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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 103, Sep. 24, 1892, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 103, Sep. 24, 1892 Author: Various Release Date: March 15, 2005 [EBook #15366] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 103. September 24, 1892. 'ARRY AT 'ARRYGATE. [Illustration] DEAR CHARLIE,--Rum mix this 'ere world is, yer never know _wot_'ll come next! Don't emagine I've sent yer a sermon, and treacle this out as my text; But really life's turn-ups are twisters. You lay out for larks, 'ealth, and tin, But whenever you think it's "a moral," that crock, "Unexpected," romps in. Who'd ha' thought of _me_ jacking up suddent, and giving the Sawbones a turn? Who'd ha' pictered _me_ "Taking the Waters"? Ah! CHARLIE, 'twos hodds on the Urn With Yours Truly, this time, I essure you. I fancied as Tot'nam-Court Road Would he trying its 'and on my tombstone afore the green corn wos full growed. _Bad_, CHARLIE? You bet! 'Twas screwmatics and liver, old Pill-box declared. Knocked me slap orf my perch, fair 'eels uppards. I tell you I felt a bit scared, And it left me a yaller-skinned skelinton, weak, and, wot's wus, stoney-broke. If it hadn't a bin for my nunky, your pal might have jest done a croak. Uncle NOBBS, a Cat's-butcher at Clapton, who's bin in luck's way, and struck ile, Is dead nuts on Yours Truly. Old josser, and grumpy, but _he_'s made his pile. Saw me settin' about in the garden, jest like a old saffron-gill'd ghost A-waiting for cock-crow to 'ook it, and hanxious to 'ear it--a'most. Sez he, "Wy, the boy is a bone-bag! Wot's that? Converlescent? Oh, fudge! He's a slipping his cable, and drifting out sea-wards, if _I_'m any judge. I was ditto some twenty year back, BO
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