DOI issue:
October 1, 1887
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17658#0151
October 1, 1887.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI. 145
THE WAIL OF MESSES. BURT
AND FENWICK.
The Northumberland Miners' U-ni-on
Have bidden their Buet bego-o-one.
It seems, by the ballot, we soon shall be all out,
And there '11 be an end to our fun.
Chorus.—"We've got no work to do-o-o-o!
We have no work to do-o-o !
We are poor Members, poor Working-Men
Members,
Who've got nowork to do!
Oh. Morpeth and Wansheok, o-o-oh!
This same is a pretty go-o-o !
The feelings why hurt of your Fentfice: and
Buet?
We wouldn't have served you so!
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
The Working-Men's Members of la-a-ate
Were getting a power in the Sta-a-ate,
But now they're rejected, or coldly ejected,
Which same is a sorrowful fate.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
Joe Arch he had to go-o-o-o,
Then Leicester, the other Jo-o-oe I
And now we two'11 have to forfeit our
" screw,"
Which is jolly hard lines, you know.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
It 'b hardly fair play to gi-i-ive,
To a Labour-Representati-i-ve,
For without your cash, 0 Miners most rash,
How, how shall we manage to live ?
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
It is no doubt exceedingly tru-u~ue ;
We've found little work to do-o-o,
In. the House. Tor that same 'tis not we
who're to blame,
But the long Irish hullaballo.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
We know these are very hard ti-i-imes,
To scrape up the dollars and di-i-imes;
But when we, dear Miners, are robbed of the
shiners,
We're punished for other folks' crimes.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
Of course if you give us the sa-a-ack,
Our Gladstone bags we must pa-a-aek,
■out perhaps for this hurry some day you '11
be sorry,
And wish Buet and Fenwick" both hack.
Wo««-fe've £0f; no WOrk to do-o-o-o!
We're ballotted out of our scre-e-ew ;
■roor Working Men's Members, this worst
of Septembers,
■In sorrow we sigh and boho-o-o!
THE 'EAT OE DISCUSSION.
(A Fancy founded on Facts.)
He left the court with his colleagues at
twenty minutes to one o'clock. He said
nothing, but listened intently while the
question of the Inquest was canvassed.
Was it to be a verdict of Manslaughter or
Murder, or only Accidental Death ? He
listened so intently that he was quite sur-
prised when the clock struck two.
Yes two o'clock—time for his lunch!
He rose from his seat, and went to the door.
He spoke to one on the other side, he talked
of cuts from the joints, and chops and steaks.
He was answered with laughter!
Then he returned to his chair, rather put
out at this ill-timed pleasantryand listened
once more to the arguments of his colleagues.
They had got beyond the verdict now, and
were discussing the "riders."_ The first,
elaborately blaming the Magistrates, had
been framed and passed, and the second
dealing with the bye-laws of the Town
Council was under consideration. Before it
was finally settled the clock struck three!
Yes, three I and since twenty-minutes to
one he had been locked in lunchless! He
went to the door and beat it with his fists!
"Might he have a cut off the joint ?"
"No!"
Again he was silent, and again his col-
leagues continued their discussion. They
spoke in lower tones now, because they too
were feeling the want of food. Four struck,
and then five.
He staggered once more to the door, and in
piteous tones made a last request,
Might he have a sandwich ?
No i Ml!
It was too much! He ground his teeth in
rage! Five hours had elapsed, and then the
last and eighth rider, suggesting that after
its final completion a theatre should be
thrown open for public inspection for a wetk
before a licence was granted, was passed.
The work of the Jury was over.
It was indeed a painful scene. The eleven
men who had taken part in the discussion
were entirely exhausted. Some were slum-
bering from weakness, others were wearily
"talking on their fingers." Hunger had
made these last absolutely dumb. Reams of
papers were scattered about covered with
writing. Here and there was a quill-pen
partly consumed. Even the blotting-pads
testified to the presence of hungry men-
some of the leaves showed the traces of a
Btealthy nibble. In the heat of argument
hours before, a juryman, anxious to impress
an opinion upon a sceptic colleague, had
offered to " eat his hat." He now gazed at
the head-gear with greedy eyes, as if anxious
to carrv out his proposition.
The "Foreman, in a whisper, asked if any-
one had any further suggestions to make.
Then the rage of the starving one gave
him fictitious strength. He stood up, and
shrieked out, "I express my opinion that the
non-supply of refreshments to the Jury for
several hours is a blot on the legal system of
the country!"
In a moment" the Foreman and his col-
leagues sprang to their feet, and, making a
supreme effort, shouted out, Agreed!
agreed! agreed! " .
And what further did these poor famished
men, these heroes of the long, foodless day,
these martyrs to a cruel system—a wretched
system—these victims to an abuse that
should be swept away like chaff before the
wind—ay, what further did they do after
their t rumpet-tongued cry of indignant denun-
ciation P
Why (it is to be sincerely hoped) that they
went home and had their dinner 1
THE BICYCLISTS OF ENGLAND.
"Mr. Sturmey, in the preface to the new
edition of hia Handbook of Bicyclinq, sketches
the progress of this enormously popular amuse-
ment since the appearance of his last edition,
rather more than fire years ago."—Daily Paper.
Ye Bicyclists of England
Who stride your wheels with ease,
How little do you think upon
What Mr. Sttjemey sees.
The wheelmen's standard rises high
With every year that goes.
Wheels sweep, fast and cheap,
Whereof Stukmey's trumpet blows—
Our cycles range more swift and strong,
And Sturmey's trumpet blows.
The Cycles of our fathers
Were " bone-shakers," and few,
But the cinder-path's broad field of fame
Shows what their sons can do.
When Wyndham rose, and Stanton fell,
The pace was cramped and slow;
Their creep to our sweep
Rouses Stuemey's scorn, you know—
Our Cycles now run fleet and strong,
And Sttjrmey's trumpets blow.
Britannia needs no bulwark-
Tariffs her trade to keep,
Her " wheels " are found on"every~path";
Coventry's not asleep.
Our Woods and Howeils wheel like fun,
Jack Keen can make 'em go.
Fof s we floor from each shore,
Whereof Sttjrmey's trumpets blow—
Our Cyclists lick the world by long,
And Sttjrmey's trumpets blow.
The " Meteor " wheels of England
Shall yet terrific turn ;
'Tis true that France gave us a start—
Now she has much to ham.
To you, our brave wheel-warriors,
Our song and glass shall flow; '
To the fame of your name
Mr. Stuemey's trumpets blow-
Cycles or Cyclists, ours are best,
So why should we not blow ?
t Heavy Lightning. - Lord Gbimthobpe,
a propos of Lightning Conductors, with his
customary courtesy, writes to the Times of his
opponent s (also a Correspondent to the lead-
ing journal) desire " to display his own smart-
ness, and speaks of that opponent's opinions
as m^re nonsense, due to his ignorance."
He concludes, '' If he wants the last word, he
is welcome to it." Lord Gbimthorpe's iast
word (if really the last) is preferable.
vol. xcm.
0
THE WAIL OF MESSES. BURT
AND FENWICK.
The Northumberland Miners' U-ni-on
Have bidden their Buet bego-o-one.
It seems, by the ballot, we soon shall be all out,
And there '11 be an end to our fun.
Chorus.—"We've got no work to do-o-o-o!
We have no work to do-o-o !
We are poor Members, poor Working-Men
Members,
Who've got nowork to do!
Oh. Morpeth and Wansheok, o-o-oh!
This same is a pretty go-o-o !
The feelings why hurt of your Fentfice: and
Buet?
We wouldn't have served you so!
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
The Working-Men's Members of la-a-ate
Were getting a power in the Sta-a-ate,
But now they're rejected, or coldly ejected,
Which same is a sorrowful fate.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
Joe Arch he had to go-o-o-o,
Then Leicester, the other Jo-o-oe I
And now we two'11 have to forfeit our
" screw,"
Which is jolly hard lines, you know.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
It 'b hardly fair play to gi-i-ive,
To a Labour-Representati-i-ve,
For without your cash, 0 Miners most rash,
How, how shall we manage to live ?
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
It is no doubt exceedingly tru-u~ue ;
We've found little work to do-o-o,
In. the House. Tor that same 'tis not we
who're to blame,
But the long Irish hullaballo.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
We know these are very hard ti-i-imes,
To scrape up the dollars and di-i-imes;
But when we, dear Miners, are robbed of the
shiners,
We're punished for other folks' crimes.
Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.
Of course if you give us the sa-a-ack,
Our Gladstone bags we must pa-a-aek,
■out perhaps for this hurry some day you '11
be sorry,
And wish Buet and Fenwick" both hack.
Wo««-fe've £0f; no WOrk to do-o-o-o!
We're ballotted out of our scre-e-ew ;
■roor Working Men's Members, this worst
of Septembers,
■In sorrow we sigh and boho-o-o!
THE 'EAT OE DISCUSSION.
(A Fancy founded on Facts.)
He left the court with his colleagues at
twenty minutes to one o'clock. He said
nothing, but listened intently while the
question of the Inquest was canvassed.
Was it to be a verdict of Manslaughter or
Murder, or only Accidental Death ? He
listened so intently that he was quite sur-
prised when the clock struck two.
Yes two o'clock—time for his lunch!
He rose from his seat, and went to the door.
He spoke to one on the other side, he talked
of cuts from the joints, and chops and steaks.
He was answered with laughter!
Then he returned to his chair, rather put
out at this ill-timed pleasantryand listened
once more to the arguments of his colleagues.
They had got beyond the verdict now, and
were discussing the "riders."_ The first,
elaborately blaming the Magistrates, had
been framed and passed, and the second
dealing with the bye-laws of the Town
Council was under consideration. Before it
was finally settled the clock struck three!
Yes, three I and since twenty-minutes to
one he had been locked in lunchless! He
went to the door and beat it with his fists!
"Might he have a cut off the joint ?"
"No!"
Again he was silent, and again his col-
leagues continued their discussion. They
spoke in lower tones now, because they too
were feeling the want of food. Four struck,
and then five.
He staggered once more to the door, and in
piteous tones made a last request,
Might he have a sandwich ?
No i Ml!
It was too much! He ground his teeth in
rage! Five hours had elapsed, and then the
last and eighth rider, suggesting that after
its final completion a theatre should be
thrown open for public inspection for a wetk
before a licence was granted, was passed.
The work of the Jury was over.
It was indeed a painful scene. The eleven
men who had taken part in the discussion
were entirely exhausted. Some were slum-
bering from weakness, others were wearily
"talking on their fingers." Hunger had
made these last absolutely dumb. Reams of
papers were scattered about covered with
writing. Here and there was a quill-pen
partly consumed. Even the blotting-pads
testified to the presence of hungry men-
some of the leaves showed the traces of a
Btealthy nibble. In the heat of argument
hours before, a juryman, anxious to impress
an opinion upon a sceptic colleague, had
offered to " eat his hat." He now gazed at
the head-gear with greedy eyes, as if anxious
to carrv out his proposition.
The "Foreman, in a whisper, asked if any-
one had any further suggestions to make.
Then the rage of the starving one gave
him fictitious strength. He stood up, and
shrieked out, "I express my opinion that the
non-supply of refreshments to the Jury for
several hours is a blot on the legal system of
the country!"
In a moment" the Foreman and his col-
leagues sprang to their feet, and, making a
supreme effort, shouted out, Agreed!
agreed! agreed! " .
And what further did these poor famished
men, these heroes of the long, foodless day,
these martyrs to a cruel system—a wretched
system—these victims to an abuse that
should be swept away like chaff before the
wind—ay, what further did they do after
their t rumpet-tongued cry of indignant denun-
ciation P
Why (it is to be sincerely hoped) that they
went home and had their dinner 1
THE BICYCLISTS OF ENGLAND.
"Mr. Sturmey, in the preface to the new
edition of hia Handbook of Bicyclinq, sketches
the progress of this enormously popular amuse-
ment since the appearance of his last edition,
rather more than fire years ago."—Daily Paper.
Ye Bicyclists of England
Who stride your wheels with ease,
How little do you think upon
What Mr. Sttjemey sees.
The wheelmen's standard rises high
With every year that goes.
Wheels sweep, fast and cheap,
Whereof Stukmey's trumpet blows—
Our cycles range more swift and strong,
And Sturmey's trumpet blows.
The Cycles of our fathers
Were " bone-shakers," and few,
But the cinder-path's broad field of fame
Shows what their sons can do.
When Wyndham rose, and Stanton fell,
The pace was cramped and slow;
Their creep to our sweep
Rouses Stuemey's scorn, you know—
Our Cycles now run fleet and strong,
And Sttjrmey's trumpets blow.
Britannia needs no bulwark-
Tariffs her trade to keep,
Her " wheels " are found on"every~path";
Coventry's not asleep.
Our Woods and Howeils wheel like fun,
Jack Keen can make 'em go.
Fof s we floor from each shore,
Whereof Sttjrmey's trumpets blow—
Our Cyclists lick the world by long,
And Sttjrmey's trumpets blow.
The " Meteor " wheels of England
Shall yet terrific turn ;
'Tis true that France gave us a start—
Now she has much to ham.
To you, our brave wheel-warriors,
Our song and glass shall flow; '
To the fame of your name
Mr. Stuemey's trumpets blow-
Cycles or Cyclists, ours are best,
So why should we not blow ?
t Heavy Lightning. - Lord Gbimthobpe,
a propos of Lightning Conductors, with his
customary courtesy, writes to the Times of his
opponent s (also a Correspondent to the lead-
ing journal) desire " to display his own smart-
ness, and speaks of that opponent's opinions
as m^re nonsense, due to his ignorance."
He concludes, '' If he wants the last word, he
is welcome to it." Lord Gbimthorpe's iast
word (if really the last) is preferable.
vol. xcm.
0