Dear Charlie,—You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound.

Not for Parry alone, mate, this time—I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round.

Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, Charlie—guess it's a sight you'd enjoy

To see 'Arry, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.

'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail.

But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale;

Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap;

And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.

Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know.

But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow?

I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never came much of a spill;

But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.

But that's ontry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere.

'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel—no fear!

When I slipped down a bloomin' crevassy, I did do a bit of a 'owl,

On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.

Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie—guide swore 'twas all my hown fault,

'Cos I would dance, and sing too-ral-li-ety, arter he'd hordered a halt.

Awful gonophs, them guides, and no herror; they don't know their place not a mite,

And I'm dashed if this cad didn't laugh (with the rest), 'cos I looked sich a sight.