Books Should Be Free Loyal Books Free Public Domain Audiobooks & eBook Downloads |
|
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, November 20, 1841 By: Various |
---|
![]()
VOL. 1. FOR THE WEEK ENDING NOVEMBER 20, 1841.
MYSELF, PUNCH, AND THE KEELEYS. I dined with my old friend and schoolfellow, Jack Withers, one day last
September. On the previous morning, on my way to the India House, I had
run up against a stout individual on Cornhill, and on looking in his face
as I stopped for a moment to apologise, an abrupt "This is surely Jack
Withers," burst from my lips, followed by "God bless me! Will Bayfield!"
from his. After a hurried question or two, we shook hands warmly and
parted, with the understanding that I was to cut my mutton with him next
day. Seventeen years had elapsed since Withers and I had seen or heard of each
other. Having a good mercantile connexion, he had pitched upon commerce as
his calling, and entered a counting house in Idollane in the same year
that I, a raw young surgeon, embarked for India to seek my fortune in the
medical service of the East India Company. Things had gone well with honest Jack; from a long, thin, weazel of a
youngster, he had become a burly ruddy faced gentleman, with an aldermanic
rotundity of paunch, which gave the world assurance that his ordinary fare
by no means consisted of deaf nuts; he had already, as he told me,
accumulated a very pretty independence, which was yearly increasing, and
was, moreover, a snug bachelor, with a well arranged residence in
Finsbury square; in short, it was evident that Jack was "a fellow with two
coats and everything handsome about him." As for me, I was a verification of the adage about the rolling stone;
having gathered a very small quantity of "moss," in the shape of worldly
goods. I had spent sixteen years in marching and countermarching over the
thirsty plains of the Carnatic, in medical charge of a native
regiment salivating Sepoys and blowing out with blue pills the
officers until the effects of a stiff jungle fever, that nearly made me
proprietor of a landed property measuring six feet by two, sent me back to
England almost as poor as I had left it, and with an atrabilarious visage
which took a two months' course of Cheltenham water to scour into anything
like a decent colour. Withers' dinner was in the best taste: viands excellent wine superb;
never did I sip racier Madeira, and the Champagne trickled down one's
throat with the same facility that man is inclined to sin. The cloth drawn, we fell to discoursing about old times, things, persons,
and places. Jack then told me how from junior clerk he had risen to become
second partner in the firm to which he belonged; and I, in my turn,
enlightened his mind with respect to Asiatic Cholera, Runjeet Sing,
Ghuzni, tiger shooting, and Shah Soojah. In this manner the evening slid pleasantly on. An array of six bottles,
that before dinner had contained the juice of Oporto, stood empty on the
sideboard. Jack wanted to draw another cork, which, however, I positively
forbad, as I have through life made it a rule to avoid the slightest
approach towards excess in tippling; so, after a modest brace of glasses
of brandy and water, I shook hands with and left my friend about half past
nine, for I am an old fashioned fellow, and love early hours, my usual
time for turning in being ten. When I got into the street an unaccustomed spirit of gaiety at once took
possession of me; my general feelings of benevolence and goodwill towards
all mankind appeared to have received a sudden and marvellous increase. I
seemed to tread on eider down, and, cigar in mouth, strolled along
Fleet street and the Strand, towards my domicile in Half Moon
street "nescio quid meditans nugarum" sometimes humming the fag end of
an Irish melody; anon stopping to stare in a print shop window; and then I
would trudge on, chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy as I conned
over the various ups and downs that had chequered my life since Jack
Withers and I were thoughtless lads together "a long time ago." In this mood I found myself standing before the New Strand Theatre, my
attention having been arrested by the word PUNCH blazoned in large letters
on a play bill... Continue reading book >>
|
Book sections | ||
---|---|---|
Genres for this book |
---|
Essay/Short nonfiction |
Non-fiction |
eBook links |
---|
Wikipedia – Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, November 20, 1841 |
eBook Downloads | |
---|---|
ePUB eBook • iBooks for iPhone and iPad • Nook • Sony Reader |
Kindle eBook • Mobi file format for Kindle |
Read eBook • Load eBook in browser |
Text File eBook • Computers • Windows • Mac |
Review this book |
---|