Chapter 2

"Now, try that, Sir," he said, at the same time offering _Mr. Punch_ a glass of the rich ruby-coloured beverage, "and tell me what you think of it. We have a small parcel of it still left, and could let you have it at the remarkably low figure of 112s. the dozen."

"It looks all right," drily replied _Mr. Punch_, "but I can't think how you can sell it at the price." Then holding up the glass critically, and turning his ring, continued, "How do you manage it?"

"How do I manage it?" replied the unconscious merchant, laughing heartily at the apparent joke. "Why, my dear Sir, there's not much difficulty about that. I just make it myself. Listen to my receipt:--

"Potato spirit--that the 'body' finds; And then, as for colour, Be it brighter or duller, You see I am supplied with several kinds, And as to flavour, I get that desired, By adding various poisons as required.

Ha! ha! Let me send you in a few dozen." He offered _Mr. Punch_ an elaborate price-list as he concluded his self-condemnatory verse with an obsequious bow.

"Come," said _Mr. Punch_, once more taking hold of his aged companion's arm, without condescending to give the cheating tradesman any reply, "come--let us get out of this. 'Pon my word, I think we've almost had enough of Mercury!"

"Their morality does seem to have reached rather a low ebb, I must confess," replied Father TIME.

"Nothing like this on our Earth, anyhow," continued _Mr. Punch_, with a satisfied sigh of relief. "But come, we'll hear what the whole people say of themselves. See here's a chance. I believe there's a lot of them over there singing their National Anthem."

They listened as _Mr. Punch_ spoke. He was right. There was a vast crowd collected outside one of the principal buildings on the other side of the square, and they were clearly finishing some popular anthem in chorus, for, as Father TIME and _Mr. Punch_ paused to listen, the well-known familiar refrain--

"Never, never, never, Shall be slaves!"

smote their ear.

"Capital! Capital!" cried _Mr. Punch_, approaching the throng. "We'll have that again." He turned his ring once more as he spoke, and the mob responded by shouting their second verse.

"Fool! Mercurius! Of greed thy sons are slaves; And they ever, ever, ever-- Shall be knaves!"

"Come," cried _Mr. Punch_, "I think that judgment of themselves out of their own mouths settles the matter! I have done with them. Come, let us seek some healthier place. Up we go!"

He seized hold of Old Father TIME as he spoke, and bounded with him upwards suddenly into space. In another minute they were in search of a brighter, a better, and a truer world.

* * * * *

VISIT TO JUPITER.

Father TIME with his glorious guide dropped gently down. They found themselves in the centre of a bare expanse of dry, grassy country, broken here and there by sand-hills. On their right was the sea, dotted with ships. Parties of men in red coats, and carrying in their hands curiously-shaped sticks, were walking about in all directions. They all looked very earnest, some of them were gloomy, some positively furious. Occasionally they stopped, placed themselves in an uncouth straddle-legged attitude, whirled their sticks, looked eagerly towards the horizon, and then marched on again as solemnly as before. One party in particular attracted the attention of Father TIME. It was a large, mixed gathering of men, and women, and children. They all moved or stood at a respectful distance from the central figure, a benevolent-looking gentleman, with a flowing white beard. He too wore a red coat, and carried a stick. A crowd of attendants bearing more sticks followed him.

"Let me explain," said the Arch-Provider of Merriment to his companion, "this ground is known as Links; the game of 'Golf' is being played. These gentlemen are golfers. The sticks they carry are called clubs. That bearded old gentleman is the King of Jupiter, FOOZLER THE FIFTH. He is playing his morning round. I will introduce you."

So saying, the King of all Clubs advanced with the Scythe-holder, and, taking advantage of a moment when King FOOZLER, having made a long shot, was in good humour, rapidly effected the necessary presentation.

"I know this game well," said _Mr. Punch_. "It is said to be much played in my own country now. Permit me to have the honour of playing one hole against your Majesty."

The King smiled a gracious assent. His ball had been already placed for him on a little heap of sand about an inch high. He advanced towards it, anxiously measured his distance, waved his club to and fro over his ball as if in blessing, and then, swinging it through the air, struck--nothing. The ball remained unmoved.

"He's missit the globe," muttered one of the attendants; "I've aye tellt him to keep his eye furrmer on the ball."

Four times His Majesty, whose good humour was now entirely gone, repeated the operation with similar results. At last he hurled his club to the ground, breaking it into splinters, and addressed his immovable ball in strong terms.

"Allow me, Your Majesty," said _Mr. Punch_, as he stepped airily forward and selected the king's best driver from the heap of clubs carried by the chief caddie, "I think I know how this ought to be done," and without a moment's hesitation he delivered his stroke. The ball flew true and far until it was merely a speck in the air, and finally dropped down about a quarter of a mile away. "You will find it in the hole," said the Golfer of Golfers, carelessly turning to the discomfited King; "Oh, my Royal and Ancient One," he continued, "there are certain things we do better in another country, and Golf is one of them."

But at this moment a great commotion arose. A messenger on a foaming steed dashed up, and handed a despatch to the king, who at once read it.

"Dear me!" said His Majesty, "this is most annoying. The Emperor of BARATARIA is to arrive in half an hour. He's a bit of a young prig, and bores me dreadfully--but we must meet him." With that he retired at once to the nearest palace, to change his uniform. In about ten minutes he came forth a changed man. On his head glittered an immense helmet, with a waving plume; a tunic of gold lace was buttoned tightly round his chest. Row upon row of stars and medals encircled him like so many belts; his legs were hidden in an enormous pair of jack-boots, to which were fixed a pair of huge Mexican spurs. An immense sword dangled at his side.

"This," said the King, as he motioned _Mr. Punch_ and Father TIME into his state carriage, and vaulted in after them with as much agility as his sword and boots would permit, "is the uniform of the Baratarian Die-hards, of which regiment I am honorary Colonel."

Thus they drove to the balloon station, at which the Imperial guest was expected. After a few minutes, a sound of cheering was heard.

"He's coming," observed the King. "Have I got my kissing face on?"

_Mr. Punch_ reassured him. A moment afterwards the state-balloon of BARATARIA soared up to the platform, and a young man, gorgeously attired in the uniform of the Tenth (Jupiter's Own) Lancers, sprang lightly from it.

Loud pealed the loyal anthem, and rattled all the drums, And, as the guard presented, the cry went up, "He comes!" He steps upon the platform, and, while the plaudits ring, A King hangs round an Emperor's neck, an Emperor hugs a King; And, with impartial kisses on both cheeks duly pressed, The guest does homage to his host, the host salutes his guest.

The Emperor then, having shaken _Mr. Punch_ warmly by the hand, departed with his royal host. After this, the three potentates, _Punch_ the Only, FOOZLER THE FIFTH, and the Baratarian Emperor, called upon one another at intervals of half an hour. This process occupied the afternoon.

For the evening a state-ball at the Royal Palace had been announced. Thither, at the appointed hour, _Mr. Punch_ and his hoary associate were conveyed. As they approached, the royal band struck up a martial air, the Lord Chamberlain advanced to meet them, and ushered them into the magnificent hall in which the guests were assembling. From this a wide double staircase led up to a marble gallery. Hall, gallery, and staircase were filled with a brilliant crowd; the men arrayed in every variety of uniform; the ladies, to a woman, in V-shaped dresses, the openness of which appeared to vary in a direct ratio to the age of their wearers.

"We will repose awhile," _Mr. Punch_ remarked to the Father, "and scan the multitude. This, my dear Tempus, is the pick of Society. That stout lady, with a face like a haughty turtle, is the Duchess of DOUBLECHIN; that graceful little woman next to her is Lady ANGELINA BATTLEAXE--she is a dress-maker."

"A what?" inquired Father TIME.

"A dress-maker," answered the Master, calmly.

"In her shop, ancient notions forsaking, The proud ANGELINA unbends; And her figure's a tall one for making A fit for the figures of friends. Our cynical latter-day Catos Are dumb when invited to dine With a Marquis who deals in potatoes, Or an Earl who takes orders for wine. And, though old-fashioned folk think it funny, It's as common as death, or as debts, To find gentlemen making their money Out of shops for the making of bets.

The stout puffy old fellow there is the wealthiest man in Jupiter. He floats mines, asteroid mines mostly, and makes it pay him. He can command the very best society. Those ladies clustering round the Prince-Royal come from over the ocean. Pretty, but twangy. A fresh consignment arrives every year. And the Prince-Royal has the pick of them."

But before _Mr. Punch_ could finish his explanatory sketch, a tremendous uproar was heard in the court-yard of the Palace. There was a sound as of a huge mob shouting in unison, shots were heard, and cries of "Liberty for Ever:" vent the air. The royal guests were in a state of terrible agitation. An orderly covered with mud forced his way through the crowd, up the stairs, and stood before the King.

"Your Majesty," he panted, "a revolution has broken out. The populace has erected barricades, the deposition of your House has been declared, and a Republic proclaimed. The mob is now marching to the Palace."

The King drew himself up to his full height. Where are my Golf-clubs? he asked in a calm voice.

"Your Majesty, they have been seized and secreted."

"Then all is lost. It only remains for me to depart," was the King's heartbroken reply. "I will, in person, announce my resignation." "I resign!" shouted the King, appearing on a balcony overlooking the court-yard. Deafening cheers greeted this announcement. "Bless you, my children!" sobbed the King--"I am off to the station. Take care of my poodle, and my pet parrot."

At this the mob unanimously burst into tears. They insisted on accompanying the deposed monarch to the station, the popular band playing "_The Dead March in Saul_." But the King remained calm, and marched on without swerving. At the station he took his seat silently in the Royal Balloon, a whistle was heard, and the car floated off into space.

"I cannot say I think much of all that," said _Mr. Punch_. "In our part of the Universe we generally manage to get a little more bloodshed out of it."

* * * * *

VISIT TO URANUS.

The next place that the distinguished travellers visited was Uranus, where _Mr. Punch_ and his companion were much surprised to find the entire population members of the legal profession.

"I have really no time to attend to you," said one of the inhabitants, when questioned. "I have an appointment before a Chief Clerk in Chancery of great importance--it is to decide whether some children shall be sent to school with money left to them by their grandfather, or if it shall be saved up until they come of age? It would be better for the children that they should be educated, from a layman's point of view; but, then, this is a matter of law and not expediency."

"And how will it go?"

"Oh, of course, against the children. I am their father, and appear for them. But the application is a good thing, although it's sure to be unsuccessful--good for them, and good for me."

"But how can that be?"

"You are really very dense," said the Inhabitant of Uranus. "Haven't you noticed that the entire population is concerned in one vast Chancery suit; consequently, on attaining majority, one man becomes a judge, another a barrister, a third a solicitor, and so on, and so on. Why, the place would be a perfect Paradise to your friend Mr. A. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR! It is, at this time of day, to the interest of no one that litigation should cease, and so the Chancery suit, in which we are all concerned, is likely to go on for ever."

"But, surely litigation is expensive?" suggested _Mr. Punch_.

"I should rather think it was," returned the wig-wearer. "The Law is a noble profession, and it is only right and proper that those who indulge in it should pay for it. In the present instance our entire estate will be absolutely exhausted."

"But how will you all live?"

"On the costs!" was the reply, as the Inhabitant of Uranus hurried away to attend his appointment.

"Lawyers keeping a suit alive to live upon the costs!" exclaimed _Mr. Punch_, in tones of pained astonishment. "I never heard the like!"

And, horrified and sorrowful, he seized Father TIME by the forelock, and once more floated into space.

* * * * *

VISIT TO CASTOR.

Father TIME shivered, and wrapped his ancient cloak more closely about him.

"Come, come," said _Mr. Punch_, "I understand your disgust. But there is still something left to us in which we may take pleasure. Upon a neighbouring star the people delight in horses. All day long they bestride them with a courage never equalled. Swift as the wind are the steeds, and for mere honour and glory are they matched one against the other, and from all parts of the star the populace is gathered together in its hundreds of thousands to applaud and to crown them that ride the victors in the races. Let us fare thither, for the sport is splendid, and we shall there forget the pain we have suffered here. Indeed, it is but a short flight to Castor."

Thus speaking, he seized the Father by his lock, and floated with him into space. The roar of the Pollucian streets grew fainter and fainter, the lights twinkled dimly, until at length they disappeared. Then gradually the land loomed up above them out of a bank of clouds, and in another moment the wandering pair stood once more on _stella firma_.

They had alighted on an immense grassy plain, which stretched away in every direction, as far as the eye could reach. On every side were to be seen men and women and children, mounted on horses. To their right a band of youths, arrayed in coloured shirts, white linen breeches, and yellow boots, and wearing little coloured caps, jauntily set upon their heads, were careering wildly hither and thither on swift and wiry ponies. They were waving in the air long sticks, fitted with a cross block of wood at the end, and were pursuing a wooden ball. Many were the collisions, the crashes, and the falls. On every side men and ponies rolled over in the dust; but they rose, shook themselves as though nothing had happened, and dashed again into the fray. Father TIME shouted with enthusiasm.

"Yes," said the Sage, "you do well to cheer them. They are gallant youngsters these. The game they play is 'Polo,' and though the expense be great, the contempt of danger and pain is also great. They play it well, but I doubt not we could match them at Hurlingham. But see," he added, "on our left. What rabble is that?" As he spoke a panting deer flew past them hard pressed by a pack of yelping hounds. Close behind came a mob of riders, two or three of them glittering in scarlet and gold, the rest in every variety of riding-dress.

"Behold," said the Arch-philosopher, "a Royal Sport. These are the Castorian Buck-hounds; that elderly gentleman is their master. They pay him £1500 a-year to provide sport for Cockneys. The sport consists in letting a deer out of a cart and chasing him till he nearly dies of fatigue. Then they rope him and replace him in the cart. After that they all drain their flasks, and consider themselves sportsmen. Poor stuff, I think."

"Of course," said the Father, "you have nothing of that sort in England."

_Mr. Punch_ was about to reply when a well-appointed four-in-hand drove up, and a courteous gentleman who handled the ribbons, offered the two strangers seats.

"I will take you," he remarked, "to our great national race-meeting. I assure you it is well worth seeing."

The offer was accepted. A pleasant drive brought them to the race-course. To tell the truth it was much like most other race-courses. A huge crowd was assembled, and the din of roaring thousands filled the air. As they drove up a race had just started, and it was pretty to see the flash of the coloured caps and jackets in the sun. The horses came nearer and nearer. As they rounded the bend which led into the straight run in, the excitement became almost too great for Father TIME. A torrent of sporting phrases broke from his lips. One after another he backed every horse on the card for extravagant sums, and the bets were promptly, but methodically booked by _Mr. Punch_. A handsome chestnut was leading by two good lengths, and apparently going strong, but about a hundred yards from the post he suddenly slowed down for some unaccountable reason. In a moment a bay and a brown flew past him, there was a final roar and the race was over. The bay had won, the brown was second, and the chestnut a length behind, was only third. "Most extraordinary thing that," said the Paternal One; "I made sure the chestnut would win."

"That's just it," broke in the owner of the coach; "the public thought so too, and they've lost their money."

"Just look at the mob," he continued, "crowding round the jockey and the owner. 'Gad, I shouldn't care to be hooted like that. But, of course, _they've_ made their pile on it; never intended him to win. Just sent him out for an airing. Pretty bit of roping, wasn't it?" he continued, addressing _Mr. Punch_.

But the Sportsman of Sportsmen only frowned.

"In the land we come from," he rejoined, "the sport of racing is pure, and only the most high-minded men take part in it. Their desire is not to make money, but merely to improve the breed of British horses. I grieve to find that here the case is otherwise. Reform the Sport, Sir; reform it, and make it worthy of Castorian gentlemen."

His newly-found friend only smiled.

Then he winked as he hummed to himself the words of a song, which ran something like this:--

"Come, sportsmen all, give ear to me, I'll tell you what occurred, But of course you won't repeat it when I've told you; For with honourable gentlemen I hope that mum's the word, When a horse you've laid your money on has sold you. I presume you lost your shekels, and you think it rather low, Since you're none of you as rich as NORTH or BARING. But another time you'll get them back by being 'in the know,' When a favourite is started for an airing.

"That's an odd sort of song," said _Mr. Punch_.

"Not so odd as the subject," replied the singer. "But you have only heard the first verse; wait till you know the second."

"'But they didn't tell the public; it's a precious, jolly shame;' (Such behaviour to the public seems to shock it)-- Now if _you'd_ been placed behind the scenes you wouldn't think the same, But put principles and winnings in your pocket. A gent who owns a stable doesn't always think of _you_, And he doesn't seem to fancy profit-sharing. And you really shouldn't curse him when he manages a 'do.' With a favourite who's only on an airing."

Before the singer could proceed any farther, a frightful hubbub arose. A pale, gasping wretch, rushed past, pursued by a howling, cursing mob of ruffians. As he fled, he tripped, and fell, and in a moment they were on the top of him, buffeting, and beating the very life out of him.

"That's murder," said _Mr. Punch_. "Where are the police?"

And he was on the point of stepping down, to render assistance, when his friend laid a hand upon his arm.

"Oh, that's only a welsher," he said; "he's bolting with other people's money."

"Is it the owner of the chestnut?" inquired Father TIME.

"Bless your heart, no," was the reply. "It's only a low-class cheat. The owner of the chestnut is--"

But _Mr. Punch_ had no wish to hear or see more.

He took TIME's arm, and together they floated away into space, to land shortly afterwards in another sphere.

* * * * *

VISIT TO POLLUX.

The street in which they had descended was situated in the heart of a great city. The roar of traffic sounded in their ears from the larger thoroughfares close by. Most of the houses were small and mean--a remarkable contrast to one large building, brilliantly lighted, in front of which a mob was gathered together. A more ruffianly-looking assemblage it would have been hard to discover. The rest of the street was filled with hansoms, the long line of which was constantly being augmented by fresh arrivals, whose occupants sprang out and swiftly mounted a flight of steps leading up to the entrance of the large building mentioned, and passed through swing-doors of glass, which gave admission to a broad passage. In front of this house the Sage paused, and addressed his companion.

"Venerable One," he said, for he had become aware of a reluctance on the part of the Lord of the Hour-Glass, "have no fear. We are now, as you know, in the metropolis of Pollux. This is the country of the [Greek: pux agathos], the home of the noble boxer; and this," he added, pointing to the glittering palace, "is the headquarters, I am informed, of the boxer's art. Let us enter, so that I may show you how the game should really be played. I like not the crowd without. Within we shall see something very different."

So saying, he linked his arm in that of the Paternal One, and together they ascended the stairs. At the top stood an official dressed in a dark uniform, his breast adorned with medals.

"I beg your pardon, Gentlemen," said the minion to the pair, "are you Members?"

_Mr. Punch_ vouchsafed no answer. He looked at the man, who quailed under the eagle glance, and, muttering a hasty apology, drew back. A door flew open; the Champion of Champions and his friend passed through it. They found themselves in a spacious hall. In the centre a square had been roped off. All round were arranged seats and benches. In the square were four men, two of them stripped to the waist sitting in chairs in opposite corners, while the two others were busily engaged in fanning them with towels. The seats and benches were all occupied by a very motley throng.

"Aha," said _Mr. Punch_, as he made his way to the throne reserved for him, "this is good. I have done a little bit of fighting myself in my time. My mill with the Tutbury Boy is still remembered. One hundred and twenty rounds, at the end of which I dropped him senseless. But that was with the knuckles. Here they fight with gloves. But of course they fight now for the mere honour of the thing, I presume."

But here the heroic Muse insists on taking up the strain:--