An idle rhymer.

* * * * *

A 'BUS 'OSS'S MEMS.

(_KEPT DURING A RECENT SOCIAL CRISIS._)

_Saturday, June 6_, 11 P.M.--Home after our last turn. Fancy from
several drinks had on the way, and the pace we had to put into that
last mile and a half, that something's up. Turned into stall nice and
comfortable, as usual.

_Sunday_.--Something is up with a vengeance. Hoorooh! We're on strike.
I don't know the rights of it, nor don't care, as long as I have my
bit of straw to roll in, and a good feed twice a day. I wonder, by
the way, if the fellow who looks after my oats is "off." Past feeding
time. Feel uneasy about it. Hang it all, I would rather work for _my_
living, than be tied up here doing nothing without a feed! Ha! here he
is, thank goodness, at last. However, better late than never. Capital
fun this strike.

_Monday_.--Am sent out in a loyal omnibus. Hooted at and frightened
with brickbats. Felt half inclined to shy. Halloa! what's this? Hit on
the ribs with a paving-stone. Come, I won't stand this. Kick and back
the 'bus on to the pavement. All the windows smashed by Company's men.
Passengers get out. Somebody cuts the traces, and I allow myself to be
led back to the stables. Don't care about this sort of fun. However,
feed all right.