Punch (79.1880)

October 2, 1880.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

147

Navarino ? How can I stop them making faces F What
fools the Albanians are to mind Russians making faces
at them!

On shot being fired, French vessels have steamed away!

Russian Admiral come on hoard. Says, “ Must retali-
ate,” &c. Wish Gladstone had come here in Grantully.

Sspt. 26.—Ultimatum. Everybody demonstrating. Ho
more notes at present. “ All write—up to now.” Belay!
Avast! &c., &c.

WEARY WOMANKIND !

Three weary young women of London town
Sent up their thoughts when they went to rest:

A Slattern was one, in her greasy old gown,

And a Mother another, whose kindly breast
Had soothed the screams of a fractious child
That had beat at her heart and her brains all day,
And the third was a Seamstress, lean and mild
Though weary—these women had something to say.

The Slattern she owned she was weary of Jack,

Good fellow, no doubt! but whose curious ways
Were impressed on his wife by some weals on her back
And by terrible bruises—well, under her stays ;

And she thought on this night would she ever get rid
Of a man who when drunk didn’t care how s'he fed.
She’d been true to the fellow, and did as he bid,

So the heart-broken Slattern crept into her bed.

The Mother was weary, for half of that day
She’d been bearing her burden from door unto door ;
No woman may rest on Her Majesty’s way,

But now her poor babe was asleep on the floor,

So she thought, this sad mother, “ Will weariness end
By starving, or prison, or how will it he ?

I haven’t a penny,” she sighed, “ora friend ! ”

Still she slept, and determined the morrow to see.

The poor little Sewing-Girl, weary of course
With the whirl of the wheel, the machinery’s click,
She’d the strength of a mouse and the work of a horse,
And the child was so quiet she hadn’t a kick !

So she said, “ It don’t matter, for many, worse off,
Cannot cling to the wheel for support, and must die.”
But before she could sleep she remembered the scoff
Of girls whose smart feathers attracted her eye.

Now, would you believe it ? When all were asleep
And the woes of all womenkind seemed at an end,
That a cry just as bitter and sighs quite as deep
Went up to humanity, seeking a friend
For the prettiest girl that the mind could depict,

With the neatest of dresses and softest of hair,

Her waist it was slender, her conduct was strict,

But beneath her blue eyes was the black of despair.

“ I am weary! ” she said ; “on my honour it’s true,
Though I ’ ve spent all the day amidst ribbons and lace.
My sisters ! your fashions are pleasant to you—

They are torture to us! ’Tis a sin, a disgrace
That you sit at the counter all day and you fuss.

Our task is to stand, your delight is to shop.

It’s the joy of your lives, but it’s death unto us—
You are hardest to please when we ’re ready to drop.

“ It wasn’t our fault that our fathers have failed
At home, at the farm, or the forge, or the mill,

But you’ve got us all fast, at the counter we ’re nailed,
Like the dubious coin that was saved from the till.
We are modest! Who dares to deny it ? We try
To be women as good as you see we are neat;

But we stand aU the day, and are ready to die,

TiR we drag to our rest with our weary young feet.

“ Tis easy to scoff, hut more tedious far
To smile and look merry from eight unto ten,

Anri the school of the shop and the counter and bar
Doesn’t teach us good lessons of women or men ! ”

So the Slattern, the Mother, the Sewing-Girl slight,
Dropped off into dreams about toil and the town ;
But the weariest woman who slept that night
Was the fair-haired girl with the neat black gown!

The Real Substitute eor Butter.—Hunger.

THE MEMORIAL OBSTRUCTION.

Last week the attention of those mighty Archons, the Common Councilman,
was drawn to the New Temple Bar Memorial, which Mr. Stevenson rightly
denounced as “ a mighty obstruction.” Whereupon, Mr. Bedford, the people’s
real friend in Epping Forest, but not at Temple Bar, spoke up for the Obstruction,
and finished by saying—

“ The Memorial would do credit to the Corporation as a work of Art, and it would also
mark their ancient boundary. The Press had taken up this matter, as they sometimes did,
without understanding what they were writing about, whereas if they would only have
taken the trouble to measure the roadway, they would have discovered that with the
Memorial it was as wide again as it was before.”

Oh, “ they do not know everything down in Judee,” don’t they ? The City
objects to the Press, the Press objects to the squash,— as squash there’s safe
to be. If the only object of the Memorial be to “ mark their ancient boundary,”
why not let a Memorial Tablet into the wall by Childs’ Bank, or a splendid
Brass representing the Lord Mayor and Corporation. The metal is cheap
enough, and plenty of it, in the City.

Votes in Vienna.

A Viennese beauty, a forward young Miss,

T’other day, it appears, won a vote by a kiss: i

But the law ’gainst corruption is terribly strong,

And ’tis said she ’ll be made to repent it ere long.

What becomes of the kiss ? Since the voter dared earn it,
In justice one hopes he ’ll be made to return it.

Receipt.—LIow to Convert a Conservative into a Liberal. Try the Reforia-
a-Tory system.

“ SMALL BY DEGREES”-

“ Mayn’t I have some more Sugar in my Tea, Aunt Georgy ? ”
“ Why, you’ve had Three ! ”

“ Yes ; but they Melt away so ! ”