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Page 2
["They (the electorate) know that we (the Labour Party) are not, and
never will be, merely concerned in the interests of one particular
class."--_Mr. THOMAS in "The Sunday Times."_
"Nationalization was proposed not to gain increased wages for workers,
but in the national interest.... They were prepared to produce to the
last ounce of their capacity to give to the nation and to humanity all
the coal they required. If he thought that this scheme was intended to
or would give the miners an advantage at the expense of the State he
would oppose it."--_Mr. BRACE, in the House of Commons._]
Though Comrade SMILLIE keeps a private passion
That yearns to see Sinn Fein upon its own,
Clearly we cannot put our Unions' cash on
Men with a motto like "OURSELVES ALONE;"
To us all folk are brothers
And on our bunting runs the rede, "FOR OTHERS."
Our hearts are ever with the poor consumer;
We long to give his sky a touch of blue;
To doubt this fact is to commit a bloomer,
To falsify our record, misconstrue
The ends we struggle for,
As illustrated in the recent War.
We struck from time to time, but not at C�sar,
Not to secure the highest pay we could;
Our loyalty kept gushing like a geyser;
We had for single aim the common good;
Who treads the path of duty
May well ignore the cry of "_Et tu, Brute!_"
Humanity's the cause for which we labour;
The hope that spurs us on to do our best
Is "O that I may truly serve my neighbour,
And prove the love that burns within my breast,
And save his precious soul
By a reduction in the cost of coal!"
Nationalize the mines, and there will follow
More zeal (if possible) in him that delves;
Our eager altruists will simply wallow
In work pursued for others (not themselves),
Thrilled with the noble thought--
"My Country's all to me and Class is naught!"
O.S.
* * * * *
A STORY WITH A POINT.
(_With Mr. Punch's apologies for not having sent it on to "The
Spectator."_)
Geoffrey has an Irish terrier that he swears by. I don't mean by this that
he invokes it when he becomes portentous, but he is always annoying me with
tales, usually untruthful, of the wonderful things this dog has done.
Now I have a pointer, Leopold, who really is a marvellous animal, and I
work off tales of his doings on Geoffrey when he is more than usually
unbearable.
Until a day or two ago we were about level.
Although Geoffrey knows far more dog stories than I do, and has what must
be a unique memory, I have a very fair power of invention, and by working
this gift to its utmost capacity I have usually been able to keep pace with
him.
As I said, the score up to a few days ago was about even; yesterday,
however, was a red-letter day and I scored an overwhelming victory. Bear
with me while I tell you the whole story.
I was struggling through the porridge of a late breakfast when Geoffrey
strolled in. I gave him a cigarette and went on eating. He wandered round
the room in a restless sort of way and I could see he was thinking out an
ending for his latest lie. I was well away with the toast and marmalade
when he started.
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