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    Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890
    Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890
    Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890
    Ebook155 pages1 hour

    Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890

    By Various Various and F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari The Christmas Number, 1890 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch Among the Planets, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Punch Among the Planets

      Author: Various

      Release Date: August 21, 2004 [EBook #13244]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH AMONG THE PLANETS ***

      Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team.

      PUNCH,

      OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      Punch Among the Planets.

      The Christmas Number, 1890.

      INTRODUCTION.

      The Old Year was fast nearing its close, the night was clear and starry, and Father Time, from the top of his observatory tower, was taking a last look round.

      To him entered, unannounced save by the staccato yap of the faithful Tobias, Time's unfailing friend, unerring Mentor, and immortal contemporary, Mr. Punch.

      "I am not for an age, but for All Time, freely quoted the Swan's sole parallel. And very much at Time's service, he added, throwing open his fur-lined Immensikoff," and lighting a cigar at the Scythe-bearer's lantern.

      "Happy to meet you once more, Mr. Punch, responded old Edax Rerum, turning from what the poet calls his 'Optic Tube' to welcome his sprightly visitor. Awfully good of you to turn up just now. Like True THOMAS's Teufelsdröckh, 'I am alone with the Stars,' and was beginning to feel just a little bit lonely."

      With the Voces Stellarum to keep you company? You surprise me, said Mr. Punch. But what is all this? he added, pointing with accustomed eye to a pile of MS. at TIME's elbow.

      If so old a stager as Father TIME can blush, he certainly did so on this occasion.

      "Fact is, Mr. Punch, he rejoined, I, like younger and shall I say lesser Celebrities, have been writing my 'Reminiscences.' Ha ha! The Chronicles of Chronos in 6,000 volumes or so—up to now. This is a small portion of my Magnum Opus. Can you recommend me to a publisher?"

      Ask my friend Archdeacon FARRAR, responded the Sage, drily. "What a work! And what a sensation! TALLEYRAND's long-talked-of 'Memoirs' not in it! Do you know, my dear TIME, I think you had better postpone the publication—for an æon or so at least. Your Magnum Opus might become a Scandalum Magnatum."

      Ah, perhaps so, replied TIME, with a sigh.

      Alone with the Stars, pursued Mr. Punch, meditatively. Humph! The Solar System alone ought to provide you with plenty of company.

      Yes. responded TIME, "but, after all, you know, telescopic intercourse is not entirely satisfactory. Like EDGAR POE's Hans Pfaal, I feel I should like to come to closer quarters with the 'heavenly bodies' as the pedagogues call them."

      And why not? queried Mr. Punch, coolly.

      As how? asked his companion.

      TIME, my boy laughed the Sage, you seem a bit behind yourself. Listen! 'Mr. EDISON is prosecuting an experiment designed to catch and record the sounds made in the sun's photosphere when solar spots are formed by eruptions beneath the surface.' Have you not read the latest of the Edisoniana?

      TIME admitted he had not.

      "TIME, you rogue, you love to get

      Sweets upon your list—put that in,"

      quoted the Sage. Something piquant for the 6001st Vol. of your Chronicles. But, after all, what is EDISON compared with Me? If you really wish for a turn round the Solar System, a peregrination of the Planets, put aside that antiquated spy-glass of yours and come with Me!

      And, taking TIME by the forelock, in a very real sense, the Sage of Fleet Street rose with him like a Brock rocket, high, and swift, and light-compelling, into the star-spangled vault of heaven.

      SIC ITUR AD ASTRA! said the Sage.

      "Twinkle, twinkle, Fleet Street Star!

      Saturn wonders who you are,

      Up above the world so high,

      Like a portent in the sky.

      Wonders if, Jove-like, you want,

      Him to banish and supplant!

      Fear not, Saturn; Punch's bolt

      Arms Right Order, not Revolt;

      Dread no fratricidal wars

      From this 'Star' among the Stars!"

      VISIT TO SATURN.

      "I am glad to hear that, at any rate," said Saturn, welcoming the illustrious guests to his remote golden-ringed realm.

      Saturn, however, did not look exactly comfortable, and his voice, how unlike To that large utterance of the early gods, sounded quavering and querulous.

      It is customary, said he, "to talk, as the old Romans rather confusedly did, of 'the Saturnian reign' as the true 'Golden Age,' identified with civilisation, social order, economic perfection, and agricultural profusion. As a matter of fact, I've always been treated badly, from the day when Jupiter dethroned me to that when, the Grand Old Man—who ought to have had more sympathy with me—banished hither the strife-engendering Pedant's hotch-potch called Political Economy."

      "Be comforted, Saturn, old boy—I am here!" cried Mr. Punch. I am 'personally conducting' Father TIME in a tour of the Planets. Let's have a look round your realm!

      Mr. Punch sums up much of what he saw in modern Saturnian Verses.

      Punch. Good gracious! my worthy old Ancient, who once held the sway of the heavens,

      Your realm seems a little bit shaky; what mortals call sixes and sevens!

      Saturn. That's scarcely god-lingo, my boy; but 'tis much as you say, and no wonder.

      Free imports have ruined my realm—I refer to Bad-Temper and Blunder,

      Two brutish and boobyish Titans—they've wholly corrupted our morals,

      And taught us Boycotting, and Strikes, and Lock-outs, and all sorts of mad quarrels.

      I hope you don't know them down there, in your queer little speck of a planet,

      These humbugging latter-day Titans?

      Punch.                    That cannot concern you—now can it?

      Saturn. Just look at the shindy down yonder!

      Punch.                    By Jove, what the doose are they doing?

      Saturn. Oh, settling the Great Social Question!

      Father Time.                    It looks as though mischief were brewing.

      Saturn. Sort of parody of the old fight, which was splendid at least, if tremendous,

      'Twixt Jove and the Titans of old. That colossus, gold-armoured, stupendous,

      Perched high on the Privilege ramparts, and bastioned by big bags of bullion,

      Is Capital; he's the new Jove, and each Titan would treat

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