Poor folk who buy it by the fourteen pound,
(Dukes at St. James's Hall, this sounds surprising,
But if you'd understand it, just look round!)
Dockers and Brickies, charwomen and "childer,"
With such small deer, mate, as my friend and me,
Find one more "Social Question" to bewilder
The small brains left us by chill poverty.

Fighting _our_ battle? Humph! A rather roundabout
Way of so doing! P'r'aps your Masters, too,
Would claim the same--there _are_ such Bosses found about;
Westminsters, Liveseys, Norwoods, and that crew,
All for our good, not only Strike-Committees,
But Rate-payers' Defence Leagues, and the like!
Oh, the poor Propertied Classes! How one pities
Those victims of the School Board, Council, Strike!

If Miners and Mine-Owners pull together
To raise the price of Coal--well, it may suit
Both them and you. But, in this bitter weather,
Your "Solidarity" brings _us_ bitter fruit.
When our pinched fire dies down to its last ember,
The picture of you "making holiday" thus
Won't warm our wives and kids. Strike!--but remember
That what is "Play" to you means death to us!

* * * * *

A POSER FOR MR. WEATHERBY.--Mrs. RAM is not in the least astonished at
its being said that certain horses turn out "regular flyers," because,