It's beastly, NAN, that's wot it is. Wy, blimy,
Narrer ill-lighted streets is our best friends.
Yer dingy nooks and slums, sombre and slimy,
Is gifts wot Prowidence most kyindly sends
To give hus chaps a chance of perks and pickins;
But if the Town's chock-full of "arc" and "glow,"
With you and me, NAN, it will play the dickens.
We must turn 'onest, NAN, and that's no go!
'Ang Science! Ile lamps and old Charlies—bless 'em!—
Wos good for trade, our trade. Ah! if my dad