in importuning _Mr.
Punch_ just to step inside his office, and sample a delicious Lafitte
of the 1874 vintage.

"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.

[Illustration]

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