Then he sez, "'ARRY'S always a Londoner." Shows 'ARRY ain't no bad judge. "Wot the crockerdile is to the Nile 'ARRY is to the Thames." Well, that's fudge. _That's_ a ink-slinger's try-on at patter. Might jest as well call me a moke. Try another, young man; this is kibosh purtending to pass for a joke. Wen he sez my god's "go,"--well he's 'it it. Great Scott! wot is life without "go"? But "loud, slangy, vulgar"? No, 'ang it, young man, this is--well, there, it's _low_. _Me_ vulgar! a Primroser, CHARLIE, a true "Anti-Radical" pot! No, excuse me, St. J., I admire you; but this is all dashed tommy-rot. Stale, too, orful stale, my young josser. It's wot all the soap-crawlers say, If a party 'as "go" and "high sperrits"--percise wot you praise me for, hay?-- If he "can laugh aloud," as you say I can, better than much finer folk, Will you ticket 'im "vulgar," _for doin' it?_ Oh, you go 'ome and eat coke! Leastways I don't mean that exackly; I like you too well; you're my sort; But you ain't took my measure kerrect, I'm a Tory, a patriot, a "sport." So wy should _you_ round on me thusly? I call it a little mite mean. If I took and turned Radical now; but oh! no, 'ARRY isn't so green. 'Owsomever in one thing you've nicked me. No marriage for 'ARRY, sez you. O, right you are, chummie! I'm single, you bet, though I'm turned twenty-two, And I've 'ad lots o' chances, I tell yer; fair 'ot 'uns, old man, and no kid. But I'll 'ave a free run for _my_ money, as long as I'm good for a quid. Yah! Marriage is orful queer paper; it's fatal, dear boy, as you say, It damps down the rortiest dasher, it spiles yer for every prime lay. No; gals is good fun, wives wet blankets, that's wot my egsperience tells, And the swells foller me on that track, though _you_ say as I follers the swells. Wot odds arter all? We're jest dittos! I'm not bad at bottom, sez you. Well, thankye for nothink, my joker. As long as I've bullion to blue, I mean to romp round a rare buster, lark, lap, take the pick of the fun, And, bottom or top, good or bad, keep my heye on one mark--Number One! There, CHARLIE, that's 'ow I should answer my criticks. They ain't nicked me yet, Not even the pick o' the basket, 'im of the _St. James's Gazette_. He's not a bad sort though, I reckon. Laugh, lark, cut a dash, never marry! Yus, it only want's my fillin' in to make that a fair photo, of 'ARRY. * * * * * WELL PROTECTED; OR, WHAT IT WILL COME TO.