PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 108, March 9th, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand

TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.

I.—THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (continued.)

Far below lay the globe like a huge ball of glowing light, patched here and there with dark tracts, and intersected with lines brighter than the surrounding brightness. That was my goal. But here I was still swiftly soaring from it. Oh, if I could but change my direction; for such was the still unexhausted force of the momentum acquired by the explosion that I knew I should not drop down for many a long day. If I could only manage to speed diagonally down towards the earth, I calculated that I could take advantage of the waves of the air to move in a kind of switchback fashion towards the earth, and possibly, as I neared the ground, I might either hook myself on to some tall tree or plunge into a river or an ocean and save myself by my unequalled powers of swimming. And here a sudden thought struck me. In life I had respected the Ayah, but now she was dead and was far beyond the possibility of feeling. I do not say of resenting, a discourteous action. Time was slipping away; the earth was visibly diminishing; the moment for action had come. Slowly and with determination I drew up my right leg, and letting it out backwards with the force of a Nasmyth hammer, delivered my foot full against the body of the Ayah. Everything happened as I had anticipated. There was a dull and melancholy thud as the lifeless body went off at its involuntary tangent, while I flew sidelong and in a downward direction, my whole course being changed by the impetus of the kick.

How long I flew like this I know not. At such a crisis moments are centuries. After a time I re-opened my eyes and looked about me. Where was I? Could it be? Yes—no—and yes again. All that I saw was familiar. The towers, the cupolas, the domes, the minarets, the battlements—all these I had seen before. Scarcely two hundred yards below me lay the Diamond City from which I had that very night ascended.

"With a rush and a swoop I was upon him."

I ought to explain that, as I had expected, partly owing to the well-known laws of gravitation, partly owing to the celebrated air-wave theory, first propounded by my friend, Dr. Hasewitz, Regius Professor of Phlebotomy in the University of Bermuda, I was now proceeding in a series of gigantic serpentine curves through the air. At the moment of which I am speaking I was at the top of one of these curves, and I calculated that, with luck, I should just be able, on my downward course, to clear the western gate of the city, and then, having come to within a few feet of the ground, I should speed upward again and onward heaven knows whither. In a flash it occurred to me that if Ganderdown was ready at his appointed post beyond the gate, I might in passing be able to seize him and bear him with me in my wild flight. I pulled out my watch. The hands pointed to five minutes past twelve, and as we had fixed midnight for our meeting, I knew that my henchman, the very soul of punctuality, would be at the rendezvous. Yes, there was the faithful old fellow, armed and provisioned to the teeth, standing stolidly as was his custom, apparently paying but little attention to anything that was going on around and about him. With a rush and a swoop I was upon him. I stretched out my hand, and, as I passed, took a full and powerful grip of the collar of his coat, wrenched him from the ground, and thus accompanied went serpentining onwards into the unknown.

I am bound to say that when his first surprise was over the old warrior took it uncommonly well. His was never an inquisitive mind. Like all who were brought into contact with me, he had an unswerving faith in my genius. "If Wilbraham says so, it must be so, and there's an end of the matter," was one of his commonest sayings, never more justified than on the occasion of which I am now speaking.

"Have you the pemmican?" I asked him.—"I have."

"And the solidified beef-tea?"—"In my left pocket."

"And the combined boiler and cooking range?"

"Slung on my back."

"And the patent portable mule-cart with adjustable tram-lines?"

"Attached to my belt."—"And the——?"

What I was going to say I cannot remember, for at this moment there was a crash of glass, we both struck violently against some hard surface, rebounded, fell, and lay perfectly still. In a minute or two I recovered from the shock, and looked about me. We were lying in the manger of the Pink Hippopotamus!

(To be contd.)

IRISH ASTRONOMY.

Sir Robert Ball, recently delivering a lecture (by request) under the above title, admitted that he did not quite know what it meant, as he did not suppose Irish astronomy was different from that of other nations. Isn't it be jabers? Judging by parity of reasoning, we can imagine that Irish astronomy may be as sui generis as are Irish politics. It is probably unusually nebulous, and characterised by the revolution of suns round their satellites, and the prevalence of excentric comets and shooting stars. Had Addison had it in mind, he would probably have written his celebrated hymn somewhat as follows:—

THE ARCHITECT TO HIS WIFE.