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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893
    Ebook112 pages46 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893

    By Various Various and F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand

    ()

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105

      December 30, 1893, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 105 December 30, 1893

      Author: Various

      Editor: Francis Burnand

      Release Date: September 1, 2012 [EBook #40636]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

      Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Lesley Halamek and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      Punch, or the London Charivari

      Volume 105, December 30, 1893.

      edited by Sir Francis Burnand

      PORTRAIT OF MR. MINCE-PIE,

      THE M.P. for Christmas.

      THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

      (By Cunnin Toil.)

      No. VII.—THE STOLEN MARCH.

      (Continued.)

      As soon as we entered the drawing-room all the little Gumpshons clapped their hands with delight, and surrounded their Uncle Picklock, each of them attempting to infer from the expression on the great detective's countenance what it was that he carried in his left coat-tail pocket. I know what it is, said Edgar Allan Poe Gumpshon, a boy of fifteen; it's plum-cake. I know it must be, because I never seed it, so it ain't seed-cake. Gaboriau Gumpshon, aged thirteen, opined it was a packet of bull's-eyes, 'cos that's what detectives always carry on dark nights, whilst Ann Radcliffe Gumpshon declared with certainty that it must be nuts, for she had just heard a cracker explode in the street. Children, said Picklock Holes, you are nearly right. Your powers have much improved. I am delighted to see that you are kept up to the mark; and, speaking thus, he produced from his pocket an apple, which he presented to Edgar, a pocket-knife which he handed to the jubilant Gaboriau, and a pincushion, which was immediately clasped and carried off in the chubby hand of little Ann Radcliffe. A year ago, said Picklock, turning to me, these children could not have reasoned inductively with one half of their present approximate accuracy; but my dear sister, Heaven bless her! is a wonderful teacher, the best and cleverest of us all. Indeed, indeed you are, Philippa, he continued, warmly embracing Mrs. Gumpshon. I am a mere bungler compared to you. But come, let us to business. At a signal from Lady Holes the happy children trooped off to bed, and we elders were left alone.

      Sir Aminadab opened the conversation. I sent for you, my dear boy, he said, because I have just received from one of my agents in the North information of an important case which demands immediate investigation. Neither Hayloft nor Skairkrow can go, having business that keeps them in London. I look, therefore, to you to cover the family name with new lustre by solving this extraordinary mystery. Here the old man paused, as though overcome by emotion. Picklock encouraged him with an expressive look, and he continued:—

      This morning, he said, I received from my agent this letter. He drew a sheet of paper from his breast-pocket, and read, in tremulous tones, as follows:—

      "'Tochtachie Castle, Daffshire.

      'Sir,—Lord Tochtachie has been robbed. I overheard him last night conversing with the Hon. Ian Strunachar, his eldest son, who used the following words: Not a doubt of it. They have stolen a march——" More I could not hear at the moment. The case is of immense importance, and I trust you will lose no time in sending a competent investigator. I have, of course, concealed both my presence here and my knowledge of the theft from his lordship.

      "'Yours faithfully,

      'David McPhizzle.'"

      "There, my boy, is the case. Will you go and help a Scotch representative peer to recover his own? Think how terrible it must be to lose the march or boundary that separates your ancestral domain from that of a neighbour whose whole course of

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