Chorus.—We've got no work to do-o-o-o!
We're ballotted out of our scre-e-ew;
Poor Working Men's Members, this worst of Septembers,
In sorrow we sigh and boho-o-o!
THE 'EAT OF DISCUSSION.
(A Fancy founded on Facts.)
He left the court with his colleagues at twenty minutes to one o'clock. He said nothing, but listened intently while the question of the Inquest was canvassed. Was it to be a verdict of Manslaughter or Murder, or only Accidental Death? He listened so intently that he was quite surprised when the clock struck two.
Yes two o'clock—time for his lunch!
He rose from his seat, and went to the door. He spoke to one on the other side, he talked of cuts from the joints, and chops and steaks.