'T KEEP
HIM UP TO IT!"]

_Bumble_. Wot, more dooties piled upon me? It's a beastly black shame
and a bore.
Which Ritchie beats _Oliver Twist_ in a canter at "asking for more."
Didn't grasp his dashed Hact, not at fust, though of course I opposed
it like fun;
But this 'ere Memyrandum's a startler. _I_ want to know what's to be done.
_Me_ keep the streets clean, _me_ go poking my dalicot nose into 'oles
As ain't fit for 'ogs, but is kep' for them Sweaters' pale wictims--pore
soles?
_Me_ see that the dust-pails is emptied, and underground bedrooms made
sweet?
_Me_ nail the Court Notices hup upon Butchers as deals in bad meat?
Great Scissors, it's somethink houtrageous. I knew Ritchie's Act meant
'ard lines,
And it's wus than I could 'ave emagined. But wot I funk most is them
FINES!!!
Fine _Me_--if I make a mistake, as, perhaps, even BUMBLE may do!
That _is_ turning the tables a twister! More powers? Ah, well, that
might do,
But increase my great "Responsibilities," give them Ratepayers a chance
Of a calling _me_ hover the coals! Won't this make my hold henemies dance?
I never did like that HYGEIA, a pompous and nose-poking minx--
A sort of a female _Poll Pry_, with a heye like an 'ork or a lynx;
But the making me "Sanit'ry," too--oh, I know wot _that_ means to a T.
She's cock--or say, hen--of the walk, and her sanit'ry slave'll be Me!
Oh, I fancy I see myself sweeping the snow from the streets with a broom,
Or explorin'--with fingers to nose--some effluvious hunderground room!
Or a-trotting around with the dust-pails when scavengers chance to run
short!
Oh, just _won't_ the street-boys chyike me and 'ousemaids of BUMBLE make
sport?
Disgustin'! But there RITCHIE stands with his dashed Memyrandum. A look
In his heye seems to tell me that he too enjoys bringing BUMBLE to book,
As the _Times_--I'm serprised at that paper!--most pleasantly puts it
to-day.
My friend BONES the Butcher too! Moses! wot _would_ my old parlour-chum
say
If he saw me a nailing a Notice--but no, that's too horrid a dream.
I must be a 'aving a Nightmare, and things cannot be wot they seem.
I could do with mere Laws--bye or hother-wise--Hacts, jest like Honours,
is easy,
But this Memyrandum of RITCHIE's queers BUMBLE, and makes him feel queasy,
Can't pertend as I don't hunderstand it, it's plain as my nose, clear as