If any scandal should arise, quite safe is our fair fame;
We just repudiate his acts, and he gets all the blame;
But he is quite prepared for this, and knows his place 'twill

cost

If, through some squeamishness of his, a fee is ever lost. Chorus.-'Tis for this clerk, our strong right hand, we make our clients pay,

He costs us not one penny-piece, his stipend they
defray;

So as you see, our trickiness is rather over par;
We are a grasping family-we are! we are! we

are !

THE SUCCESSFUL M.P.-Q.C. sings.

WE take more work than we can do, and know it at the time;

But if a client's case fall through, we don't think that a crime ! For though his all he may have lost by our insatiate greed, He cannot sue us for the cost, so what care we, indeed? Besides, when we've received more briefs than we can ever read,

A surplus one enables us to do a kindly deed;

For we choose some young barrister, whose chance of work is dim,

And with a patronising nod, toss on the brief to him.

Chorus. Oh, yes; we take the widow's mite, the orphan's little store,

And if a bigger fee come in, look at their briefs no

THE INCAPABLE BARRISTER WITH A CONNECTION sings.
WE'RE very jealous of our trade, and anxious to retain
Monopoly's ill-omened aid our rivals to restrain;
We know solicitors are fit to plead in court their cause—
Nay, as a rule, they're better up than we are in the laws.
But still to keep the barrier up protects all weaker men,
For if there were free trade in briefs, why, where would
they be then?
So "
Vive abuses old! say we, and long live anything
That extra guineas to our purse more easily will bring.
Chorus. So Vive th' abuses of the past! Long live the good
old days!

Why should we try to alter what such thumping income pays?

We'll foster all the mystery that hangs about the Bar

We are a grasping family-we are! we are!! we

are !!!

Truth, Christmas Number. December 1882.

THE RIGHT HON. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, Loq. "I AM the cleverest of men! In all that I essay, It is my rule on no account to second fiddle play. There's scarce a talent or a gift to which I lay not claim, And "Chamberlain " has, thanks to me, become a famous

name.

I brook no interference with the plans which I propose;
I'm dictatorial, to a fault, alike to friends and foes.
Nor am I satisfied applause for my own acts to win-
No! I demand the self-same praise for all my kith and kin.
For we're a clever family,

From Arthur down to Dick;
My Nephews, cousins, quite by dozens,

And brother-in-law Ken-rick.

So who dares question aught we say,

Or our advance to bar?

For we're a clever family,

We are! we are! we are!

"The nation must be daft to doubt a word of what I say,
Or think that Mr. Gladstone's plan is equal to my way!
Poor man! What use is it for him his played-out brains to
tax,

When all that Birmingham can give so notably he lacks?
He was not born there, has not been its Alderman or Mayor,
Nor tasted of those honours which our family still share.
O, foolish Gladstone ! to suppose that any chance he runs
With me, the pride of Brummagem, and greatest of her sons!
And head of such a family, &c,

"And what can England be about to not at once agree
To simply leave her welfare to my family and me?
Why need she fear the rising storm will wreck or overwhelm ?
Does she forget her Chamberlains have hurried to the helm ?
Not Joseph only, for he's called his brethren to his aid.
Oh! silly, silly England, to be, in spite of this, afraid!
For how can harm upon you come, or ill of any kind,
When, for your sake, the Chamberlains have openly com-
bined?

For we're a clever family, &c.

"And do those Radicals believe, who dare to me condemn, That they can still exist without the Pride of Brummagem? Do they suppose their Caucus can throughout one session last

If I withdraw the nerve and strength I gave it in the past?
Can they in sooth imagine that, however they may strive,
Their party possibly can hope my loss to long survive?
'Twould seem they can, and yet-no! no! it surely cannot
be;

They must have learned the value of my family and me.
For we're a clever family, &c.

"And yet how strange it is that though I've turned against my chief,

He still exists-such stubbornness is well-nigh past belief;
I've told him he must reckon with my family and me,
And yet he has not bowed as yet, not even on one knee.
I've warned him that he must my wrath most certainly
expect,

And yet he positively dares to hold his head erect;
He must be mad, yes, very mad, to think that thus he can
Defy not me, the chief alone, but Caine and all my clan!
For we're a clever family, &c.

I must

"And yet, as days and weeks go by, 'twould seem,
confess,
That if my influence grows at all it only grows much less.
The Tories who two months ago knelt humbly at my feet,
Ignore the man who brought about the Government's defeat ;
The Whigs who warmly welcomed me as their most dear ally,
Already seem inclined to be reserved with me and shy.
In short, 'midst friends and foes alike a tendency I see
To underrate most shamefully my kith and kin and me.
Though we're a clever family, &c.

"Tis vain for me a caucus new to start, and it to man
With brothers and with relatives, all members of my clan,
If Radicals continue to ignore that caucus new,
And further dare my policy to laugh at and pooh-pooh ;
In vain my family and I display our talents thus,

If the ungrateful State declares 'twill not be saved by us ;
And 'tis in vain, too, that my foes I threaten and asperse,
When they are clearly for my threats in no wise aught the

worse.

Though we're a clever family, &c,

"And yet I scarce can bring myself to think I've had my day,

And ne'er again shall have the power a Ministry to slay. Can it, indeed, have come to pass that Birmingham's chief pride

Is now a pow'rless leader who is feared by neither side?
Can it, indeed, be true that I, spite all my brethren's aid,
Shall see that Statesman triumph who so lately I betrayed,
And, hardest blow of all, live on to but too surely find
That England is a match for all us Chamberlains combined?
Though we're a clever family,

From Arthur down to Dick,

With kith and kin, both stout and thin,

And brother-in-law Ken-rick.

But to the last, spite all that's past,
This fact we'll spread afar,

We are a clever family!

We are! we ARE!! we ARE!!!"

Truth. August 5, 1886.

THE POLITICAL HAPPY FAMILEE.

We are a Happy Familee,

And never, I engage,

Was known such peace and unity
As flourish in our cage!

For we are all true Unionists,
And it is good to see

With what delight we all unite,

How sweetly we agree!

Chorus-For we're a Happy Familee,

From Peter to John B. !

From Joseph's brothers, and sundry others,

To Hartington and me!

We are devoted, one and all,

And never snap nor spar,

For we're a Happy Familee,

We are! We ARE!! We ARE!!!

John Bright and Randolph Churchill make
A truly loving pair,

And gushing Goschen has no notion
Which Rylands does not share;

Collings and Caine would moan with pain
To be from Chaplin parted;
And Hartington, relieved of James
Would be quite broken-hearted!
Chorus-For we're a Union Familee,

Whose hearts with fondness glow;
Peter and Otto 've but one motto,
And so have John and Joe.
No thought of rupture troubles us,
No split, no party jar,
For we're a Happy Familee,

We are ! We ARE!! We ARE!!!

Truth Christmas Number. December, 1886.

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WAIT TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY.
Popular Premier Pipes to a Popular Air.

WILLY, my own Grand Old One,
Afar from the House you be,
Out in the Hawarden woodlands,
Under the still home tree.

Doubtless Town misses you, my William.

Winds blow and storms are raging high; Willy, my own Grand Old One, Wait till the clouds roll by ! Chorus-Wait till the clouds roll by, Willy, Wait till the clouds roll by; Willie, my own Grand Old One, Wait till the clouds roll by !

(Two verses omitted.)

Willy, here's time for thinking.
Salisbury's pack is hushed;
But in affairs of empire,

Have you been fogged-or rushed?
Hodge has his boon, and is contented,
But foreign foes seem in fuli crv.
Willy look sharp, but take it coolly;
Wait till the clouds roll by!
Chorus-Wait till the clouds roll by !

Willy, canards are flying.—

Cool skill will bring them down. But, when the eagles gather,

Danger perchance may frown; Give it your careful thought, my William, Don't be alarmed,-yet mind your eye! But when the bogey-mongers croak, man, Wait till the clouds roll by!

Chorus-Wait till the clouds roll by, Willy, Wait till the clouds roll by ; Willy, my own Grand Old One, Wait till the clouds roll by !

Punch. January 24, 1885.

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THE CHILDREN'S VOICES.

I HEAR the children's voices
Shouting at their play,

And the tears don't rise unbidden,
For I know well what they say.

They use strange words, and call each other
Names that are forbid,

And their sole idea of repartee

Is "Didn't!" "Yaas! ye did!"

Chorus-Sweet children's voices haunt me night and

day,

And how I wish those children's voices
far, far away.

I hear the children's voices
Singing in the street,

And I do no like their singing,
For its neither low nor sweet.
They are not singing quite in tune,

The pitch is far too high,

And I do not like the tune they sing,

For its" Wait till the clouds roll by." Chorus.

I hear the children's voices,
Behind my cottage door,

And I think I never heard them

So soft or low before.

I hear a gentle tapping,

I rush out in the rain,

And I hear their little voices shouting "Hullo! sold again!"

Chorus.

OH! give me but my Arab steed,

My shield and falchion bright,

And I will to the battle speed,

To save him in the fight.

His noble crest I'll boldly wave,
And gird his scarf around;
But I must to the field repair,

For hark! the trumpets sound.

Oh! with my Arab steed I'll go,

To brave the embattled plain, Where warriors brave their valour show, And drain each noble vein. His brow that oft the battle braves With fadeless laurels crown'd, Shall guide me where his falchion waves, But hark! the trumpets sound.

OH! GIVE ME BUT MY DONKEY, JOE.

OH! give me but my donkey, Joe,
His panniers fixed on tight;

And I will to my doxie go,

And do the thing what's right!

Her bran new wipe I'll proudly wear,
And pass the punch around,
But I must to my crib repair-
For, hark! the cleavers sound.

Oh! with my donkey I will go,
And greens and lettuce cry,

While my doxie patters with the foe,
I'll toddle on the sly.

Their chaffing without fear she braves-
Her head with carrots crowned,
Shall guide me where her hand she waves-
But hark! the cleavers sound.

From Wiseheart's Merry Songster. Dublin.

THE COACHMAN'S LAMENT.

(Air—" Oh! give me but my Arab steed.”)

FAREWELL my ribbons, and, alack!
Farewell my tidy drag ;

Mail-coachmen now have got the sack,

And engineers the bag.

My heart and whip alike are broke-
I've lost my varmint team,
That used to cut away like smoke,
But couldn't go like steam.

It is, indeed, a bitter cup,
Thus to be sent to pot;

My bosom boils at boiling up,
A gallop or a trot.

My very brain with fury's racked,
That railways are the rage;
I'm sure you'll never find them act,
Like our old English stage.

A man whose passion's crost, is sore,
Then pray excuse my pet;

I ne'er was overturn'd before,

But now am quite upset.

JUST AFTER The Wedding, MOTHER. PARODY ON "Just after the Battle, Mother." STILL upon my recent marriage I am thinking, Mother dear; But the fatal step I've taken cannot now be help'd, 'tis clear; She was such a duck, I told her that to eat her I'd be glad, And now, between ourselves, dear Mother, don't I only wish I had.

Mother dear, your boy is married; all regret is now in vain ;

But oh, how gladly would I, Mother, be a bachelor again.

Oh, those callers in were fearful, Jones, and Robinson, and
Brown,

Shower'd in congratulations, when we first returned to town.
All my darling wife's relations came to breakfast, sup, and
dine,
And oh

what appetites, dear Mother, oh! the fearful waste of wine.

THE THREE Jovial Statesmen.

Sir William Harcourt, at Glasgow, in quoting from 7he Three Jovial Huntsmen, referred to it as "a delightful illustrated story-book," which he advised all his hearers to buy. Quite so, Mr. Caldecott's pictures are simply delicious, and the verses themselves are quaint and pithy. But the "bearings of 'em lie in their application. And here's their application-much at your service, Sir William.

IT'S of Three Jovial Statesmen, and a-stumping they did go ;

It's just a Boer-whipt Jackass, without even pluck to bray"" Look ye there!

They spouted and they flouted, and the next thing they did find

Was a fat pig grunting in a stye, with anger almost blind.
Look ye there!

One said it was a fat pig, but another he said "Nay;
It's just a worthy Alderman who fears Reform's black day."
Look ye there!

They spouted and they flouted, and the next thing they did
find,
Was two old Patriots trying to bring Pat to his right mind.
Look ye there!

One said they were two Patriots, but another he said, "Nay;
They're just two ranting Demagogues. We're sold! let's

come away."

Oн the snow, the beautiful snow
(This is a parody, please you to know;
Over and over again you may meet
Parodies writ on this poem so sweet;
Rhyming, chiming, skipping along

Comical bards think they do nothing wrong;
Striving to follow what others have done,
One to the number may keep up the fun).
Beautiful snow, so gently you scud,
Pure for a minute, then dirty as mud,

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow!

Here's a fine mess you have left us below;
Chilling our feet to the tips of our toes;
Cheekily landing full pert on our nose;
Jinking, slinking, ever you try

Neath our umbrella to flop in our eye;
Gamins await us at every new street,
Watching us carefully, guiding our feet,
Joking, mocking, ready to throw

A hard compressed bail of this beautiful snow.

ANONYMOUS.

O, THE SNOW! the beautiful snow!
Feathering down to the ground below.
Snow on the pavement and snow on the street,
Snow on the boots of the people you meet.
Train, cab, or omnibus? O, no!--no !
Nothing to-day but the beautiful snow;
Nothing to go by and nowhere to go,
All through the fall of the beautiful snow.

O, the slush! the ineffable slush!

Snow, mud, and fog churned to maddening mush, Slush that slips in through the boots on your feet, Slush that siops up to your chimney-pot neat. Into town-into country-wherever you rush Nothing to-day but ineffable slush: Bedraggled merino and velvet and plush Trail through the swamps of ineffable slush. The Globe. January 28, 1886.

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WHERE THE WET COMES IN. (Parody of "When the Tide Comes In.") HE had a dull and beery look, And I was ill at ease,

When from the kitchen came the cook : "The plumber, if you please."

His very first request of me

Was for a "drop o' gin; "

And then he said, "I'll quickly see
Where the wet comes in."

He hammered there for many hours,
At what I couldn't guess,

And broke some pots of winter flowers,
Making an awful mess;

Then said "he'd mended every crack,"
Departing with a grin,

Remarking, "I will soon be back

If the wet comes in."

I saw the main with joy again'
The empty cisterns fill.

When, at a sound like summer rain,
My heart began to thrill;
While o'er the furniture it ran,

A voice came through the din : "We're certain now," cried that false man, "Where the wet comes in !"

Funny Folks. February 8, 1879.

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IF DIRTY DEEDS.

(Sung by an inebriated Chimney-sweep. After Sullivan's "If Doughty Deeds.")

I.

IF dirty deeds my lady please,
I'm jest the man to soot 'er;
With me she's sure to feel at ease,
Both now and in the futur'.

A dingy colour o'er me lies,
Wot pictur's forth my art;
Wich, if it gets into my heyes,
It alwuss makes 'em smart.
Then say if I shall soot my love,
Oh, say if I shall soot 'er !
Or else 'weep ho!
I'll drownd my woe
In this 'ere pot of pewter.