PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS—NO. X.
THE DINER-OUT.
THE OMEN OUTWITTED:
OR, HOW HIS REVERENCE’S HEELS TOOK STEPS TO SAVE HIS HEAD.
“So, Dick, I mean your ‘reverence,’ you like the blessed old country as well as ever, eh, lad?”
“As well, ay, almost better. My return to it is like the meeting of long-parted friends—the joy of the moment is pure and unalloyed—all minor faults are forgotten—all former goodness rushes with double force from the recollection to the heart, and the renewal of old fellowship grafts new virtues (the sweet fruits of regretted absence) upon him who has been the chosen tenant of our ‘heart of hearts.’”
“His reverence’s health—three times three (empty them heeltaps, Jack, and fill out of the fresh jug)—now, boys, give tongue. That’s the raal thing; them cheers would wake the seven sleepers after a dose of laudanum. Bless you, and long life to you! That’s the worst wish you’ll find here.”