I'll be bound,
As hantiquities isn't my 'obby, and ruins don't fetch me, not much!
I can't see their "beauty," no more than the charms of some dowdy
old Dutch.

A Castle, all chunnicks of stone, or a Habbey, much out of repair,
A skelinton Banquetting 'All, and a bit of a broken-down stair,
May appear most perticular "precious" to them as the picteresk cops;
But give me the sububs and stucco, smart villas, and
spick-and-span shops.

"Up to date" is our _siney quay non_ in these days. _Fang der
sickle_, yer know.
Wich is French for the same, I persoom, and them phrases is now
all the go.
Find 'em sprinkled all over the papers; in politics, fashion, or
art,
If you carnt turn 'em slick round yer tongue, you ain't modern, or
knowing, or smart.

Still a houting to Bolton ain't bad when the _charry-bang's_ well
loaded up
With swell seven-and-sixpence-a-headers. _I_ felt like a tarrier-pup
On the scoop arter six weeks of kennel and drench in the 'ands of
a vet;
I'd got free of the brimstoney flaviour and went it accordin', you
bet!

'Ad a day at a village called Birstwith. The most tooralooralest
scene,