ld Socialistic Babel
Blest if I always know just where we are.
But if I'm out of work, or out of fuel,
Me and a many thousand like me, mate,
Your "friendly" conflict seems a _leetle_ cruel
To us, with idle hands or empty grate.

I'd like to taste the sweets of "solidarity"
In this connection; so would my pale friend;
He's a poor Clerk. I fancy human charity,
_All round_, a lot of bitter strife would end;
And if _that_'s "solidarity," I'm for it;
But in your "play" _are_ you considering _us_?
No need for snivelling bunkum; I abhor it;
But does fraternity shape itself _thus_?

Must fight for your own hand? Oh, ah! precisely.
Only that's ISHMAEL, after all, right out.
Maybe that for yourself you're acting wisely,--
Though even that seems open to some doubt,--
But if your self-advancement means a smasher
To mill-hand, poor mechanic, labourer, clerk,
Without a fire to fry his slender "rasher,"
Fraternity's outlook still looks rather dark.

With Coal two bob a hundred, and still rising,
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,
she says, "she has often heard of m