Chapter 5

"So this 'ere is the Moon, Miss!" sez I. "Where's the Man there's sech talk on downstairs?" She looked at me 'orty. Thinks I, "You're a 'ot 'un to give yourself hairs. I may level you down a bit later: The Man in the Moon, Miss," I adds. Sez she, "We don't 'ave Men up here; they are most of them tyrants or cads!"

"Oh," sez I, "on the MONA CAIRD lay, eh, my lady?" Jest then, mate, I looks And sees male-looking things by the dozen: but then they turned out to be spooks. There was TOLSTOI the Rooshian romancer, a grim-looking son of a gun, Welting into young Cupid like scissors, and wallopping Hymen like fun.

Old Hymen looked 'orrified rayther; but as for young Arrers-and-'Arts, _He_ turned up his nose at the old 'un, whilst all the gay donas and tarts, Not to mention the matronly mivvies, were arter the boy with the bow, Plainly looking on TOLSTOI and IBSEN as crackpots, and not in the know.

"Queer paper, my dear Miss DIANNER," sez I, "wot do _you_ think?" Sez she, "A mere Vision of Vanities, mortal, of no speshal interest to me. _I_ am not the keeper of Limbo, although it is found in my sphere. Everything that's absurd and unnatural claims a clear right to come _here_.

"See, the latest Art-Hobbies are ambling about with their 'eads in the air, And their riders are tilting like true toothpick paladins. SMUDGE over there Makes a bee-line for SCRATCH in this corner, whilst MUCK and the Mawkish at odds, Clash wildly, and Naturalism pink Sentiment painfully prods."

Then I twigged Penny WHISTLER's white plume, and the haddypose HOSCAR upreared, His big hairy horryflame, CHARLIE, whilst Phillistines looked on and jeered. I see Nature, as Narstiness, ramping at wot Nambypamby dubbed Nice, And Twoddle parading as Virtue, and Silliness playing at Vice.

Here was pooty girls Primrosing madly, and spiling their tempers a lump, By telling absurd taradiddles for some big political pump;

And there wos 'ard-mouthed middle-aged 'uns a shaking the Socherlist flag, And a ramping like tiger-cats tipsy around a rediklus red rag.

There wos patriots playing the clown, there was magistrates playing the fool; There wos jugginses teaching the trombone to kids at a bloomin' Board School. "This is Free Hedgercation in Shindy," sez I. "They're as mad as March hares, All these Limboites, dear Miss DIANNER. We do it _much_ better downstairs!"

She smiled kinder scoffish, I fancied, and give 'er white shoulders a hunch. Says she; "I've no comments to make. It's along of my friend _Mr. Punch_ Whom the whole Solar System obeys, and the Court of Olympus respects, That I wait on you 'ere, Mister ARRY. Pray what would you like to see next?"

"Well," sez I, with a glance at her gaiters, "I've heard you're a whale, Miss, at Sport. Do you 'know anythink' wuth my notice?" She gave me a look of a sort, As I can't put in words, not exactly, a sort o' cold _scorch_, dontcherknow. That's a bit of a parrydocks p'raps; anyhow, it hurt wus than a blow.

But we went on the fly once agen--can't say 'ow it wos managed, but soon We 'ad passed to a rum-looking region--the opposite side of the Moon, Where no mortal afore had set foot, nor yet eyes, Miss DIANNER declared. "Here's a Region of Sport!" sez the lady. Good Gracechurch Street, mate, 'ow I stared!

Seemed a sort of a blend-like of Hepsom, and Goodwood, and Altcar, mixed up With the old Epping 'Unt and new Hurlingham, thoughts of the Waterloo Cup, Swell Polo and Pigeon-match tumbled about in my mind, while the din Was like Putney Reach piled on a Prizefight, with Kennington Oval chucked in.

There wos toffs, fair top new 'uns, mixed hup with the welcher, the froth with the scum; There wos duchesses, proud as DIANNER, and she-things as sniffed of the slum; There was "champions" thick as bluebottles, and plungers as plenty as peas, With stoney-brokes, pale as a poultice, and "crocks," orful gone at the knees;

I see a whole howling mix-up of "mug" booky, dog-owner and rough, A-watching of snaky-shaped hounds pelting 'ard 'after bits o' brown fluff, I see--and the Sportsman within me began for to bubble and burn, And I yelled, "O my hazure-horbed Mistress, can't you and me 'ave jest a turn?"

We _did_, and my "Purdey Extractor" made play, though it ain't me to brag, But somehow her arrers went straighter, and 'ers wos the heaviest bag. "Let _me_ 'ave a try, Miss," sez I, "with that trifle from Lowther Arcade!" I tried, and hit one of her dogs, as she didn't think sport I'm afraid.

The 'ound didn't seem much to mind it; immortal, I spose, like Miss D.; Then we 'ad a slap arter the deer, and she'd very soon nailed two or three. _I_ wos out of it, couldn't pot one, and it needled me orful, dear boy, To be licked by a gal, _though_ a goddess, and armed with a archery toy!

Her togs wos a little bit quisby--for moors as ain't pitched in the Moon, And _there wasn't no pic-nic, dear boy!_ I got peckish and parched pooty soon. _She_ lapped from a brook, and her hoptics went wide as a cop on the watch, When I hinted around rayther square, _I_ should like a small drop of cold Scotch.

Well, well; I must cut this yarn short. We'd a turn at Moon Sports like all round, Wish I'd time to describe our Big Boar Hunt--DIANNER's pet pastime I found, Can't say it was _mine_; bit too risky. Pigsticking in Ingy may suit White Shikkarries or Princes, dear boy, but yer Boar is a nasty big brute.

Too much tusk for my taste! 'Owsomever DIANNER she speared him to rights, And I dropped from the tree I'd shinned up when the boar had made tracks for my tights. "Bravo, Miss DIANNER!" I sez. "You are smart, for a gal, with that spear. But didn't yer get jest a mossel alarmed--fur yer 'ARRY, my dear?"

Put it hamorous like, with a wink, snugging up to the lady, I did; For she'd found a weak spot in my 'art, this cold classical gal, and no kid. I'd been 'aving a pull at my flask, up that tree, and her pluck and blue eyes Made me feel a bit spoony; in fact I was mashed. But, O wot a surprise!

"Alarmed? about _you_, Sir! And _why_?" sez DIANNER, with eyes all aflash, I sez, "Don't yer remember Adonis, love, Venus's boar-'unting mash? No wonder the lady felt fainty like; fear for a sweetheart, yer see. And--well, if I'm not quite Adonis, _you found your Enjimmyun_ in _Me_!

"One more, only one, dear DIANNER," I sez. And I aimed for a kiss, I made for her lips, a bee-line. But great snakes, my dear boy, wot a miss! Hit me over the 'ed with her boar-spear, a spanker, she did, like a shot. Don't you never spoon goddesses, CHARLIE; you'll find it a dashed sight too 'ot!

"Adonis!" she cried. "Nay, Actæon! And his shall be also thy fate. There is _Punch_ looking on, he'll approve!" And she jest set 'er dogs on me, straight! "Way-oh! Miss DIANNER!" I yells. "No offence! Don't be 'ard on a bloke! Beg yer pardon, I'm sure!" Here a hound nipped my calf like a vice, and--I woke.

Leastways, I persoom it _wos_ waking, if 'tother was sleep and a dream, But I feel a bit moon-struck, dear boy. Spooks abound, and things ain't what they seem. _Mister Punch_ sez, "it served me quite right." Well, next time correspondence he'd carry With satterlites, spesh'ly the Moon, he had better not drop upon 'ARRY.

"Poor fellow, I pity him," said _Mr. Punch_ to Father TIME, as the pair passed away from the Lunar precincts together, bowing courteously, and a little apologetically, to 'ARRY's late hostess, who called off her dogs, and affably responded to their parting salutation. "Fact is," pursued the Sage, "my young friend 'ARRY, though smart and _fin de siècle_, in his way, is a little of 'the earth, earthy,' and lacks both the adventurousness and the tact of an Ixion."

"I presume," said the Scythe-bearer, "our inter-planetary peregrinations are now pretty nearly at an end--for this time?"

"We have yet one more visit to pay," said _Mr. Punch_.

At this moment, as the space-pervading trio fleeted forward, a strange unusual effulgence grew to the eastward, and began to bathe them in golden light. Miraculously metamorphic was its action upon the aërial travellers. _Mr. Punch_ flung aside his hat and his "Immensikoff," and appeared as the Apollo-like personage he really is. TOBY's wings expanded, and his pace mended. As for "Old Father TIME" himself, the combined influence of the regenerating philtre in _Faust_, and the fire-bath in _She_, could not more completely have transmogrified him. His face brightened with youthfulness, his solitary forelock bushed out into a wavy and hyacinthine hirsute crop, his ancient and magician-like garments fell from him, his plumes expanded, until he looked more like "the herald Mercury" than old Edax Rerum.

Then they swung, as on airy _trapèze_, or on wings of the thunder-bird strong, With the sound in their ears of the voice of the starry and sisterly throng. Did the orbs of splendiferous Sol give a wink as they ranged into reach? Was his genial mouth all alight with the flame of the friendliest speech? Hey, Presto! Great Scott! Transformation on DRURIOLANUS's stage Was never so sudden as this! Who rides there as the Sun-God? The Sage! The Great Hypnotiser! Utopia's lord! He Who Must Be Obeyed! He whose Magical Spell is on Princes and Peoples, on Art and on Trade. _Houp-là!_ Transformation tremendous! The round of the Planets we've travelled, Some curious secrets unveiled, and some mysteries mighty unravelled. _We manage things better on Earth!_ That's the formula! Sounds it sardonic? Was _Punch_ just a morsel sarcastic, his hosts just a trifle ironic? At any rate, _Punch_ here explains to the World how to manage things better, By purging Humanity's spirit, and snapping Hate's tyrannous fetter. He'd Hypnotise Man into health, both of body and spirit, and out of The follies, and vices, and greeds, and conceits. See the whole Comus-rout of Absurdities, Appetites, Antics, Antipathies, personal, national, Driven before his bright Sun-Car! The Rule of the Rosily Rational He would inaugurate, making Earth's atmosphere healthy as Thanet's, _That_ Father TIME, is his aim; _that's_ the Moral of _Punch_ and the Planets!