Public-domain ebook
Punch's Almanack for 1890
by Various
Language: en426 downloads on Project Gutenberg
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Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #45710.
The opening · free to read
MR. PUNCH'S TOUR ROUND THE WORLD.
"MR. PUNCH," said poor old Eighty-Nine, who was growing feebler and feebler, "I am uneasy in my mind."
"Didn't know you had one," replied the Sage. "But what do you want with me?"
"You have been a great comfort to me--a very great comfort. I wish you would do something for my successor."
"What, Young Ninety? Well, I will keep a friendly eye upon him also."
"Yes, do. But I want you to begin at once. Help him through his life, as you have helped me."
"Why, certainly," said Mr. Punch, smiling. "All he will have to do will be, to put in an appearance with threepence at 85, Fleet Street, every Wednesday."
"But can't you give him a start off? Why not look round the world, and give him the result of your journey in the Almanack? Let him be remembered in the future as commencing with the Christmas of the 'Extra Extra,' as I shall be recalled in the coming ages as the year in which the Punch Staff went to Paris."
"How is it to be done?" asked the Sage.
"How is it to be done?" echoed poor old Eighty-Nine. "Why you have only to wish, and it is done! You know that your wishes are those which must be obeyed."
So, to oblige the fast-fading year, Mr. Punch wished himself in France. There he was in a moment! He had landed at Dieppe without undergoing the tortures of the steam-boat passage.
On the beach was seated a melancholy-looking tourist, who commenced, as Mr. Punch approached him, a weird nautical song, to the accompaniment of a concertina. It ran as follows:--
THE LAY OF THE CHANNEL-PASSAGE SALT.
Ho! Yeho, Boys! Yeho! I'm no craven, When you set me in face of the sea; Be it Folkestone--or even Newhaven, That I hail from, it's all one to me; For I take up my post by the funnel, And I reck not which way the winds blow; And I scorn thoughts of bridge or of tunnel As I start, singing Ho, boys! yeho! But who drops a hint about going below? Why, he'll see I've the knack, boys, Just like every true Jack, boys, Of paying my fare with a "Ho, boys! Yeho!"
We have scarcely left port, yet, already, All my nautical visions grow blurred; If I move,--well, I feel so unsteady, That I half wish that I had not stirred. Weakly smiling, I turn to the steward, And inquire if he thinks it will blow; He just gazes to windward and leeward, And replies, "You'd best get down below." But no! I'm not thinking of going down below, Though I'm not easy here, And I own I feel queer, I'm equal, as yet, to a modest Yeho!
Well, 'tis over! At truth no use blinking! Face that passage again? Oh! I daren't! Through the first half I feared we were sinking,-- Through the second I feared that we weren't! Though gin, chloral, stout, brandy, and "bitter," I tried all in turns, but to find them no go, Still, in voice for a hospital fitter, I gave them a plaintive, "Yeho! boys! Yeho!" For the steward had carried me gently below! That's the best place, you'll find, Should you make up your mind, To shout in Mid-Channel, "Ho! Yeho, boys! Yeho!"
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Punch, as the singer finished--"I quite agree with you. But now let me see what else is to be seen on the sands."
It was a gay scene--all the gayer for the delightful weather. Mr. Punch, knowing that his wishes must immediately be gratified, had taken care to desire beau temps en permanence.
"This is really very charming," murmured the Sage; "and I am not surprised that one of the brightest of my Artists chose it for his holiday resting-place last Summer--and, as I live, there he is! Halloa! Hi! Have you forgotten your old friend?"
"Forgotten you, my dear Mr. Punch!" said a gentleman of extreme elegance, approaching the Sage. "How could you think of such a thing? Why, you have had proofs of my goodwill every week for the last quarter of a century."
"So I have," returned Mr. Punch, heartily, "and have you anything from your portfolio you can show me?"
"What do you think of this?" And he showed him two Gauls, en costume de bain.
"What are these?" asked the Sage.
"I will tell you," replied the melancholy-looking tourist, approaching with his concertina. Then, in a soft voice, he sang the following lines, which he called
Sweetness and Light
Amid the throng that crowds the shore I casually met them, And, though I never see them more, I never shall forget them! Dear Sons of Gaul! The one so sleek And plump, with sea-foam dripping: The other! Ah! so limp and weak, Scarce equal to a dipping. But, as they stand together there, Half conscious none can match them, A sight for the admiring fair!-- I seek a phrase to catch them. And, as one lights his cigarette, Ho! presto! In completeness I feel at last that I have met With living "Light and Sweetness"!
"Just so," observed Mr. Punch. "But I must be off."
"Going to Paris by the train de luxe! Ah, how different it used to be when our fathers were boys together. Do you remember the old-fashioned diligence? Some day we may travel by train across the sea."
"Well, I have a still easier mode of travelling. I can beat diligence and locomotive with a wish. I want to be in Paris!" In a moment, the Sage found himself seated under the Tour Eiffel amidst the ruins of the Exhibition. The confusion was indescribable.
"Dear me, I think I've had about enough of this!" said Mr. Punch. "I fancy I should like to be in Switzerland."
Hey presto! and the Sage was in the home of the picturesque--in the land of table d'hôtes of the first order, and of hotel prices of nearly the same altitude as the mountains.
"This is very perfect," observed the Sage to his faithful attendant. TOBY growled. "There is nothing needed to complete my happiness."
"Except me--'scuse me--except me."
"You! And who may you be?"
"Not know me, Mr. Punch? Why, that is a good one!"
Then the First Gentleman in the World, who has appropriately been called the "pink," not to say the rose (of courtesy), recognised a well-known contributor to his pages. He gave this admirable type of a race that has its exponents in every country under the sun some excellent advice, and suggested that they might part company with mutual advantage.
"My good friend," said Mr. Punch, "I am quite aware that you are in the habit of corresponding with an intimate known as 'CHARLIE.' Oblige me with a duplicate of your next letter, and it shall be immortalised." It will be seen that Mr. Punch has kept his word.
Dear CHARLIE,--You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound. Not for Parry alone, mate, this time--I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round. Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, CHARLIE--guess it's a sight you'd enjoy To see 'ARRY, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.
'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail, But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale; Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap; And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.
Talk of hups and downs, CHARLIE! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know, But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow? I got 'andy with halpenstocks, CHARLIE, and never came much of a spill; But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.
But that's entry nous, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper out 'ere. 'ARRY never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel,--no fear! When I slipped down a bloomin' crevassy, I did do a bit of a 'owl, On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a cat on the prowl.
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