THE UNEMPLOYED.

Plumber Joe loquitur:

Он, bust it! Or, rayther, bust them! I've
my eye on the pipes o' this House,
As might give me the chanst as I wants, but,
by gob, it's a regular chouse.
Nary bust in 'em yet, as I sees! I ain't none
o' yer ornary hands,

There isn't a task in my trade but wot smart
Plumber JOE understands,
And at making a jint I'm daisy. Our trade
is a topper, it is,

But one arf of the pottrers called plumbers
ain't nothink like up to their biz-
Mere poor paltryfoggers, most on 'em, as
boggle, and bungle, and botch.
"Tain't bizness the beggars are arter, but
more speshul Irish-or Scotch!
A copper-bit jint is their utmost, but wot
they like most is a splodge

Of canvas and white-lead or putty; their work is all fakement and dodge, As won't last a fortnit, not watertight. As to a blow-jint, well did, They jest couldn't take it on nohow-no, not if you tipped 'em a quid. But I'm a certif'cated plumber, a master of shave-hook and solder,

Of turn-pin, and mallet, and fire-devil. Plumber who's smarter and bolder With blow-pipe, and lamp-black, and size, you won't find London through if yer try; And at 66 wiping a jint"-ah!-a pickter there's none as can wipe JOEY's eye. Then at sanitry work! Bless yer buttons, yer dashed County Council ain't in it;

And as to that there WALLACE BRUCE, wy,
I'll jist wipe him up in a minit,
Though he has a good fighting name on 'im.

Calls me a quack, too, does BILL, And 'ints I dunno my own trade! Wait a bit, and I'll give him a pill. Insanitry aireys, indeed! As a judge of a rookery or slum

There ain't ne'er a Cockney C. C. as can sideup with JOEY the Brum; Wote doesn't know 'aint wuth knowing.

I'll set 'em all right, though,-in time. When England's all Brummagemised, and I'm boss of it, won't it be prime? Meanwhile, I'm a bit out-of-work.

Un

employed, so to speak, like a lot, Although I ain't no Unskilled Labourer." HARDIE talks thunderin' rot,

But I thought 'e might make me a hopening.
Somehow the fakement was lost.
And yet I should be flush o' work, for we've
had a unusual frost,

As this House, like the rest, must have felt.

Wy, I thought they'd ha' bust long ago, Them Guverment pipes, and be blowed to

'em. 'Ere in the sludge and the snow I've bin waiting a tidy long spell, till my toes 'ave like icicles grown. I've bin journeyman quite long enough, and I want to set up on my own." Pal ARTHUR is all very well, but at bossing a bit of a slob. And

RETURN TO THE CLASSICS.-There is a talk of reviving Olympian Games. Athens or Paris to begin. The competitors to be cosmopolitan. England will send her prize boxer or wrestler, and if crowned victor, let him, after the manner of the ancient Greeks, be free of taxes and rates for the remainder of his life. How the competition will grow. The Smiths, the Browns, all the patres familias will be urged FIN DE SIÈCLE.-"New men, new man- by the matres to go forth and take part in "New women-no manners."

when these big pipes do a bust, well-I see a rare charnce of a job!

ners."

the contest.

Nor the Learned Pig, ladies and gentlemen, this time. no! I should think the public had had about enough of him for Oh dear some time to come, and- Oh, I forgot! (Aside: He'll have to be trotted out again presently, so I'd better shut up, and not spoil the market for Misther O'MORLEY.) As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, not the Learned Irish Pig, but the Learned Welsh Goat! A goat, you know, is a nimble creature, which, in a state of nature, mounts pinnacles, and leaps from rock to rock, like the poor gentleman in the Contrabandista. This one could climb a church steeple, and balance itself on the weathercock-if permitted to do so. Couldn't you, TAFFY (Aside I hope the blessed brute won't butt He's been a bit restive of late.)

me.

say,

No, ladies and gentlemen, Esmeralda's goat was really not in it with mine, for nimbleness and nous, much less the goat in Dinorah. As to Robinson Crusoe's much talked of animal- Here, I TAFFY! Crwych Unwyddfohw ychonbompthyy kekonobommthygy! That means, Mind your 'p's' and 'q's" ladies and gentlemen, or, in Welsh, "Mind your l's' and 'y's.' But my goat understands English quite well, as you'll see presently, and, moreover, is not, as Lord ROSEBERY says most other members of the Liberal Party are, floored by words of two syllables. TAFFY is equal to fiveat least! Most Welsh words, you know, are in about twenty. At least, they look so, to non-Welshers- I mean, non-Welshmen. (Aside: Hope they won't ask me what is the Welsh for "Ploughing the Sands")

Now, you see, ladies and gentlemen, here are sixteen letters, scattered, "in pie," as it were, forming a word of tive syllables, which has been familiar in our mouths as

66 All the Year Round ".

big D." No profanity intended, I assure you. This is a Noncomformist goat, and carries a conscience! D.I.S. Ah! that, too, hath an ominous sound, TAFF! But you 're not through yet. E. S. T. A.B! How carefully, yet how confidently, he picks them out. No hesitaD.I.S.E.S.T.A.B Well, and what's the next letter, tion, no indecision. Ah! Gallant Little TAFFY knows his book! [Left spelling it out.

TAFFY?

HARD TO (L. C.) C.

following circumstances. I have been of late considerably perplexed DEAR MR. PUNCH,-I crave your advice and sympathy under the as to which side I ought to support in the forthcoming London County Council Election. Sometimes I have felt drawn to the banner of Progressivism, at other times I have yearned to embrace Moderateness, do not say the Moderate Programme, because there are so many. In my difficulty I saw an announcement that the Daily Chronicle was about to become an illustrated paper in the interest of the Progressives. Accordingly, last Monday I eagerly bought the first copy of the newly-pictured paper, and found a delightful feast for my eyes in a reproduction of a drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES. It was without doubt a charming piece of work, and the printing was marvellously good. That decided me-I threw in my lot with the Progressives without more ado.

But, unfortunately, that was only the commencement of the difficulty. That very afternoon I met a friend who happened to be a "Moderate" candidate. "I suppose I can reckon on your assistance, old fellow ?" was his greeting as he patted me familiarly on the back. I explained to him that I had determined to vote Progressive. He asked me why. For some time I tried to think of some reason which should appear, on the face of it, conclusive. It ended in my being truthful, and playing Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES. Then came the questions which have been ringing in my ears ever "What on earth has that delightful picture to do with the question? Why, I've got it myself and am having it framed for our drawing-room. But why should it make you vote Progressive ?" And that's just it-I didn't know, and I don't know. Please can anyone tell me? Yours, Burne-Jonesing to know, Feb. 15, 1895. MUCHPURP LEXT.

CHILLY NOTION.-The gentleman who had "nothing on his mind" was reduced to "a bare idea." He has not survived it.