, the old reglar, could well be
deviged;
And though I've to live and to learn, I confess as this turn I'm
serpriged.
A Fondling!!! Turned up unbeknownst on a doorstep permiskus, no doubt.
And then to _adopt_ him! Oh dear, wot the plague is our Party about?
Wich to monthly to _it_ were my pride; its legitermit offspring I've
nussed
Many years with the greatest success, but to-day I feels flurried and
fussed,
And my eyes is Saint Polge's fontin with tears, and this brat is their
source;
As it isn't no offspring of _ourn_--of the fam'ly I mean, Ma'am, in
course;
But a Brummagem bantling, picked hup, as were not worth its swaddlin'
and food,
And I never yet knowed any brat from _that_ source as turned out any
good.
Missis G., Mum, it's all a mistake, as you know in your 'art all the
same,
For you turned up your nose at the child when JOE CHAMBERLING give him
a name,
Afore we was thick with his set, when you snubbed him, and laughed him
to scorn,
And heaped naughty names on this kid, as you swore was his nat'ral
fust-born.
And now you come dandling, and doddling, and patting the brat on the
'ed,
And forgetting the things as you promiged, and backing on all as you
said.
Missis G., you do raly amaze me! This comes of our precious mix-up;
Which the child's no more like one of ourn than a pug's like a
tarrier-pup.

In the best-regulated o' fam'lies things will go askew, I'm aweer;
As I says to my friend Mrs. HARRIS, as says to me, "SAIREY, my dear,
You looks dragged, my sweet creetur," she says. "Missis HARRIS," I
makes 'er reply,
"When the 'art in one's buzzum beats 'ot, there's excuge for the tear
in one's heye.
Which wales isn't in it for worrit, my love, with your poor old pal,
SAIREY,
Along o' the Fam'ly," I says; "as things _do_ seem to go that
contrairey,
_My_ services now ain't required, with 'adoptions' all over the shop,
From Brummagem, yus, and elsewheres; and I ast 'Where is this thing to
stop?'
RITCHIE'S 'pick-up' was tryin', most tryin'; and as to those bad Irish
brats,
As BALFOUR interjuced--dear! jest fancy our Party adopting small Pats!
And now this here Brummagem babby! You say he's a promising cheild,
Missis G., and 'you're learning to love him!' All this makes old
SAIREY feel wild.
It's wus than kidnapping, this bizness of picking up 'Fondlings' all
round.
You're