hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold;
and the blushing little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at
once, enjoying the frolics of Signor Punch, and inventing some plausible
excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. How closely the
weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke
of Signor Punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and
pressing, Poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when Jack
only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "My
toplights! what the devil will that fellow Punch do next, Poll?" The
milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out
his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of
merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous
bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (See Plate.)
Inimitable actor! glorious Signor Punch! show me among the whole of
the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single
performer who can compete with the mighty wooden Roscius.

[Illustration: page062]

The alderman's eulogium on Mr. Punch was superlatively good. "I love a
comedy, Mr. Blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because
it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most
desirable. Then I love a farce still better than a comedy, because that
is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir,
a pantomime beats both comedy and ~63~~farce hollow; there's such lots
of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning
to the end. But, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these,
tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is Mister
Punch--for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's
the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities
of the multitude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like
the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced
itinerant. If any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the
mellow affections, and that he can pass Punch,

'Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;'

then, I say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too
wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for
mellowness." Mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround Punch,
who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpi