"Wot cheer, BOBBY, old buster!" I bellered; and up from his paper he
looks.
Ah! and didn't we 'ave a rare night on it, CHARLIE! We both know _our_
books.
But wot do you think BOB was reading? _The Times_! I could twig it at
once.
He might 'ave 'ung on to _Gil Blars_, or the _Figgero_,--BOB ain't a
dunce--
But lor! not a bit on it, CHARLIE; the Britisher stuck out to rights;
'Twas JOHN BULL's big, well-printed old broad-sheet! Jest one of the
pootiest sights!
TORTONI'S is all very spiffing, the Bullyvard life is A 1,
And the smart little journals of Parry, though tea-paper rags, is good
fun;
But a Briton abroad _is_ a Briton; _chic_, spice, azure pictures, rum
crimes,
Is all very good biz in their way, but they do not make up for our
_Times_!
Well, I'm not on for Turmutshire, CHARLIE, not this time; and now you
know why.
Carn't yer jest turn the tables, old hoyster, and come for a bit of a
fly?
Cut the chawbacons, run up to London, jine _me_, and we'll pal off to
Parry;
And if yer don't find it a 'Oliday Skylark, wy, never trust.
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