The miserable Maybrick Case calls for no comment here. The Great Strike does. Memorable event, Ladies and Gentlemen, which—as Truthful Thomas would say—"will have results." Ecclesiastical dress for ladies may interest the more "dressy" portion of my audience—or may not. The French Elections. Mr. Punch congratulates Madame La République whom primarily the Exhibitors, and secondarily the Urns, saved from chaos and General Boum-Boulanger! Balfour's little faux pas, in connection with an Irish University. That fish won't bite! "Outidanos" on the Triple Alliance! Outis—the Ulysses of Liberalism—defying the huge Polyphemus of Continental Despotism. So perhaps he, the Homer-lover, would picture it. Polyphemus may have a different opinion, perchance.
Railways in China! Ah! Mr. Punch thinks he has heard of that before. He hopes it may be true this time; though, to the Mandarin, the Locomotive is a Bogey, and the Line sacrilege. Arab advance on Suakin! Neither is that a novel item of news! Gallantly repelled this time, though, and partly, at least, by native valour. A good omen!
Trials at Maryborough, consequent on the lamentable Gweedore evictions, and yet more lamentable crime attending them. When will this sort of thing be wiped out of the panorama of the year?
Raid of the egregious McDougall, compound, apparently, of Bottom and Paul Pry. Well, all's well that ends well, eh, "Mister" Rosebery? Glad, anyhow, you are to boss the London County Council yet a little longer. You may be counted on to minimise the McDougall element.
Greek Royal Wedding. Rare year this for what may be called Splendid Splices! Royal Princes, Princesses, and lucky Dukes well to the fore! As a set-off—alas!—Mr. Punch's Panorama has reluctantly, and delicately, to record many lamented deceases of great, or worthy, or well-beloved ones. Poor Crown Prince Rudolph, stout and eloquent John Bright, quaint and clever Pellegrini, the Vanity Fair Caricaturist, Lady Holland, of politico-social fame, Wilkie Collins, the master of ingeniously Sensational Romance; and last, but, to Mr. Punch and his young men certainly not least, Percival Leigh, of Comic Latin Grammar, and Mr. Pips's Diary fame—to the world, and, to his private friends, "dear old Professor," of pleasant and unfading memory.
Royal Globe-trotters again? The German Emperor visits Constantinople, and hob-nobs with the Sultan; the Prince of Wales is off to Egypt, where, perhaps, he hob-nobs with Father Nile. Thence returning, Punch hopes, happy, and with renewed stores of sturdy health!
Yet later in the year come two Big Shows, the Lord Mayor's to wit, with pretty reproductions of old English dresses and disportings, and that of the evergreen P. T. Barnum, with—well—with everything in the marvel line, if Mr. Punch may trust Phineas's posters.
The Public, anyhow, may trust Mr. Punch's! By such a Panoramic Poster even the Great Showman will admit himself outdone.
That is all, Ladies and Gentlemen, for the present. Mr. Punch, in conclusion, wishes you all a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!