Jack turned round to Gill and frowned,
“Eugh!” you don’t understand ’em
Put up your feet, stick to your seat,
I’m going to do a ‘flyer,’
For goodness sake don’t touch the brake.
We’re spilt! oh Jeremyur!
Wheeling Annual. 1885.
——:o:——
Questions for Sir Charles.
O where, O where, are your little wee dogs,