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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887
    Ebook93 pages46 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887 - Archive Classics

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93.,

      October 1, 1887, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93., October 1, 1887

      Author: Various

      Release Date: June 27, 2011 [EBook #36537]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

      Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,

      Ernest Schaal, and the Online Distributed Proofreading

      Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      Vol. 93.

      October 1, 1887.

      THE WAIL OF MESSRS. BURT AND FENWICK.

      The Northumberland Miners' U-ni-on

      Have bidden their Burt bego-o-one.

      It seems, by the ballot, we soon shall be all out,

      And there'll 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 no work to do!

      Oh, Morpeth and Wansbeck, o-o-oh!

      This same is a pretty go-o-o!

      The feelings why hurt of your Fenwick and Burt?

      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!

      And now we two'll have to forfeit our screw,

      Which is jolly hard lines, you know.

      Chorus.—We've got no work, &c.

      It's hardly fair play to gi-i-ive,

      To a Labour-Representati-i-ve,

      For without your cash, O 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. For 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-ack,

      But perhaps for this hurry some day you'll be sorry,

      And wish Burt and Fenwick both back.

      Chorus.—We've got no work to do-o-o-o!

      We're ballotted out of our scre-e-ew;

      Poor Working Men's Members, this worst of Septembers,

      In sorrow we sigh and boho-o-o!

      THE 'EAT OF 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 surprised 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 pleasantry, and 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! 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

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