BUMBLEDOM'S BIG OPENING.
Bumble (after reading Dr. T. Orme Duffield's Report to the Vestry of Kensington on the health and sanitary condition of the district), loquitur:—
Oh bother this sanit'ry bosh! Always piping the same dull old strains,
One would think there wos nothink in life to be done but go sniffing the Drains!
Wich my nose is a dalicot one, and I don't like the job, not by lumps;
And I won't be perpetual poked up by these peeping and prying old pumps.
"Bumbledom and Disease!" I like that,—like the Times' dashed himperence, I think.
We porochial pots is to pass all our time a-prospecting for Stink!
Doctor DUDFIELD thinks WE should inspeck, periodical, all privit dwellings,
Discover and show up defecks, sech as fumings and leakings, and smellings,
As "lurk unsuspected about," which the tenants theirselves do not twig,
And the landlords, in course, don't remove. Well, your tenant is mostly a pig,
And your landlord is sometimes a 'og; still between 'em we jest slip along,
But do dooty for both of 'em? Snakes! that is coming it slightly too strong.
The tenants 'old on jest as long as they can, and the landlords 'old orf.
A sort of a ketchy sore-throat, or a bit of a qualm or a korf,
Make some idjots go fair orf their chumps on diphtheria, and typhod and such;
But then others, who don't like a hupset, put up with the lot, pooty much,
Jest to save topsy-turvey and 'oles in the garden, and mud on the stairs;
Landlords, likeways, is dabs at postponing, and patching, and 'ushing up scares.
But if we are to spot wot goes quisby, and be the responsible chaps,
Wheugh! we should 'ave a regular beanfeast with sockets and air-pipes and traps!
No, no, westry worrying sneaks, it won't work. As for "W.B.E."
He may frighten the Kensington lot, he won't 'ave no effeck upon Me!
Diphtheria be jolly well dashed! It is often, as DUDFIELD explains,
Mere "follicular(—hem!—) tonsillitis." Me bother my 'ed about Drains?
Go to! I 'ave got other fish, in a manner of speaking, to fry,
That L.C.C. gave itself airs and declared it would wipe my old heye
With its bloomin' Big Pots and "Progressives." Aha! where the doose are they now?
Mister ROSEBERY resigned, regular sick of bad manners and endless bow-wow;
Now LIBBOCK and FARRER are orf. FARRER gave the Times one in the eye,
'Cos it seemed for to 'int even he of them precious Progressives wos shy.
Swears their manners is quite up to dick, most consid'rit, and all that there stuff.
Well they may 'ave been Brummels of course, but he seems to 'ave 'ad quite enough!
'Owsomever, wotever the cause, now they're quit of the Great Toffy Three,
They must 'ave a new Chairman, in course, and—ha! ha!—wot a hopening for Me!!
Porochial Bumble must rule, spite of fads, in a steady and sane age,
And 'aving a heye on High Orfice I can't waste my time on mere Drainage!
[Kicks Report, and strikes an attitude.
