Volume 107 — A FRIEND IN NEED;
Reading edition
Or, The Lawbreaker's Last Refuge.
Sure stranger irony life never saw Than Lawlessness low suppliant to the Law!
Guardian of Order soliloquiseth:—
"Down with Everything!" Ah, yes! That's the sort o' rot you jaw! You'd be in a tidy mess If you'd downed with good old Law. Funniest job we have to do, Is to "save" such scamps as you. "Down with Everything!" Spout on! I, who stand for Law, stand by. You may want me ere you've done. Somethink in that workman's eye, And the clenching of his fist, Ought to put you on the twist. Think you're fetching of 'em fine With your tommy-rotten patter? Think you've got 'em in a line, Or as near as doesn't matter? Won't you feel in a rare stew If they take to downing you? Downing is a sort o' game Two can play at here—thanks be! Spin your lead out! Don't let shame, Common sense, or courtesy, Put the gag on your red rag; Flourish it—like your Red Flag! How they waggle, flag and tongue! Proud o' that same bit of bunting? See the glances on you flung? Hear the British workman grunting? He is none too fond, that chap, Of rank rot and the Red Cap! Perched upon a noodle's nob, Minds me of an organ-monkey!— If a workman will not rob, You denounce him as a "flunkey." Some of 'em know what that means. Mind your eye! They'll give you beans! Ah! I thought so. Gone too fur! Set the British Workman booing. "Dirty dog!!!" That riles you, Sir! Better mind what you are doing! Mug goes saffron now, with fear, Round you glare! Yes, Law is here! Show your teeth, shark-like and yellow! You won't frighten them, or me. Ah! there comes the true mob-bellow! That means mischief—as you see. Mob, when mettled, goes a squelcher For Thief, Anarchist or Welsher. "Help! Perlice!!" Oh! that's your cry! I'm your friend, then,—at a pinch? Funk first taste of Anarchy? Law is better than—Judge Lynch? Rummy this! For all his jaw The lawbreaker flies to Law! Good as a sensation novel For to see you crouching there. Can't these Red Flag heroes grovel? Come, my Trojan, have a care. Do not clasp Law's legs that way, Like Scum Goodman in the play. Help? Oh, yes; I'll help you—out!— "Stand back there, please! Pass along!" Come, get up! Now don't you doubt If your "downing" dodge ain't wrong? Anyhow 'tis, you'll agree, Lucky for you—you've not downed me!

WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.
Madame la Baronne (who WILL speak English). "And tell me, Mistress Brown, your clevare 'Usband, who 'ave a so beautiful talent—is he yet of ze Royal Academy?"
Our Artist's Wife (who WILL speak French). "Oh non, Madame, hélas! Seulement, il est pendu cette Année, vous savez!"
Madame la Baronne (relapsing into her native language). "Oh—Madame—quelle affreuse Nouvelle!"