in train,
It is forty to one on a blizzard, or regular buster of rain.

It's a orkud old universe, CHARLIE, most things go as crooked as Z.
Feelosophers _may_ think it out, 'ARRY ain't got the 'eart, or the
'ead;
But I 'old the perverse, and permiskus is Nature's fust laws, and
no kid.
If it isn't a quid and bad 'ealth, it is always good 'ealth and
_no_ quid!

'Owsomever it's no use a fretting. I got one good outing--on wheels;
For I've took to the bicycle, yus,--and can show a good many my
'eels.
You should see me lam into it, CHARLIE, along a smooth bit of
straight road,
And if anyone gets better barney and spree out of wheeling, I'm
blowed.

Larks fust and larks larst is _my_ motter. Old RICHARDSON's rumbo
is rot.
Preachy-preachy on 'ealth and fresh hair may be nuts to a sanit'ry
pot;
But it isn't mere hexercise, CHARLIE, nor yet pooty scenery, and
that,
As'll put 'ARRY's legs on the pelt. No, yours truly is not sech a
flat.

Picktereskness be jolly well jiggered, and as for good 'ealth,
I've no doubt