NOT TO BE MINCED.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 167, 24 November 1883, Page 11

NOT TO BE MINCED.

A Sausage Machine Escapade.

Her hair fell like a mantle o'er her shoulders, And right down to her feet ; The hue of newly-minted Auckland gold, hera- 1 - Oh ! she was quite too sweet ! Tt seemed a pity such a Cupid's mesher Should be the wife of but a common flesher. To those whore not in slangy language versed, Who don't know hootcher-kootcher, I'll say, for I'm in lingo rare immersed, A fiesher is a butcher. So then, you see, or I'm a base deceiver, Her hubby, sir, a knight is of the cleaver. Her name ? — There's Smith, and Robinson, and Jones ; Pray choose a name, sir, from 'urn. Not suit ? Well, s'pose we call her Missus Bones ? That name is not so common, And cannot be forgotten once it's gripped, if You note it is of butchering descriptive. Well, Missus Bones had hair (I make no blunder) Full five feet long and more ; It was, in fact, a source of public wonder — Brought custom to the store. And ev'ry hair, as I've already told, Was like a thread of pure and shining gold. 'Tis Saturday, and Bones's shop's a-jam With large and buying crowd ; Impatient customers now curse and damn In words that ain't allowed. The pateut grinder for the scraps and squashagea Is set to work to turn out lots of sausages. Fair Missus Bones, with all her wealth of hair, Stands close to that machine, The sweetest, loveliest object witnessed thereShe seems a very queen ! When, suddenly, she shrieks — the buying cits Are frightened, one and all, out of their wits. The greedy teeth of that ere sausage-maker Have gripped her hair so sweet, And threaten, now, all bodily to take her And turn her into meat ! Though they move slowly, helpless seems l her scream, For that ere sausage-grinder goes by steam. Her threads of gold drag slowly through the rollers, And help seems all in vain, As Missus 8., in anguish, grinds her molars, And yells on in her pain. Ah ! cruel fate ! that you should ever cos sick— Poor Missus Bones, alas! will soon, be aossige. But lo ! bright Hope now comes in Suff 'ring's stead, Her countenance is clearing, She puts her hands up swiftly to her head, And undees certain gearing. ■ And soon she stands, from sossige-flend disinthralled, ' Before the crowd of customers — quite bald ! * All those who bought B.s sausages that day, And, after eating, spat tresses, Declared the same were made (s\ich was. their say!) Of horse-hair, out of mattresses ! While women friends, in joyaunce danced a valse, And eried — " We ahvayssaidherhair wpsfalsel"

Wanted Ei^oWn.^T. Haz-ris, tobriccoiu'st, ( liag removed to Isaacs* .Buildings, Lower Queeri-stfceet; '