



Produced by Jane Robins, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
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    PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

    VOLUME 93, OCTOBER 15, 1887.

    _edited by Sir Francis Burnand._




    'ARRY ON OCHRE.

[Illustration]

    DEAR CHARLIE,

    Hoctober, my 'arty, and 'ARRY, wus luck!'s back in town,
    Where it's all gitting messy and misty; the boollyvard trees is all
      brown,
    Them as ain't gone as yaller as mustard. I _do_ 'ate the Autumn,
      dear boy,
    When a feller 'as spent his last quid, and there's nothink to do or
      enjoy.

    Cut it spicy, old man, by the briny, I did, and no error. That Loo
    Was a rattler to keep up the pace whilst a bloke 'ad a brown left to
      blue.
    Cleared me out a rare bat, I can tell yer; no Savings Bank lay about
     _her_.
    Yah!--Women is precious like cats, ony jest while you strokes 'em they
      purr.

    Lor', to think wot a butterfly beauty I was when I started, old pal!
    Natty cane, and a weed like a hoop-stick, and now!--oh, well, jigger
      that gal!
    Cut me slap in the Strand ony yesterday, CHARLIE, so 'elp me,
      she did.
    Well, of sech a false baggage as Loo is, yours truly is jolly well rid.

    Wot a thing this yer Ochre is, CHARLIE! The yaller god rules
      us all round.
    Parsons patter of poverty's pleasures! I tell yer they ain't to be
      found.
    If you 'aven't the ha'pence you're nothink; bang