PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET.
On Christmas Eve, Mr. Punch, on thestrength—or, rather, length—of aMessage from President Pierce, visited herMajesty Queen Mab. He wasreceived by a most courteous Dream-in-Waiting, who introduced himthrough the Gate of Horn, whence, as ColonelSibthorp beautifully remarks,
Dream-World was merrily keeping its Yule-tide, with shadowy Sportsanddissolving Pastimes. As Mr. Punch entered,the Game was
The Lady Britannia was enthroned, Mistress of the Revel, and her goldenapron was heaped with Pledges. The owners, a miscellaneous group,awaited the sentence of penalties.
Down, at a smile-signal from the Lady in the Chair, down went thebroadbrow of Mr. Punch, to repose on her knee,while Kings, and Ministers,and Hierarchs, and Demagogues came rustling round to listen.
The magic formula was silverly uttered.
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"Answer, dear Mr. Punch," said the Lady in the Chair. "You always sayexactly what I wish said."
"The Owner," said Mr. Punch, "willretire." And the Earl of Aberdeen,who had forfeited Public Confidence, withdrew, and Britannia murmuredher intense satisfaction with the proceeding.
The next forfeit was called. "The Owner," said the oracle, "will godownupon his knees, will, in all abjectness of humiliation, beg pardon ofall the world, and will humbly deposit his purse at the foot of theOttoman nearest to him." A heavy tread, and the Emperor of all theRussias sullenly stalked away, sooner than thus redeem hisHonour.
The third forfeit. "The Owner will find a Lady, whose well-omenedChristian name is Victoria, and to her hewill recite some verses, ofhis own making, in praise of Chobham and Spithead." "I am not[Pg iii] muchof apoet," said Mr. Cobden, "but if my Friend,...