THE FRIEND OF LABOUR.
How doth the provident M.P.
Improve each shining hour,
And in the "Labour Question" see
Hopes of return to power!
How skilfully he shapes his "sell,"
How neatly spreads his "fakes"!
On Labour's ear they sound right well,
The promises he makes.
Skilled Labour, Labour without skill,
He would have busy, too;
Nay, he would find some Labour still
For idle "hands" to do.
Yet, Labour, whatsoe'er he say,
To trust him be not fast;
Or you'll discover, some fine day,
He'll diddle you at last!
QUEER QUERIES.—COMBUSTIBLES.—I have five hundred barrels of Kerosene Oil, and three hundred of Paraffin, stored in a large room in the basement of my premises. Upstairs, on the top floor, there are about two hundred assistants at work. I now want to use part of the same room for the manufacture of fireworks. The place I don't think is too dark, as I have it constantly lighted by naked gas-jets. Would there be any need to take out a licence? The surrounding property, although very crowded, is only of a poor description.—INSURED.