gravely answered, that not yet being Minister of the Crown, nor having had opportunity of consulting with his colleagues, he was unprepared to make statement on subject.
In this dilemma DENMAN came to front. "My Lords—" he said. What more he would have uttered is lost to posterity. MARKISS had moved adjournment of House, and HALSBURY, who has had long practice on this particular wicket, promptly bowled DENMAN out, by putting question and declaring it carried. DENMAN stood moment looking, more in sorrow than anger, at noble Lords hurrying out with unwonted agility.
"They made a mistake," he murmured; "especially HALSBURY. All I wanted was to propose vote of thanks to him for the grace and dignity with which he has presided over Debates in this House, and the manner in which he has, by his dispensation of patronage, preserved the highest traditions of his office, and even raised its lofty tone. Too late now, too late;" and the old gentleman putting his crumpled papers in his pocket, and wrapping his soiled pocket-handkerchief round the knob of his walking-stick, strode sadly forth.
Perhaps it was sight of this pathetic figure that sobered the MARKISS. Anyhow, as we walked out together, found him in subdued mood, more fitting the occasion than that assumed when addressing House. "All over at last, TOBY," he said; "and I may go down to Hatfield, take off my coat, and have a day's, or even a week's serene pleasure in my workshop. I'm nobody of any account now, ni Premier, ni Foreign Minister. Do you remember the lines written by an unknown hand on the ruins of Berytus, which TRYPHON, King of Syria, sacked a hundred and forty years before the Star rose at Bethlehem? I was thinking of them just now, even when I was chaffing KIMBERLEY:—
'Stay not your course, O Mariners, or me,
Nor furl your sails—is not my harbour dry?
Nought but one vast, forsaken tomb am I.
But steer for other lands, from sorrow free,
Where, by a happier and more prosp'rous shore,
Your anchor ye may drop, and rest your oar.'"
"Not at all," I said.
Rather an inadequate remark, I see, when I come to write it down. I'd say something better if the MARKISS would repeat the lines.
Business done.—MARKISS announces Resignation of Ministry.
House of Commons, Thursday.—House seems to have been meeting all day. Began at three o'clock: Sitting suspended at half-past; resumed at 4.30; off again till nine; might have been continued indefinitely through night, only thunderstorm of unparalleled ferocity burst over Metropolis, and put an end to further manœuvring. "Bless me!" tremulously murmured Lord SALISBURY's Black Man, as a peal of thunder shook Clock Tower, and lighted up House of Lords with lurid flame, "if these are home politics, wish I'd stayed in far-off Ind."
At first gathering in Commons, parties changed sides. "The sheep to the right, the goats to the left," as WILLIAM FIELD, Esq., M.P., said, daintily crossing the floor.
This remark does not imply anything rude. Fact is FIELD, when at home in Dublin, holds lofty position of President of Irish Cattle-Traders' and Stock-Owners' Association. Similes from the stockyard come naturally to his lips. Promises to be acquisition to Parliamentary life. Is certainly lovely to look upon, with his flowing hair, his soft felt hat, the glossy black of his necktie contrasting with glossy white of his boundless shirt-front. Thought at first he was a poet; rather disappointing to find he's only a butcher. Whatever he be, he's refreshing to the eye, wearied with monotony of last Parliament.
Writs moved for new Elections consequent on acceptance of Office. Lobby seems full of new Whips, whom JACOB grimly eyes. CAUSTON with unusually troubled look on manly brow. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Afraid you'll be chucked?"
"Oh, no!" he said; "Southwark's safe enough. But they're such doose of fellows down there. Remember at General Election one took me neat. After I had made speech to crowded meeting, lot of questions put. Answered them all satisfactorily. At last one fellow got up, asked me, in voice of thunder, 'Are you, in favour of temperance?' Rather ticklish thing that, you know. As many against it as for it. Looked all round the room; seemed remarkably decent lot; the man who was heckling me a little rubicund as to the nose; but that might be indigestion. Anyhow, felt unless I could satisfy him, I'd lose his vote. 'Are you in favour of temperance?' he roared again. 'Yes, I am;' I said, heartily. 'Then I ain't!' he roared back; and stamped his way out of the room. That's the sort of fellows they are down at Southwark. Never know where you have 'em. Generally turns out they have you."
Business done.—Thunderstorm and Prorogation.
The sun was shining on the fog,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The London day look bright—
And yet it seemed as though it were
The middle of the night.
The Builder and the Architect
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such eligible land:
"If this were only built upon,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"Oh, Tenants, come and live with us!"
The Builder did entreat,
"And take a little villa in
This countrified retreat,
Where stand straight rows of houses,
So very new and neat!"
The elder Tenants looked at him,
But never a word said they;
The elder Tenants winked their eyes,
As though they meant to say,
"Old birds, like we, are never caught
By chaff in such a way."
But four young Tenants hurried up,
Each eager to rent one;
Their looks were pale, their faces white,
Like muffins underdone—
Which was not odd, because, you know,
They never saw the sun.
The Builder and the Architect
Went on a year or so
Building damp villas on damp ground
Conveniently low:
And still some little houses stood
Quite empty in the row.
"I cannot think," the Builder said,
"Why people should complain
Of mortar made of mud from roads,
Or roofs that let in rain,
Or sewer-gas that comes from an
Unventilated drain."
"A fair return," the Builder said,
"Two hundred, say, per cent.,
Is all the profit that I want
On anything I've spent,
Now, if you're ready, Tenants dear,
I'll take the quarter's rent."
"But not from us," the Tenants cried,
"The houses are so new,
They've made us all so very ill
We don't know what to do."
"The County Court," the Builder said,
"Is very near to you."
"I tell you what," the Builder said,
"I fear that I must seize
Your furniture, unless you pay;
So fork out, if you please."
And even he, in that damp air,
Began to cough and sneeze.
"Oh, Tenants," said the Architect,
"Just think what I have done,
Designing such æsthetic homes!"
But answer came there none—
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd perished every one.
No appointment could be more appropriate and in accordance with the fitness of things than to make a GARDNER the new Minister of Agriculture. Of course it has been suggested that a Rural Dean should succeed to the vacant Chaplincy.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.