Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Blethers. Another of Sir Poshbury's birthdays almost gone—and my secret still untold! (Dodders.) I can't keep it up much longer ... Ha, here comes his Lordship—he does look mortal bad, that he do! Miss Verbena ain't treated him too well, from all I can hear, poor young feller!
Enter Lord Bleshugh.
Lord Bleshugh. Blethers, by the memory of the innumerable half-crowns that have passed between us, be my friend now! I have no others left. Persuade your young Mistress to come hither—you need not tell her I am here, you understand.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

So Jackson cunningly tucked away the tumbler in among the Blue Books and papers where it innocently rested till Jokim, well under way with speech, and feeling round for notes upset it; agonised glance as the ruby fluid ran over the unresponsive table on to the heedless floor. Heartless persons opposite tittered.
"I hear a smile pass over the face of the Right Hon. Gentleman," said Jokim, fixing glance somewhat venomously on Harcourt. House burst into roar of laughter. Jackson took advantage of diversion to mop up spilled Port with blotting-paper.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Go, my child, but be careful that none of the servants see you. (Verb. wheels the sofa and Spiker's body out, L.U.E.) My poor impulsive darling, I do hope she will not be seen—servants do make such mischief! But there's an end of Spiker, at any rate. I should not have liked him for a son-in-law, and with him, goes the only person who knows my unhappy secret!
Enter Blethers.
Blethers. Sir Poshbury, I have a secret to reveal which I can preserve no longer—it concerns something that happened many years ago—it is connected with your birthday, Sir Poshbury.
Source: Gutenberg

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