MR. PUNCH IN DUBLIN.
"Yes, with much pleasure," said Mr. Punch, M.P. for England, as he entered the Octagon Hall in Parliament Palace; and, in his usual elegant and affable manner, extended his white-gloved hand to a courtly gentleman who had requested his presence.
"I was sure you would say so," said the gentleman, and he raised a finger. A watchful official at a door instantly turned to the electric dial, and Mr. Punch's gracious assent was known at Holyhead, before he had finished congratulating his companion, in the most truly charming style, on a promised knighthood, of which the Viceroy of Ireland had whispered something to Mr. Punch.
"No man ever earned his spurs better than the man who has been spurring railways into increased activity for so many years," said Mr. Punch, with a beautiful bow.
"I have not called you from the House at an unfortunate time, I trust, Sir," said the other. "Not that you can ever be spared, but—"
"William Gladstone is quite up to his work," replied the great patriot. "He has but a couple of dozen of the Brigade in hand at present, and he is tossing up one after the other, cup-and-ball fashion, cupping or spiking him to taste, with the precision of a Ramo Samee. I can leave William. Let us go."
"You will take care that no other passenger is put into Mr. Punch's coupé, guard," said the gentleman, as the Euston whistle sounded.
"No masculine passenger, please tell him, Mr. Roney," said Mr. Punch, facetiously. "Good night."