Punch: Punch (21.1851)

AT sun-rise this morning, Punch was alarmed—for one
minute only, by the repeater, taken from the head of his
bed—by the sound of guns. " Bless us ! " said we, " have
Ltberte, Egalite, JFraternite come to London, and are they
at it in the streets'?'' More guns! Hushing our beating
heart, we listened. Hark ! That's the Tower gun—and there
—that's the Park gun ! It must be another royal arrival.
Well, we have seen no promise of it in the Morning Post, but
it must be another " addition to domestic happiness ! "

We laid ourselves back again with the thought; when a
knock came at our bed-room door, and we heard the sharp,
eager voice of the Printer's Devil—■" Wish you many happy
returns of the day, Sir ! " cried the little Devil.

" Day ! " we answered, " what do you mean 1 "

" Mean, Sir ! Why, please, Sir, have you forgot it, Sir ?
This is your Birth-day, Sir. To-day, Sir, you 're One-and-
Twenty Volumes old. They 're a-firing the Tower guns, Sir ;
and the Park guns, Sir ; and they 're going to roast bullocks
in the Green Park, Sir ; and Barclay and Perkins gives
away three hogsheads on account of what they call the
'spicious day, Sir ; and we 're to have rockets and blue lights,
—and now they 're a-ringing all the City bells—don't you
hear 'em, Sir ?—hurray ! hurray ! " And the Little Devil,
carried off his legs by his feelings, seemed at one jump to
reach the bottom of the stairs.

We again fell back in the bed, subdued, yet grateful with
the thought that warmed our heart. " It is true, true as
Time : we have attained our majority of paper and print !
Yes; this present Christmas Punch is One-and-Twentv
"Volumes Old ! "