Sing a song of Dynamite, pack it up in bags, Rattle it in railway trains, drop it on the flags; Let it go in luggage vans ’mid all harmless loads; Never mind the consequence if the stuff explodes. Here’s to Nitro-glycerine! store it in a cask. Making it, says Chemistry, is an easy task; Though it’s reckoned dangerous, let it flood the floors, Startling the detective coves prying at the doors. Fulminating Mercury goes off with a noise, Fit for little Fenians like a baby’s toys; Chlorate of Potassium’s not exactly placid, When it’s mixed with sugar, Sir, and sulphuric acid. This a merry business is, but your cruel laws Say we shan’t use Dynamite to advance the Cause; Yet we’ll mix our fulminates underneath your eyes, While the gay Conspirator blows you to the skies. ――――:o:―――― THE BELLS OF LONDON TOWN Gay go up and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town. Bull’s eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Marg’ret’s. Brickbats and tiles, Say the bells of St. Giles! Halfpence and farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin’s. Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement’s. Pancakes and fritters, Say the bells of St. Peter’s. Two sticks and an apple, Say the bells at Whitechapel. Old Father Baldpate, Say the slow bells at Aldgate. You owe me ten shillings. Say the bells at St. Helen’s. Pokers and tongs, Say the bells at St. John’s. Kettles and pans Say the bells at St. Ann’s. When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, Say the bells at Shoreditch. When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I’m sure I don’t know, Says the great bell at Bow. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head. WHAT THE NEW CITY PEAL SAYS. You must pay up your “calls”―― Say the bells of St. Paul’s! Stock rises and falls―― Say the bells of St. Paul’s! City Companies’ hauls―― Say the bells of St. Paul’s! Snug prebends and stalls―― Say the bells of St. Paul’s! Blessings on these old walls! Say the bells of St. Paul’s! ORANGES AND LEMONS IN THE CITY. “Reformers are unpleasant,” Say the bells of St. Clement. “Yes, that is quite sartin,” Say the bells of St. Martin. “Do they want a sermon daily?” Say the bells of Old Bailey. “I’m sure I don’t know,” Says the great bell of Bow. “The Lords are in a fury,” Say the bells of Old Jewry. “Will they leave us in the lurch?” Say the bells of Abchurch. “I’ve a beadle and a clerk,” Say the bells of St. Mark. “Those two a church fill,” Say the bells of Cornhill. _Punch._ July 23, 1881. ――――