Punch (25.1853)

ES, with much pleasure,” said Mr. Punch, M.P. for England, as he
entered the Octagon Hall in Parliament Palace ; and, in his usual
elegant and affable manner, extended his white-gloved hand to a courtly
gentleman who had requested his presence.

“ I was sure you would say so,” said the gentleman, and he raised a
finger. A watchful official at a door instantly turned to the electric
dial, and Mr. Punch’s gracious assent was known at Holyhead, before
lie had finished congratulating his companion, in the most truly charming
style, on a promised knighthood, of which the Yiceroy of Heland had
whispered something to Mr. Punch.

“ No man ever earned his spurs better than the man who has been
spurring railways into increased activity for so many years,” said
Mr. Punch, vfith a beautiful bow.

“ I have not called you from the House at an unfortunate time, I
trust, Sir,” said the other. “ Not that you can ever be spared, but—”
“ William Gladstone is quite up to his work,” replied the great
patriot. “ He has but a couple of dozen of the Brigade in hand at
piesent, and he is tossing up one after the other, cup-and-ball fashion,
cupping or spiking him to taste, with the precision of a Pwamo Samee.
I can leave William. Let us go.”

“ You will take care that no other passenger is put into Mr. Punch’s
coupe, guard,” said the gentleman, as the Euston whistle sounded.

“No masculine passenger, please tell him, Me. Honey,” said Mr.
Punch, facetiously. “ Good night.”

“ This Irish journey is capitally done, certainly,” said Mr. Punch, as,
thirteen hours later, he found himself over his coffee and prawns in
Sackville Street, on a radiant morning, and all the bright eyes of Dublin
sparkling round the door of his hotel, eagerly glancing towards his
balcony. Mr. Punch rushed forth, serviette in hand. His large heart
beat high at the sight of so much loveliness, and at the sound of those
angel-voices, rising into musical cheering.

“ Bless you, my darlings! ” Mr. Punch could say no more, but
finished his prawns, and, throwing his manly form upon a jaunting car,
he dashed over the bridge, and to Merrion Square.

“An it’s for luck I’ll be takin’ your honour’s sixpence, and not
for the dirthy money,” said the excited driver, as he rattled round
the comer, and into the Square, and the gigantic cylinders of the
Exhibition hurst upon Mr. Punch’s gaze.

“ My Irish friend,” said Mr. Punch, gravely, but not severely, “ do
not talk nonsense. Your carriage is clean, your horse is rapid, you are
cHl, and your fare is certain. In London, we have as yet neither
clean carriages, rapid horses, civil drivers, nor certain fares. We may
learn those lessons of you. Learn two from us. Do not believe in
luck, but practise perseverance ; and do not call that money dirty which
is the well-earned pay of honest service. To sweeten the advice, there
is a shilling.” And Mir. Punch entered the Exhibition building, and
was drawing out his purse at the turnstile. But two gigantic policemen,
in soldierly garb, welcomed him with a respectful smile, and the turn-
stile suddenly spun him into the building gratis, but a little too fast
for dignity. What a sight was that before him ! The vast hah, with
its blue lines and red labels, looked a handsome instalment of Pax-
tonia. Plashing fountains, murmuring organs, a Marochetti Queen
high pedestalled, white statues, glistering silver-blazoned banners. A
fine and a noble sight, and worthy of all plaudit; but it was not that
which almost bewildered the great patriot, as he was shot into
Dargania. Those eyes again—two thousand pairs at least—Irish
diamonds, worth mines of Koh-i-noors, suddenly flashing and sparkling
and melting upon him. That telegraph message from the Octagon
Hall—and, as they say in the Peers’ House, “and the Ladies sum-
moned.” Staggered though he was, you do not often see such a bow as
that with which Mr. Punch did homage to his lovely hostesses.

Two of the fairest stepped forward gracefully, and blushingly
proffered themselves as his guides through the building.

“ Chiefly, that I may set them in my prayers,” murmured Mr. Punch,
“ if you happen to have names-”

Those blue eyes belong to Honoea, and those violet eyes to Geace,
and all to Mr. Punch’s heart henceforth and until further notice. They
proceeded, and there was a sound as of a great rustling, as of a world
of feminine garments forming into procession and following, but it was
vain for Mr. Punch to think of looking round, for he never got further
than the face of one or other of his companions. They paraded the
building.

Geace bade him look from her, and observe the five halls, in the
central and greatest of which they stood. She showed him that
Royalty had contributed a gorgeous temple, rich in gems and gold,
richer in an artist-thought of the Prince who designed it. And, standing

Vol. 25.

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