from the trunk.

"Rough and reddy!" I suggested, with a laugh.

"Another carpet spoiled!" said gentle Mrs. McSaxpence, trying to wipe out the deep crimson stain.

"This is serious," observed the Rev. Bang McSaxpence arming himself with a carving-knife, "the Lorkymussies are upon us. And, to cause me greater annoyance, they have kidnapped my daughter Tottie."

This turned out to be the case, and although we could not help smiling at the notion of a fair-haired little girl being at the mercy of some clumsy, tomahawking, brutal cannibals, we felt very sorry for the bereaved father.

We started. The first victim was a sentinel. Umbugsoapygas clutched him by the throat and pulling his head back, tore it off with a crack, like the popping of a soda-water cork. Then we were upon them. There were yells, crashes, and blood all over the place. The "Brain-pricker" was here there and everywhere, scooping out brains just like a cheese-scoop scoops out cheese to be tasted by the customers of a London butterman. It really was all very amusing, and in spite of our servants being absolutely cut to pieces, we were in the gayest spirits imaginable. That all should end happily, who should turn up at the last moment but Tottie, with a little pail into which the dear child had poured the heart's blood of some of her persecutors.

"I shot six of them with my own little revolver," said the interesting infant, as I stroked her golden-hair with my crimson-coloured fingers; "wasn't it clever of me?"

We had a very good lunch, the poulet à la Portugaise of Adolphe being particularly worthy of a second helping. After this meal was over, I went to the Rev. Bang McSaxpence, and taking him by the arm, observed, "I really think you ought to give up this sort of life. You see you owe a duty to your wife and daughter—especially the latter, who, if she does not receive any education, and only mixes with bloodthirsty cannibals, may grow up wild, shunning her kind."

"You are right, Slaughterman," replied the Minister, straightening his carving-knife, which since the night before had severed many a human rib. "I made up my mind to it this very morning, just before I began my hacking and slaying. I won't risk another fight, but leave it to a younger Clergyman. And besides, between you and me, I am well off. It is thirty thousand pounds I am worth to-day, and every farthing of it made by honest trade, and savings in the bank at Zanzibar—for living costs me here next to nothing."

"You are right."

"I am sure of it," answered the Clergyman. "I will turn my back upon this place in a month. But it will be a wrench—it will be a wrench." ^[2]

We left the Rev. Bang McSaxpence (whose successor, by the way, was killed and eaten six weeks later), taking with us the little Adolphe (a most invaluable butt for our buffooneries), and voyaged into the Unknown. We got into a boat, and throwing overboard some niggers to pick up dead swans, they were immediately (much to our amusement) drowned. This made us think, and we came to the conclusion that they must have been carried to death by a current. In a moment our canoe began to fly along as if seized with a mighty hand, and we were in a tunnel. The water hurried us along, and we had scarcely time to notice that we were passing now "Baker Street Station," now "Portland Road," now "King's Cross," when we were close to a gigantic lily of fire that nearly roasted us. We passed, got to some rocks, and were trying to get a cab, or at least a fly, when we suddenly came across a number of spiders. They were dreadful creatures. They foamed at the mouth, screamed at one another, and devoured their invalid relations.

Here I should like to pause to write something really terrible about these spiders, but must hurry on, as there is still a deal of killing to be done before I get to the end of my narrative. Enough to say I may return to those spiders some of these days, and out of their webs spin a three-volume novel of unusual grimness and humour.

Shortly after this we emerged from the tunnel (passing by a place called Gloucester Road), and found ourselves in the land of the White-eyed Kaffirs.^[3]

The country we now occupied was called New Pendy—no doubt because it had never been written about before. It is not very necessary to describe the lands or the people; and really the most remarkable thing in the place was a staircase, of a very wonderful character. Let the reader imagine, if he can, a splendid stairway, sixty-five feet from balustrade to balustrade, consisting of two vast flights, each of one hundred and twenty-five steps, of eight inches in height, by three feet broad, connected by a flat resting-place sixty feet in length, and running from the palace wall, on the edge of the precipice down to meet a waterway or canal cut to its foot from the river. This was the great staircase, the magnificence of which fairly took our breath away.^[4]

Having described the staircase, it is only necessary to say that the New Pendies were governed by two Queens, one of whom fell in love with Sir Harry and married him, quarrelled with her sister, and engaged in a civil war which rent the country in twain. This naturally occasioned a good deal of bloodshed. Never shall I forget the manner in which Tryleapyea (the lady who honoured Sir Harry with her preference) wooed that individual. When they first met they could not speak the same language, so she took a pencil from me and made a delightful little sketch, which I give in the margin. There is no difficulty in recognising a bride expressing admiration at a wedding-cake.

Need I say that after her marriage Tryleapyea's subjects had the most terrible fight with the subjects of her sister Saramariah, which was chiefly waged on the staircase. This happened after I and Umbugsoapygas had performed together a kind of "Turpin's Ride to York," from the battlefield. Adolphe escaped to post these memoirs—Umbugsoapygas was cut to pieces. Sir Henry and Bong in his blue spectacles, were kept for ever in the New Pendy country, and, finally, I myself was killed, funeralled, and cremated.^[5]