A Letter from LondonWell, I’ve just had a letter from one of the lads,And he’s been to London town— He writes of “ lorries ” and “ lifts ” and “ trams,”Well, shiver me, blow me aow’n! With his “ cheerio ” this and his “ right-o ” that,I fear me it bodes hini no good If he ever lands back with that line of talk In the home neighborhood.It’s “ blast me ” this and it’s *“ blight me ” that—He now calls a tavern a “ pub.” Will he shed all ibis lingo before he returns?Aye, brothers, there’s the rub;It’s “ petrol ” instead of gas, if you please,A bun has become a “ biscuit,'’It isn’t just a plain vest anymore, No, indeed! it is now a “ wescit.”He speaks of a “ fortnight’s leave,” no less.A policeman is now a “bobby.” He’s been to the pictures often, The “cinema’s” really his hobby. If he keeps on clipping his syl-lfiblesWith the best of the Oxford boys, Won’t he be a larff, and I don’tmean by harff,Home in Booneville, Illinois!Jazbo.