_Laura_ (_to her rich Sister, who has been extravagant as usual_). "I _DO_ THINK IT'S A MISTAKE TO BUY AN UGLY THING ONE DOESN'T WANT, MERELY BECAUSE IT'S _DEAR!_"] * * * * * 'ARRY ON HARRY. (_A Rejoinder to "Harry on 'Arry."_) Dear CHARLIE,--My eye and a bandbox! Wot next, and _wot_ next, _and_ WOT next? 'Ere's a HARRY 'as mounted the pulpit, and taken poor _me_ as 'is text![A] 'E bangs _Boernerges_ to bittocks, this lar-de-dar bagman--in silk-- And 'e's going to do me a fair knock-out as sure as a whale ain't a whilk. I larf, I do, CHARLIE, tremenjus! Wot's needled my nabs, it appears, Is 'is being mistooken for Me!!! Well, 'e needn't 'ave no blooming fears! The public ain't _all_ of 'em mugginses, some of 'em _can_ twig a joke. Confound _'im_ with _me?_ Yus, they will--when they can't tell _Bend Or_ from a moke. 'E calls me,--yus, _me_,--"the cad-cockney well known to the 'Eath and the 'Arp." Well, that's a fair challenge, old man, and I mean being on to 'im--sharp! I'll take 'im--with 'is aitches chucked in--with one 'and whensomever 'e likes; And "Cads" do the road in smart dog-carts as well as afoot or on bikes. "'ARRY the Cad!" Great Jemimer! Jest fancy our HARRY'S disgust At the thought of their knocking _'is_ aitch out! 'E's fair on the bile and the bust. Way oh, HARRY! Do keep yer 'air on, old pal, if you've _got_ any thatch,-- For it's wonderful 'ow these swell HARRIES go in for the shiny pink patch! It's their brines working through--_or_ their bumptiousness. _I_'ve got no hend of a crop, As looks, when I've 'ad a close clip, like a fuzz-bush a sprouting up top; But lor! these 'ere munchy-mouthed mashers--_with_ aitches--as gives theirselves hairs, Carn't grow any, not arter thirty, the bladder-o'-lardy-dar scares! 'Owsomever, that ain't to the pint, CHARLIE. Wot _is_ a Gent? That's the nip! Well, it's partly a matter of "snap"-like, and partly a matter of "snip." If I've got the grit and the gumption, and know 'ow to tog like a toff, I've got the true gent in my nyture, and them as ain't got it--they're hoff! But "aitches" won't do it, my pippin! Yer grammar may be quite O K, All yer parts o' speech proper as pie, and yer spellin' fust chop in its way, But if you can't rattle and patter, and 'old up your end like a man, All yer mincey-wince mealy-mouthed has-p'rates is nothink but slop and cold-scran.