Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, June 20, 1891

Excerpt

A 'BUS 'OSS'S MEMS.

(Kept during a recent Social Crisis.)

Saturday, June 6, 11 P.M.—Home after our last turn. Fancy from several drinks had on the way, and the pace we had to put into that last mile and a half, that something's up. Turned into stall nice and comfortable, as usual.

Sunday.—Something is up with a vengeance. Hoorooh! We're on strike. I don't know the rights of it, nor don't care, as long as I have my bit of straw to roll in, and a good feed twice a day. I wonder, by the way, if the fellow who looks after my oats is "off." Past feeding time. Feel uneasy about it. Hang it all, I would rather work for my living, than be tied up here doing nothing without a feed! Ha! here he is, thank goodness, at last. However, better late than never. Capital fun this strike.

Monday.—Am sent out in a loyal omnibus. Hooted at and frightened with brickbats. Felt half inclined to shy. Halloa! what's this? Hit on the ribs with a paving-stone. Come, I won't stand this. Kick and back the 'bus on to the pavement. All the windows smashed by Company's men. Passengers get out. Somebody cuts the traces, and I allow myself to be led back to the stables. Don't care about this sort of fun. However, feed all right.

Tuesday.—Hear that the men want thirteen and sixpence a day and a seven hours' turn. Directors offer five and sixpence, and make the minimum seventeen hours. Go it, my hearties! Fight away! Who cares? You must feed me, that's quite certain. Still I don't care about being cooped up here all day. Nasty feeling of puffiness about the knees. Hang the strike!

Wednesday.—Puffiness worse. Vet. looks in and says I want exercise. Take a bolus and am walked for half an hour or so up and down some back-streets. Bless them!—that ain't no good.

Thursday.—Puffiness worse, of course. Bother it all, being shut up here! What wouldn't I give just for a sight of dear old Piccadilly! The fact is, if they don't soon let me have my run from King's Cross to Putney, I shall "bust up"—and that's a fact. I feel it.

Friday.—Ah, they may well come to terms! Another day of this, and I believe I should have been off the hooks "for ever and for aye." It's all very well for Capital and Labour to get at loggerheads, but, as DUCROW said, they must cut all their disputes short if they wish to save anything of their business, and look sharp, and "come to the 'osses."

Saturday, 13th.—Strike over! We shall have to be in harness again on Monday, and not a day too soon, in the interests of the men, the Directors, the Public; and, last, but by no means least, specially that of "the 'osses."

"OLD TO-MORROW."

THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN ALEXANDER MACDONALD, LATE PREMIER OF CANADA.

Punch sympathises with Canadian sorrow

For him known lovingly as "OLD TOMORROW."

Hail to "the Chieftain!" He lies mute to-day,

But Fame still speaks for him, and shall for aye.

"To-morrow—and to-morrow!" SHAKSPEARE sighs.

So runs the round of time! Man lives and dies.

But death comes not with mere surcease of breath

To such as him....