Punch (68.1875)

January 2, 1875.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

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A CHRISTMAS NUMBER A LA MODE.

John Smith was ill, very ill. He had sent for the Doctor in hot
haste. His family (a numerous one) surrounded his easy chair.
The poor old man (poor in health, only let it he understood, for
he was as rich as Croesus in pocket) gazed at the assembled throng
with eyes dimmed, not by tears of affection. His numerous relatives
bent over him te hear what he had to say.

“ My friends,” be gasped out, “ I want you to do me a favour. I
cannot last much longer, and before I die I should much like to hear
j all your stories.”

There was an awkward pause, and then one of his relatives ad-
vanced. He was a little old man dressed in a suit of seedy black.
He cleared his throat, coughed apologetically, and commenced as
follows

The Pew-opener's Story.

“ The Church of St. Bunkum is in the ward of Cold Without, in the
City of London, &c., &c. One foggy November morning, when the
streets were, &c., &c., I was dusting the reading-desk when, &c.,
&c. The Bride was a timid young thing, and as she stood before
the Curate, &c., &c. The Bridegroom was nervous, &c., &e. The
young couple drove off in a cab, &c., &c. He tried hard to get
work from the editors of the magazines, &c., &c. She pined away,
&c., &c. And on New Year’s Eve I heard, that they both were
dead! ”

When the little old man had finished his story, John Smith
opened his eyes and exclaimed, “ Let me hear the next.”

Accepting this invitation, a bright-looking young man with curly
brown hair and sparkling blue eyes stepped briskly forward, and
began—

The Civil Engineer's Story.

‘1 ‘ Charley, old man, you will never do it! ’ exclaimed my
partner. My partner was, &c., &c. In spite of this, I determined
to begin the work the next morning, &c., &c. The men murmured,
&c., &c. I seized the revolver from Morton’s hand, &c., &c. And
so he was tried, found guilty of manslaughter, and sentenced to
penal servitude for life.”

The bright-looking young man hastily wiped away a tear, and
bowing to the company, left the apartment.

Old John Smith roused himself from a gentle slumber, and cried
“ Now for the next! ”

A pale-faced man, very blue about the cheeks and chin, advanced,
and related—

The Story of the Christmas Clown.

“ Old Higgings used to work the Norfolk Circuit when me and
Sally were engaged at thirty shillings a week as ‘ useful people.’
My wife (she was called Miss Florence Plantagenet in the play-
bills) was, &c., &c. Well, one night when we had a good house (it

was Signor Tomkins’s benefit) we, &e., &c. The rouge was still on
her face, &c., &c. ‘ It is fever,’ said the doctor, in a low tone and

I, &c., &c. I gave the audience my usual joke (we call it a
‘ wheeze ’ in the Profession) before I came off, so that the Signor
might have time to prepare for jumping through the paper balloons, |
when, &c., &c. The audience roared with laughter, &c., &e. ‘ She’s
dead,’ said the doctor, as I came off, and poor lass, so she was! ”

The Christmas Clown buried his face in his hands, and poor old
John Smith (with tears in his eyes) observed, “A sad, sad story, i
And now for the next.”

A gentleman, with a face overflowing with drollery, advanced,
and, without any preface, commenced—

The Story of the Man Without a Memory.

“ I never could remember anything, &c., &c. When I was a hoy,
&c., &c. When I was a youth, &c., &c. Well, I was engaged to
be married, &c., &c. I was called in the morning, &c., &c. ‘The
day of your marriage, Sir,’ said he, and &c., &c. I looked at my
watch, &c., &c. I hurried to the church, &c., &c. The clergyman
was very angry ; he said, &c., &c. The ring was not on the piano,
&c., &c. And to this day I am a bachelor, whilst Mary, (the woman
I adored) is married to the hated pork-butcher, and is the mother of |
five children! ”

There was a roar of laughter as the speaker finished. After the
merriment had subsided, some one called attention to poor old John
Smith. His jaw had dropped, his features were rigid, his eye
glazed, his expression one of the deepest dejection. He was dead! ;
—the concluding story (it was a comic one) had finished him with-
out the assistance of a doctor !

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.

Sir,

It must have been! I’ve got at it. I’ve only just hit
upon it. The story of Brummy and the Dog-fight. I’ve found out
the solution of it all. It was evidently intended, at the commence-
ment of the autumn theatrical season, now over, to draw public
attention to Richard Cceur de Lion at Drury Lane. Didn’t you see j
the pictures on the walls? “The hound attacking the Knight.”

Of course. Depend on it, something went wrong, and the scheme
was mismanaged somehow, or under that picture we should have
seen long ago daily advertised, “ The Man and Dog Fight in Richard
Cceur de Lion at Drury Lane every evening.”

Yours,

Sleepyhead Wokeup.

A Wintry Sect.—The Shakers.

Vol. 68.

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