SEVENTY-ONE Sittings, a many months' run, Witnesses Two Hundred, Ninety and One: Clergymen, guardians, factors, physicians, Middlemen, labourers, smart statisticians, Journalists, managers, Gentiles and Jews, And this is the issue! A thing to amuse A cynic, the chat of this precious Committee, But moving kind hearts to despair blent with pity. CANTUAR., DERBY, and mild ABERDEEN, Such anti-climax sure never was seen! ONSLOW and ROTHSCHILD and MONKSWELL and THRING, Are you content with the pitiful thing? DUNRAVEN out of it; lucky, my lad! (Though your retirement seemed caused by a fad) Was the Inquiry in earnest or sport? What is the pith of this precious Report? Sweating--which all the world joined to abuse-- Is not the fault of poor Russians or Jews; 'Tisn't the middleman more than the factor, 'Tisn't, no 'tisn't, the sub-contractor; 'Tisn't machinery. No! In fact, What Sweating _is_, in a manner exact, After much thinking we cannot define. Who _is_ to blame for it? Well, we incline To think that the Sweated (improvident elves!) Are, at the bottom, _to blame themselves_! They're poor of spirit, and weak of will, They marry early, have little skill; They herd together, all sexes and ages, And take too tamely starvation wages; And if they _will_ do so, much to their shame, How can the Capitalist be to blame? Remedies? Humph! We really regret We don't see our way to them. People _must_ sweat, _Must_ stitch and starve till they almost drop; But _let it be done in a lime-washed shop_! To drudge in these dens is their destined fate, But keep the dens in a decent state. More inspectors, fewer bad smells, These be our cures for the Sweaters' Hells! Revolutions with rose-water cannot be made! So it was said. But the horrors of Trade, Competition's accursed fruit, The woman a drudge, and the man a brute, These, our Committee of Lordlings are sure, Can only be met by the Rose-water Cure! The Sweating Demon to exorcise Exceeds the skill of the wealthy wise. Still he must "grind the face of the poor." (Though some of us have a faint hope, to be sure, That the highly respectable Capitalist To the Lords' mild lispings will kindly list.) No; the Demon must work his will On his ill-paid suffering victims still; But--he'd better look with a little _less_ dirt, So sprinkle the brute with our Rose-water Squirt!!! * * * * * [Illustration: HARDLY LIKELY. (_An Incident in a "Point to Point" Race._) _Fallen Competitor (to his Bosom Friend, who now has the Race in hand)._ "HI, GEORGE, OLD MAN! JUST CATCH MY HORSE, THERE'S A GOOD CHAP!"] * * * * * AN ENTERTAINMENT OF A GOOD STAMP.--The Penny Postage Jubilee Exhibition at the Guildhall. * * * * * SONG SENTIMENTIANA. (_A delightful "All-the-Year-Round" Resort for the Fashionable Composer._)