"MR. PUNCH," said poor old Eighty-Nine, who was growing feebler and
feebler, "I am uneasy in my mind."
"Didn't know you had one," replied the Sage. "But what do you want
with me?"
"You have been a great comfort to me--a very great comfort. I wish you
would do something for my successor."
"What, Young Ninety? Well, I will keep a friendly eye upon him also."
"Yes, do. But I want you to begin at once. Help him through his life,
as you have helped me."
"Why, certainly," said _Mr. Punch_, smiling. "All he will have to do
will be, to put in an appearance with threepence at 85, Fleet Street,
every Wednesday."
"But can't you give him a start off? Why not look round the world,
and give him the result of your journey in the Almanack? Let him
be remembered in the future as commencing with the Christmas of the
'Extra Extra,' as I shall be recalled in the coming ages as the year
in which the _Punch_ Staff went to Paris."
"How is it to be done?" asked the Sage.
"How is it to be done?" echoed poor old Eighty-Nine. "Why you have
only to wish, and it _is_ done! You know that _your_ wishes are those
which must be obeyed."
So, to oblige the fast-fading year, _Mr. Punch_ wished himself in
France. There he was in a moment! He had landed at Dieppe without
undergoing the tortures of the steam-boat passage.
On the beach was seated a melancholy-looking tourist, who commenced,
as _Mr. Punch_ approached him, a weird nautical song, to the
accompaniment of a concertina. It ran as follows:--