Make-a-bloke-a-choke young girl, Love-a-gin-soak young girl, [12] On-the-kerb-come-a-cropper, Run-in-by-a-copper, [13] "Fined-forty-bob "--young girl. III A tallow-faced-straight young girl, A never-out-late young girl, A Salvation-mummery, Smoleless-and-glummery, Kid-by-a-captain young girl. [1: making love] [2: lie] [3: assaulting the police] [4: take unlimited credit] [5: in prison] [6: hung] [7: clothes] [8: silver] [9: money] [10: drunk] [11: child] [12: drunken bout] [13: policeman] 'ARRY AT A POLITICAL PICNIC [By T Milliken in _Punch_, 11 Oct.] DEAR CHARLIE. I 'Ow are yer, my ribstone? Seems scrumtious to write the old name. I 'ave quite lost the ran of you lately. Bin playing some dark little game? [1] I'm keeping mine hup as per usual, fust in the pick of the fun, For wherever there's larks on the tappy there's 'Arry as sure as a gun. II 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, and follering swells on the stump! [2] III But, bless yer, my bloater, it isn't all chin-music, votes, and 'Ear! 'ear!' [3] Or they wouldn't catch me on the ready, or nail me for ninepence. No fear! Percessions I've got a bit tired of, hoof-padding and scrouging's dry rot, [4] But Political Picnics mean sugar to them as is fly to wot's wot. IV Went to one on 'em yesterday, Charlie; a reglar old up and down lark. The Pallis free gratis, mixed up with a old country fair in a park, And Rosherville Gardens chucked in, with a dash of the Bean Feast will do, To give you some little idear of our day with Sir Jinks Bottleblue. V Make much of us, Charlie? Lor bless you, we might ha' bin blooming Chinese A-doing the rounds at the 'Ealthries. 'Twas regular go as you please. Lawn-tennis, quoits, cricket, and dancing for them as must be on the shove, But I preferred pecking and prowling, and spotting the mugs making love. VI Don't ketch me a-slinging my legs about arter a beast of a ball At ninety degrees in the shade or so, Charlie, old chap, not at all. Athletics 'aint 'ardly my form, and a cutaway coat and tight bags Are the species of togs for yours truly, and lick your loose 'flannels' to rags. VII So I let them as liked do a swelter; I sorntered about on the snap. Rum game this yer Politics, Charlie, seems arf talkee-talkee and trap. Jest fancy old Bluebottle letting the 'multitood' pic-nic and lark, And make Battersea Park of his pleasure-grounds, Bathelmy Fair of his park! VIII 'To show his true love for the People!' sezs one vote-of-thanking tall-talker, And wosn't it rude of a bloke as wos munching a bun to cry 'Walker!' I'm Tory right down to my boots, at a price, and I bellered "'Ear, ear!' But they don't cop yours truly with chaff none the more, my dear Charlie, no fear!" IX