"'I put a label on him and sent him on to Bristol; he's there by this time. The Guard of the Mail took him and put him into a letter-box,' says he: 'he went 20 minutes ago. We found him on the broad gauge line, and sent him on by it, in course,' says he. 'And it'll be a caution to you, young woman, for the future, to label your children along with the rest of your luggage.'
"If my piguniary means had been such as ONCE they was, you may emadgine I'd have ad a speshle train and been hoff like smoak. As it was, we was obliged to wait 4 mortial hours for the next train (4 ears they seemed to us), and then away we went.
"'My boy! my little boy!' says poor choking Mary Hann, when we got there. 'A parcel in a blue cloak?' says the man. 'No body claimed him here, and so we sent him back by the mail. An Irish nurse here gave him some supper, and he's at Paddington by this time. Yes,'
says he, looking at the clock, 'he's been there these ten minutes.'
"But seeing my poor wife's distracted histarricle state, this good-naterd man says, 'I think, my dear, there's a way to ease your mind. We'll know in five minutes how he is.'
"'Sir,' says she, 'don't make sport of me.'
"'No, my dear, we'll TELEGRAPH him.'
"And he began hopparating on that singlar and ingenus elecktricle inwention, which aniliates time, and carries intellagence in the twinkling of a peg-post.
"'I'll ask,' says he, 'for child marked G. W. 273.'
"Back comes the telegraph with the sign, 'All right.'
"'Ask what he's doing, sir,' says my wife, quite amazed. Back comes the answer in a Jiffy--"'C. R. Y. I. N. G.'
"This caused all the bystanders to laugh excep my pore Mary Hann, who pull'd a very sad face.
"The good-naterd feller presently said, 'he'd have another trile;'
and what d'ye think was the answer? I'm blest if it wasn't--"'P. A. P.'
"He was eating pap! There's for you--there's a rogue for you--there's a March of Intaleck! Mary Hann smiled now for the fust time. 'He'll sleep now,' says she. And she sat down with a full hart.
. . . . . .
"If hever that good-naterd Shooperintendent comes to London, HEneed never ask for his skore at the 'Wheel of Fortune Otel,' Ipromise you--where me and my wife and James Hangelo now is; and where only yesterday a gent came in and drew this pictur* of us in our bar.
* This refers to an illustrated edition of the work.
"And if they go on breaking gages; and if the child, the most precious luggidge of the Henglishman, is to be bundled about this year way, why it won't be for want of warning, both from Professor Harris, the Commission, and from "My dear Mr. Punch's obeajent servant, "JEAMES PLUSH."THE TREMENDOUS ADVENTURES OF MAJOR GAHAGAN.
CHAPTER I.
"TRUTH IS STRANGE, STRANGER THAN FICTION."
I think it but right that in making my appearance before the public I should at once acquaint them with my titles and name. My card, as I leave it at the houses of the nobility, my friends, is as follows:--MAJOR GOLIAH O'GRADY GAHAGAN, H.E.I.C.S., Commanding Battalion of Irregular Horse, AHMEDNUGGAR.
Seeing, I say, this simple visiting ticket, the world will avoid any of those awkward mistakes as to my person, which have been so frequent of late. There has been no end to the blunders regarding this humble title of mine, and the confusion thereby created. When I published my volume of poems, for instance, the Morning Post newspaper remarked "that the Lyrics of the Heart, by Miss Gahagan, may be ranked among the sweetest flowrets of the present spring season." The Quarterly Review, commenting upon my Observations on the Pons Asinorum" (4to. London, 1836), called me "Doctor Gahagan,"and so on. It was time to put an end to these mistakes, and I have taken the above simple remedy.
I was urged to it by a very exalted personage. Dining in August last at the palace of the T-lr-es at Paris, the lovely young Duch-ss of Orl--ns (who, though she does not speak English, understands it as well as I do,) said to me in the softest Teutonic, "Lieber Herr Major, haben sie den Ahmednuggarischen-jager-battalion gelassen?" "Warum denn?" said I, quite astonished at her R---l H-----ss's question. The P---cess then spoke of some trifle from my pen, which was simply signed Goliah Gahagan.
There was, unluckily, a dead silence as H. R. H. put this question.
"Comment donc?" said H. M. Lo-is Ph-l-ppe, looking gravely at Count Mole; "le cher Major a quitte l'armee! Nicolas donc sera maitre de l'Inde! "H. M---- and the Pr. M-n-ster pursued their conversation in a low tone, and left me, as may be imagined in a dreadful state of confusion. I blushed and stuttered, and murmured out a few incoherent words to explain--but it would not do--I could not recover my equanimity during the course of the dinner and while endeavoring to help an English Duke, my neighbor, to poulet a l'Austerlitz, fairly sent seven mushrooms and three large greasy croutes over his whiskers and shirt-frill. Another laugh at my expense. "Ah! M. le Major," said the Q---- of the B-lg--ns, archly, "vous n'aurez jamais votre brevet de Colonel." Her M----y's joke will be better understood when I state that his Grace is the brother of a Minister.
I am not at liberty to violate the sanctity of private life, by mentioning the names of the parties concerned in this little anecdote. I only wish to have it understood that I am a gentleman, and live at least in DECENT society. Verbum sat.
