that.

Kerrectness be jolly well jiggered! Street slang isn't Science, dear pal,
And it don't need no "glossery" tips to hinterpret my chat to my gal.
I take wot comes 'andy permiskus, wotever runs sliok and fits in,
And when smugs makes me out a "philolergist,"--snuffers! it do make me
grin!

Still there's fitness, dear boy, and unfitness, and some of these jossers,
jest now,
Who himitate 'ARRY's few letters with weekly slapdabs of bow-wow,
'Ave about as much "fit" in their "slang" as a slop-tailor's six-and-six
bags.
No, Yours Truly writes only to you, and don't spread _hisself_ out in the
Mags.

_Mister P._ prints my letters, occasional, once in a while like, dear boy;
For patter's like love-letters, CHARLIE, too long and too frequent, they
cloy.
I agree there with _Samivel Veller_. My echoes I've no wish to stop,
But I'd jest like to say 'tisn't _me_ as is slopping' all over the shop.

It do give me the ditherums, CHARLIE, it makes me feel quite quisby snitch,
To see the fair rush for a feller as soon as he's found a good pitch.
Jest like anglers, old man, on the river; if one on 'em spots a prime swim,
And is landing 'em proper, you bet arf the others'll crowd about _him_.

But there's law for the rodsters, I'm told, CHARLIE; so many foot left and
right;
And you'll see the punts spotted at distance, like squodrons of troops at