LINLEY. SAMBOURNE. INVENT^{ r}. ET. DEL^{ r}. NOVEMBER 1889
TO PARIS IN THIRTY-SIX HOURS. FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD CLASS GRANDE VITESSE.]
FROM LONDON TO PARIS IN--JUST TIME ENOUGH TO ALLOW OF A COMFORTABLE LUNCH AND A QUIET CIGAR ON BOARD THE ELECTRIC PLATE-GLASS CLUB EXPRESS.]
"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?" 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:--
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!