Punch (79.1880)

294

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[Dhoembek 25, 1880.

ready-made at Ephraim Brothers, in the Strand, or somewhere.
And Sopley can’t hear np against a snub from a lady of title. It
upsets his stomach, and he goes home and tells his mother and
sisters—and they tell everybody all round. Fatal!

Now the Lily had carried me though my first season, the Primrose
through my second. The question arose : what Flower of Flowers is
to carry me through my next ? It must be simpler than the Prim-
rose, rarer than the Lily, and as consummate and all that as either;
and such, moreover, as to rile Grigsby to madness, and leave Sopley
and Pilcox sticking in the mud for the rest of their lives.

I sat up all night with a Botanical Dictionary, and hit upon the
very flower at last—The Utter Blossom! The Perfect Thing!! Oh,
my Grigsby ! It will be the death of you ! And you, Professional
Beauties, look well to your laurels! For this is a stroke of Genius,
and will, carry me on to 1883—or even ’4 !

And that is why I am here to-night.

Good Philistines, every one, you are the witnesses thereof—and
when called upon to do so (by Grigsby, for instance), must testify
to the.fact that I, Jellaby Postlethwaite, was actually caught,
by an intelligent little quadruped answering to the name of Toby—
who informed his friend the big dog Chang of the fact, and Chang
carried me hither—in a snowstorm at mid-winter, nine thousand feet
above the level of the sea, Lat. 45° 52' N., Long. 7° 12' E., under most
unfavourable circumstances, and at considerable personal risk and
inconvenience to myself, in the very act of

Sitting up alt. night with an Edelweiss!

Here the iEsthetie Postlethwaite produced a dried specimen, smelt it
passionately, and fainted away. Punch revived him. Three sniffs di'd it.
Then Toby asked permission to entertain Chang with grilled bones and por-
ridge before the kitchen fire. “ By all means ! ” said Mr. Punch, heartily.

“Don’t twig this lingo about ‘Consummate,’” said ’Arry. Robert the
IVaiter thought it had something to do with soup.

“ Look here, Guv’nor,” cried the Irrepressible to Mr. Punch. “ Tip us a
stave yourself! ’

“Hear! Hear!” from everybody, enthusiastically. “With pleasure!”
replied the Sage, cheerily. It shall be something seasonable—I ’ve just had
a present from one of my oldest and most valued friends,” and he drew from
his portfolio a Christmas Cartoon.

“ Here we are again ! ” they all called out as they read the title.

“ Yes,” returned Mr. Punch; “ and here he is again—Father Christmas,
the Friend of all—young and old! There is also, you will observe,” he
added, blushing slightly, “a somewhat flattering portrait of myself. I like
being among the children at Christmas time. So fill your glasses a bumper.
Gentlemen, H you please, and here ’a the health of the bairns, bless ’em ! And
now I ’ll give you —

€iyc CIaOrtiRs Welcome to ^father
Christmas*

Do you hear the children laughing,—fathers, mothers,—

Ere the sorrows come with years ?

They are romping all together, sisters, brothers,

And they little know of tears.

The snow may be lying on the meadows,

The world with cold grief may be opprest;

The East may not be free from boding shadows,

Fresh trouble may be brewing in the West:

But the young, young children, 0 my brothers !

They are laughing merrily;

They are laughing, knowing nought of hills and bothers,

And from care and taxes free.

They look up with their bright and beaming faces,

And their looks are good to see,

And the vision of their infantile glad graces
Fills «their Punch's heart with glee.

“ The world,” they seem to say, “ is bright and cheery.”
They wear its best of roses on each cheek;

And the sight of their fine rapture rests the weary,

And the music of their mirth inspires the weak.

Let us all be glad, and frolic with the children,

Though the outer world look cold ;

Let us listen to their prattle, loud, bewildering,

And forget we ’re growing old.

For “ 0 ! ” cry the children, “ he is coming,

Father Christmas, he is here! ”

The glories of his advent they are summing,

And his gifts and his good cheer.

Here is Christmas ! As the children rush to greet him,

Mr. Punch, the children’s friend, is midst their throng,

Father Christmas! Let us welcome him and meet him,

Like the children, with a jest and with a song.

There ’ll he lots of serious work to do to-morrow,

But to-day is Christmas Day,

So a lesson from the children let us borrow—

Laugh, and frolic, and be gay!

“I’m fond of children,” said a spry, restless-looking Man, when the
hearty applause which followed their host’s verses had subsided \ u I ’m fond