At this agonising moment Uncle Peter made his appearance; and as actors always play best to a good audience, the weeping ladies continued their lachrymose performance with renewed vigour. Uncle Peter was a plain man—plain in every meaning of the word; that is to say, he was very ugly and very simple; and when we tell you that his face resembled nothing but a half-toasted muffin, you can picture to yourself what it must have looked like under the influence of surprise; but nevertheless, both Agamemnon and the ladies simultaneously determined to make him the arbitrator in this very important matter.
“Uncle Peter,” said Agamemnon.
“Brother Peter,” sobbed Mrs. Waddledot.
“Which are you an advocate for?” hystericised Mrs. Applebite.
“Vaccination or inoculation?” exclaimed everybody ensemble.
Now whether Uncle John did clearly understand the drift of the question put to him, or whether he conceived that he was solicited to be the subject of some benevolent experiments for the advantage of future generations, it is certain that no man ever looked more positively
[Illustration: ON THE HORN OF A DILEMMA]
than Uncle Peter. At length the true state of the case was made apparent to him; and the conclusion that he arrived at reflects the greatest possible credit upon his judgment. He decided, that as the child was a divided property, for the sake of peace and quietness, the heir of Applebite should be vaccinated in one arm and inoculated in the other.
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We were paralysed the other day at seeing a paragraph headed “Sibthorpe’s conversion.” Our nose grew pale with terror; our hump heaved with agitation. We thought there existed a greater genius than ourselves and that some one had discovered that Sibthorp could be converted into anything but a Member for Lincoln, and buffoon-in-waiting to the House of Commons. We found, however, that it alluded to a Reverend, and not to OUR Colonel. Really the newspaper people should be more careful. Such startling announcements are little better than
[Illustration: SHEE(A)R CRUELTY.]
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DOING THE STATE SOME SERVICE.
During the conflagration of the Tower, it was apprehended at one time that the portion of it called the White Tower would have shared the fate of the grand store-house,—this was however prevented by hanging wet blankets around it, in which capacity Peter Borthwick, Mr. Plumtre, Col. Percival, and Lord Castlereagh, kindly offered their personal services and were found admirably adapted for the purpose.
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