I
'Ow are yer, my ribstone? Seems scrumtious to write the old name.
I 'ave quite lost the ran of you lately. Bin playing some dark little game? [1]
I'm keeping mine hup as per usual, fust in the pick of the fun,
For wherever there's larks on the tappy there's 'Arry as sure as a gun.
II
The latest new lay's Demonstrations. You've heard on 'em, Charlie, no doubt,
For they're at 'em all over the shop. I 'ave 'ad a rare bustle about.
All my Saturday arfs are devoted to Politics. Fancy, old chump,
Me doing the sawdusty reglar, and follering swells on the stump! [2]
III
But, bless yer, my bloater, it isn't all chin-music, votes, and 'Ear! 'ear!' [3]
Or they wouldn't catch me on the ready, or nail me for ninepence. No fear!
Percessions I've got a bit tired of, hoof-padding and scrouging's dry rot, [4]
But Political Picnics mean sugar to them as is fly to wot's wot.
IV
Went to one on 'em yesterday, Charlie; a reglar old up and down lark.
The Pallis free gratis, mixed up with a old country fair in a park,
And Rosherville Gardens chucked in, with a dash of the Bean Feast will do,
To give you some little idear of our day with Sir Jinks Bottleblue.
V
Make much of us, Charlie? Lor bless you, we might ha' bin blooming Chinese
A-doing the rounds at the 'Ealthries. 'Twas regular go as you please.
Lawn-tennis, quoits, cricket, and dancing for them as must be on the shove,