[Illustration]
"It's wonderful!" exclaimed TIME. "We haven't got anything like this
on Earth."
"Plenty more where they come from," said his Guide Philosopher and
Friend; "but now just give me a lock of your hair, and I'll stand you
a fly through the artistic quarter."
And Mr. PUNCH, like Beauty, "drawing him with a single hair," carried
the Ancient Wanderer along with him, past galaxies of talent,
musical, dramatic, and operatic, refusing to stop and gratify the old
Gentleman's pardonable curiosity.
"I know I've got Time for it all," quoth the flying Sage, "but I
haven't space, that's where the difficulty is. As for Literary Stars,
from TENNYSON and SWINBURNE, to LANG, STEVENSON, BLACK, BESANT, and
our excellent friend, Miss BRADDON, with other novelists too numerous
to mention, we must leave our cards on them, pay a flying visit, and
just skirt the artistic quarter."
"There's the President!" exclaimed Old TIME.
"Ah! everyone knows _him_," said _Mr. Punch_--"artist and orator, and
ever a Grand Young Man, the flower of the Royal Academy."
"Sir JOHN, too," cried TIME.
"As fresh as his own paint is our MILLAIS," returned _Mr. Punch_.
"But 'on we goes again,' as the showman said, and you can pick out
for yourself the
Artist-Operatic-Composer-Painter-Etcher-Fellow-of-All-Souls, and
master of a variety of other accomplishments, yclept HUBERT HERKOMER;
then the gay and gallant FILDES, the chiseler BOEHME, the big PETTIE,
the Flying, not the Soaring, Dutchman, TADEMA, the always-purchased
BOUGHT'UN, the gay dog POYNTER, Cavalier Sir JOHN GILBERT, and the
chivalric DON CALDERON! There's a galaxy for you, my boy! Can you
touch these on Earth?"
"Well," said TIME, slowly scratching the tip of his nose, "I fancy
I've heard of 'all the talents' before. Besides these, there are a few
more who are celebrated in black and white--"
"Rather!" cried _Mr. Punch_, enthusiastically. "My own dear boys, with
JOHN TENNIEL at their head. But they're all so busy just now that I
couldn't take up their time."
"But you're taking _me_ up," observed the aged T., slily.
"Quite so," returned his guide--who if, _per impossibile_, he ever
_could_ be old, would be "_the_ aged P.,"--and then giving another
tug at his companion's forelock, he cried, "On we goes again! We'll be
invisible for awhile, and I'll show you our 'ARRY in the clouds. You
remember IXION in Heaven, or as 'ARRY would call him, IXION in 'Eaven.
Now see 'ARRY dreamin' o' Goddesses. Here we go Up! Up! Up!"
And what happened is told by 'ARRY in the following letter.
[Illustration: "PHYLLIS IS MY ONLY JOY!"