A man reading a newspaper supplied in a coffee house and reading room turns to ask a seated man if he has read the leader article, to whch he receives the reply that he has not, owing to the failings of newspapers. Lithograph after R. Seymour.

The seated man is reading a book entitled 'Tales of love'. Behind him a poster on the wall advertises "Mr Fubbs's course of 15 lectures on science. Synopsis". The point of the work appears to be the incongruity involved in the discussion of national politics and romantic fiction by two men who speak in working class dialect

Accompanied in the book form by the following narrative in verse: "Bob. O! here's a harticle agin the fools, / Vich our poor British nation so misrules: / And don't they show 'em up with all their tricks— / By gosh! I think they'd better cut their sticks; / They never can surwive such cuts as these is! / Brisket. It's werry well; but me it never pleases; / I never reads the news, and sees no merit / In anythink as breathes a party sperrit. / Bob. Ain't you a hinglishman? and yet not feel / A hint'rest, Brisket, in the common-weal? / Brisket. The common-weal be—anything for me,— / There ain't no sentiment as I can see / In all the stuff these sons of Britain prate— / They talk too much and do too little for the state. / Bob. O! Brisket, I'm afeard as you're a 'Rad?' / Brisket. No, honour bright! for sin' I was a lad / I've stuck thro' thick and thin to Peel, or / Vellinton—for Tories is genteeler; / But I'm no politician. No! I read / These 'Tales of love' vich tells of hearts as bleed, / And moonlight meetins in the field and grove, / And cross-grain'd pa's and wictims of true love; / Wirgins in white a-leaping out o' winders— / Vot some old codger cotches, and so hinders— / From j'ining her true-love to tie the knot, / Who broken-hearted dies upon the spot! / Bob. That's werry fine!—but give me politics— / There's summat stirring even in the tricks / Of them vot's in to keep the t'others out,— / How I should like to hear the fellers spout! / For some on 'em have sich a lot o' cheek, / If they war'n't stopp'd they'd go it for a week. / Brisket. But they're so wulgar, Bob, and call sich names / As quite the tag-rag of St. Giles' shames / The press too is so wenal, that they think / All party herrors for the sake o' chink. / Bob. But ain't there no false lovers in them tales, / Vot hover wirgin hinnocence perwails? / Brisket. Vy, yes, but in the end the right one's married, / And after much to do the point is carried / So give me love sincere and tender, / And all the rest's not worth a bender."

London (96 Cheapside) : S. Tregear

1 print : lithograph

Have you read the leader in this paper, Mr Brisket? No I never touch a newspaper, they are all so werry wenal and woid of sentiment. Sketches by Seymour. No.16. Vol. 3.

Wellcome Collection 33684i