Dear Charlie,
’Ow are yer, my ribstone? Seems scrumptious to write the old name.
I ’ave quite lost the run of you lately. Bin playing some dark little game?
I’m keeping mine hup as per usual, fust in the pick of the fun,
For wherever there’s larks on the tappy[280] there’s ’Arry as sure as a gun.
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,[281] and follering swells on the stump!
But, bless yer, my bloater, it isn’t all chin-music[282] votes, and “’Ear! ’ear!”