I am, Sir, yours,

George Stephen,

Late “over"-Secretary, and Author of the “Canadian Rebellion.”

* * * * *

Sir,—­Being the proprietor of several weekly newspapers, which I have conducted for many years, my jocular powers gradually declined, from hard usage and incessant labour, till I was reduced to a state of despair; for my papers ceasing to sell, I experienced a complete stoppage of circulation.

In this terrible state I had the happiness to meet with your “Essence of Guffaw,” and tried its effect upon my readers, by inserting several doses of your Attic salt in my “New Weekly Messenger,” “Planet,” &c. &c.  The effects were wonderful.  Their amount of sale increased at every joke, and has now completely recovered.

I am, Sir,

John bell.

Craven-street, Strand.

Note.—­This testimonial is gratifying, as the gentleman has hitherto failed to acknowledge the source of the wonderful cure we have effected in his property.

* * * * *

Sir,—­As the author of the facetious political essays in the “Morning Herald,” it is but due to you that I should candidly state the reason why my articles have, of late, so visibly improved.

In truth, sir, I am wholly indebted to you.  Feeling a gradual debility come over my facetiae, I tried several potions of the “New Monthly” and “Bentley’s Miscellany,” without experiencing the smallest relief.  “Punch” and his “Essence of Guffaw” were, however, most strongly recommended to me by my friend the editor of “Cruikshank’s Omnibus,” who had wonderfully revived after taking repeated doses.  I followed his example, and am now completely re-established in fine, jocular health.

I am, Sir,

The “OWN correspondent.”

Shoe-lane.

* * * * *

Inestimable SIR,—­A thousand blessings light upon your head!  You have snatched a too fond heart from a too early grave.  My life-preserver, my PUNCH! receive the grateful benedictions of a resuscitated soul, of a saved Seraphina Simpkins!

Samuel, dearest PUNCH, was false!  He took Jemima to the Pavilion; I detected his perfidy, and determined to end my sorrows under the fourth arch of Waterloo-bridge.

In my way to the fatal spot I passed—­no, I could not pass—­your office.  By chance directed, or by fate constrained, I stopped to read a placard of your infallible specific.  I bought one dose—­it was enough.  I have now forgotten Samuel, and am happy in the affection of another.

Publish this, if you please; it may be of service to young persons who are crossed in love, and in want of straw-bonnets at 3s. 6d. each, best Dunstable.

I am, yours,

SERAPHINA SIMPKINS,

Architect of Tuscan, straw, and other bonnets, Lant-street, Borough.