Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 21, 1914Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 21, 1914
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
SIR,--In reply to your enquiry as to the nature of the parcel, I beg
to inform you that it was oblong in shape and done up in brown paper
and tied securely with string. To assist you still further in the
task of identification, I may mention that it is addressed to Miss
Nancy Freshfield, c/o F.E.L. Freshfield, Esq., 47, Ottalie Gardens,
Westminster, S.W.
Trusting that nothing serious has occurred to disqualify my parcel,
Yours faithfully, HY. FRESHFIELD.
DEAR UNCLE,--I thought it was such a long time my parsel didnt come I
would write to you dear Uncle. I hop you were very angry with him. And
now no more
from your loving neice NANCY.
DEAR SIR,--I am directed by the Postmaster-General to inform you that
your parcel has now been traced.
The name of the addressee was correctly stated by you, but you omitted
to append such further instructions for the guidance of the Post
Office as to indicate the destination to which you desired it to go.
I have the pleasure to add that the fuller information has been copied
in from your letter, and the parcel despatched....
DEAR NANCY,--By the same post that brought me your letter I heard from
our absent-minded friend, the Postmaster-General. You will be pained
to learn that he is even more absent-minded than we thought he was.
Although, when I handed him your parcel, I distinctly told him it
was going to Westminster, the moment my back is turned he must needs
forget all about it.
I feel really rather sorry for him, and I don't think we ought to be
angry any more. He can't possibly forget now, because I have written
the address down for him. Your loving
UNCLE HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHAT TO DO WITH OUR FAT MEN; OR, EVERY LITTLE HELPS.]
* * * * *
A CABINET CRISIS.
It had to be faced at last. There is a demand for them occasionally,
and people won't put up with that excellent one taken under the
crab-apple tree any longer.
I was caught just right there. The sun was in an indulgent mood and
winked at the signs of advancing age. The bald patch was out of sight,
and the smile would have softened the heart of an income-tax assessor.
I acquired the negative from the amateur performer, and had it
vignetted, which made it better still, as there was a space between
the cashmere sock and the spring trousering in the original that I did
not want attention drawn to. I had a large number of prints made, and
dealt them out to anybody who asked for a photograph of me. At first
they aroused considerable enthusiasm, but after five or six years a
look of doubt began to appear on the faces of the recipients. Hadn't I
got a later one? This was very nice, but--I pointed out that I hadn't
changed at all, or only a very little. At my best I was still like
that; and didn't they want me at my best?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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