Proves as 'ARRY is well to the front wen sech higperlite pens pop on _him_, Does me proud and no herror, dear pal; shows we're both in the same bloomin' swim. Still, they don't cop my phiz _quite_ ker-rect; they know GLADSTONE right down to the ground; But _I_ ain't quite so easy 'it off, don'tcher see, if you take me all round. Old Collars is simple as lyin', becos he's _all_ bad, poor old 'ack, And you can't be fur out in his portrait as long as you slop on the black. But I'm quite another guess sort; penny plain, tuppence coloured, yer see, May do all very well for the ruck; but they'll find it won't arnser for me! I'm a daisy, dear boy, and no 'eeltaps! I wish the _St. James's_ young man Could drop into my diggings permiskus; he's welcome whenever he can; For he isn't no J., that's a moral; I don't bear no malice; no fear! But I'd open 'is hoptics a mossel concernin' my style and my spere. The essence of 'ARRY, he sez, is high sperrits. _That_ ain't so fur out. I'm "Fiz," not four 'arf, my dear feller. Flare-up is my motter, no doubt. Carn't set in a corner canoodling, and do the Q. T. day and night. My mug, mate, was made for a larf, and you don't ketch it pulling a kite. So fur all serene; but this joker, I tell yer, runs slap orf the track Wen he says that my togs and my talk are "the fashion of sev'ral years back." The slang of the past is my patter--_mine_, CHARLIE, he sez! Poor young man! If _I_ carn't keep upsides with the cackle of snide 'uns, dear CHARLIE, who _can_? Wot _is_ slang, my dear boy, that's the question. The mugs and the jugs never joke, Never gag, never work in a wheeze; no, their talk is all skilly and toke, 'Cos they ain't got no bloomin' hinvention; they keeps to the old line of rails, With about as much "go" as a Blue Point, about as much rattle as snails. MAVOR'S Spellin' and Copybook motters is all they can run to. But slang? Wy, it's simply smart patter, of wich ony me and my sort 'as the 'ang. Snappy snideness put pithy, my pippin, the pick of the _chick_ and the hodd, And it fettles up talk, my dear CHARLIE, like 'ot hoyster sauce with biled cod. "Swell vernacular"? _Swells_ don't invent it; they nick it from hus, and no kid. Did a swell ever start a new wheeze? Would it 'ave any run if he did? Let the ink-slingers trot out _their_ kibosh, and jest see 'ow flabby it falls. Bet it won't raise a grin at the bar, bet it won't git a 'and at the 'Alls. And fancy _my_ slang being stale, CHARLIE! Gives me the needle, that do. In course I've been in it for years, mate, and mix up the old and the new; But if the _St. James's_ young gentleman fancies hisself on this lay, I'll "slang" him for glasses all round, him whose patter fust fails 'im to pay.