Now London Labour, London Poor, Occupy pen and pencil more Than Pictures in the Passing Show Of the Immense Metropolis. And few have knowledge such as his, (The great Q.C., the worthy Beak!) Of modern Babylon, high and low; And so shall I with interest seek These pages, full of interest, "_Round London, Down East, and Up West_." True picture of the present time, Drawn for us by the pencil prime Of good MONTAGU WILLIAMS! * * * * * [Illustration: "NOT AT HOME." MISS SARAH SUFFRAGE (_indignantly_). "OH! '_OUT_' IS HE!" EIGHT-HOURS BILL (_angrily_). "YUS!--AND HE WON'T GET '_IN_,' IF _I_ CAN, HELP IT!!" (Mr. GLADSTONE has lately published an unsympathetic Pamphlet on "Female Suffrage," and has declined to receive a Deputation on the "Eight Hours Day" question.)] * * * * * [Illustration: AN OVER-EXTENDED FRANCHISE. (_The Radical Grocer has just been elected County Councillor._) _My Lady_ (_to her pet protégée_). "PRAY WHOM DID YOUR HUSBAND VOTE FOR?" _Martha Stubbs_. "I DON'T KNOW, MY LADY." _My Lady_. "BUT SURELY YOUR HUSBAND TOLD YOU?" _Martha Stubbs_. "HE DOESN'T KNOW HIMSELF, MY LADY. HE'S SUCH A POOR IGNORANT CREATURE!"] * * * * * BURNING WORDS. (_FROM A WORKING MAN._) ["How many of you men would contribute to a Working Men's Fund the shilling you put on _Orme_, who, by the way, I am sorry to see was not poisoned to death."--_Mr. John Burns in the Park._] Look 'ere, JOHN, you stow it; you're nuts on the spoutin'; I don't mind a man as can 'oller a bit; And if shillings are goin', I'd back you for shoutin', Though your game's an Aunt Sally, all miss and no 'it. But the blusterin' chap as keeps naggin' the boys on To fight and get beat all for nothing's an ass. And I'm certain o' this, that the wust kind o' poison Is the stuff as you fellers 'ave lots of--that's gas! What's _Orme_ done to you? _'E_ can't 'elp a cove bettin'. To get at 'im for that is a trifle too warm. And poisonin' racers ain't _my_ kind o' vettin'. I likes a good 'orse, so 'ere's 'ealth to old _Orme_. Take a bolus yourself, it might stop you from roarin'; There's nothin' like tryin' these games on yourself! And I'll throw BENNY TILLETT and one or two more in, Just to lay the whole lot o' you up on the shelf. BEN TILLETT talks big of a mind that's a sewer; Well, 'e knows what it is, for I'll lay 'e's bin there. And _you_'d make a 'orse into cat'smeat on skewer. My eye, but just ain't you a nice-spoken pair! _I_ ain't goin' to foller you two like a shadder, Your 'eads is a darned sight too swelled up with brag. If you don't want to bust and go pop like a bladder, Why you'd best take my tip--put 'em both in a bag.