(_In consequence of the Growing Demand for Lighter Liquors._)
SCENE--_The interior of a Dining-room. The ladies have just
left, and the gentlemen are discussing their beverages._
_Smith._ I say, BROWN, if it is not an impertinent question,
where _did_ you get that toast-and-water?
_Brown._ I thought you would be deceived! It was a cup, not the pure
article! My butler is a first-rate hand at it. I will give you the
recipe if you like.
_Smith._ Do. It was excellent. What _is_ the secret?
_Brown._ Something, I fancy, to do with watercress.
_Jones._ I say, BROWN, that was really very nice sherbet.
Turkish or Persian?
_Brown._ Neither. Came from the Stores. Home-made.
_Jones._ Well, it certainly was capital. I could have sworn that it had
been manufactured East of the Levant.
_Brown._ More likely East of Temple Bar. And now shall we have a
whitewash before we join the ladies?
_Six Guests._ No, thanks! Really not!
_Half-a-dozen more of the Company._ Really not! No, thanks!
_Brown._ Nonsense! (_Produces a pint bottle of lemonade._) Nonsense,
I repeat! Look here, my boys. (_Locks door._) Not one of you fellows
shall leave the room until you have finished _this!_
[_Draws cork of pint bottle, and distributes the lemonade amidst the
good-natured protestations of the revellers. Scene closes in upon the
Temperance orgy._
* * * * *
_NOT IN THE "NEWCASTLE PROGRAMME."--Last week Sir CHARLES
FREEMANTLE, K.C.B., was presented with his portrait painted by
Hon. JOHN COLLIER, in Hon. JOHN'S best style; and so,
for this work, COLLIER cannot be "hauled over the coals." _À
propos_, evidently _the_ artist to paint the present Ministry should
be a Collier, as it is a _Coal_ition Cabinet. If the Collier were a
Radical, how coal-black the portraits would come out!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "GENTLEMAN JOE."
_Joe Ch-mb-rl-n_ (_the Driver, to his fare Lord S-l-sb-ry, with A. J.
B-lf-r_). "ALL RIGHT, GOVERNOR! _I_ KNOW THE WAY!"]
* * * * *
'ARRY ON THE ELECTIONS.
Dear CHARLIE,--O 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray, an' three more, and a tiger! Great
Scott!
I'm as 'appy as ten on 'em, CHARLIE, though thusty and thundering 'ot.
I've bin up to my eyes in it this time, and now these 'ere Polling
Returns
Are a-sending me slap off my chump, though I'm sorry they didn't chuck
BURNS.
Oh! I'm feeling O K and a arf; I could stand on my 'ed with delight,
For the Rads are knocked out in three rounds, 'Ome Rule's smashed, and
Old England's all right.
And although it is late, and I'm tired, I'm so full of our Glorious Win,
That I feel I _must_ sit down and drop yer a line, mate, afore I turn in.
I'm the Pet of the Primrosers, CHARLIE, and, 'ang it, I've earned it all
round,
For I've worked like a nig, and no error. It suits me right down to the
ground.
I've canvassed and posted tremenjous, I'm 'usky with cheer and chi-ike,
And I've mounted the Unionist colours, and blazed round the streets on a
bike.
There was full arf a mile on us, CHARLIE, a scarlet percession on wheels;
With Japanese lanterns a-flying, and 'underds o' kids at our 'eels.
I felt I was "charging the guns," like that brave Ballyclava Brigade,
With shouts for "Lord MUNGO and Malt!" and a little one in for "The
Trade."
I tell yer, old man, 'twos hexciting. We dashed along Mulberry Scrubs.
And up the 'igh street a rare buster, 'ocrayed by the bhoys at the Pubs.
We scooted around for ten mile, the 'ole distance one thunderin' cheer;
And _when_ we pulled up at the "Crown," if you'd just seen me lower the
beer!
I lapped off a quart in one quencher. "_That_'s rippin'!" sez I to the
Bung.
"I felt liked a dashed wooden 'orse, with a lump o' red leather for
tongue."
"Ah!" sez 'e, "and jest fancy, old man, if them Vetoers 'ad their vile
way,
Wy, _I_ couldn't sell you a tankard, and _you_ wouldn't 'ave any say!"
But jimminy-whizz, _'ow_ we squelched 'em! We got our man in two to one,
Though our neighbourhood used to vote Rad, and a Tory was not in the run.
Wot beans it must be to old 'ARCOURT, wot toko to LAWSON and CAINE!
Well, they've got their fair arnser this time; let us 'ope they won't
try it again.
_Workin'-men_ on the _Radical_ ramp? You should jest 'ear wot _I_ 'ear,
old pal.
Let big pots make the round o' the pubs, and they won't talk that footy
fal-lal.
Labour wants steddy work and good wyges, and likes to see England look
big;
And then, with its baccy and beer, it's all one to it, Tory _or_ Whig.
Wot's it care for Welsh Churches, or Scotch 'uns, as don't 'ardly enter
its own?
And as to 'Ome Rule--for yer worker there's dashed little meat on _that_
bone.
Talk of Betterment, Progress, Peer-smashing, and such-like, may do for
the Clubs;
But all Labour _gits_ is 'igh rates, shocking trade, and a raid on its
pubs.
Workman sez it's too good enough, CHARLIE; believes as it's better by far
To vote for Old SOL, a big Navy, an' maybe a olly good war.
He's sick of the bloomin' old forriners copping our trade and our tin,
And 'e's game for Protection _and_ Peers--_anythink_, so Old England may
win!
If the Rads wont his vote for the future, they've got somethink _solid_
to do!
Village Councils and Vetoes won't work it, for all BILLY 'ARCOURT'S
boohoo!
'E don't wont less beer, but more beer-money, ah! and 'e don't care a
blow
If 'e gits it from ROSEBERY and 'ARCOURT, or SOLSBURY, BALFOUR and JOE!
But 'ang it, I'm preaching, old oyster, and giving them Rads the straight
tip.
One thing, they won't take it, this lot won't; they ain't got no savvy,
no grip.
Bin sloppin' all over the place like, a-fillin' their cup, and that rot,
And now, arter tackling the pewter, they find as they've all gone to pot.
O ain't it ske-rumptious, my pippin? I feel I could washup Brum JOE,
And I'm bound to admit, next to Bung, us true Tories must thank _him_
this go.
He's crumped 'is old pals a fair knock-out. If SOLSBURY'S saddle 'e'll
carry,
And run straight in 'arness with ARTHUR, _'e_'ll do! Yours, tolbobbishly,
'ARRY.
* * * * *
NOT THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM.--Lord ROSEBERY
the Derby Winner; Sir W. V. HARCOURT the Derby Loser.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNLUCKY SPEECHES.
_She_ (_giving him a flower_). "SWEET AS THE GIVER?"
_He_ (_wishing to be very complimentary indeed_). "OH--SWEETER FAR!"]
* * * * *