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Various

"Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, November 20, 1841"

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.
"What can this mean?" quoth I to myself. "I know a publication called
Punch very well, but I never heard of a performance so named.


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