_Punch's_ "literary recipes" place Romance first, then follow the Society Novel (with thinly veiled portraits from life); the Detective Story (Gaboriau and water); and the Religious Novel. The plague of Reminiscences had moved _Punch_ to protest as early as 1893, when he wrote:-- That Memory's the Mother of the Muses, We're told. Alas! it must have been the Furies! Mnemosyne her privilege abuses-- Nothing from her distorting glass secure is. Life is a Sphinx; folk cannot solve her riddles, So they've recourse to spiteful taradiddles, Which they dub "Reminiscences." Kind fate, From the Fool's Memory preserve the Great! Another and a newer aversion was the parasitic patronage of FitzGerald by inferior novelists and writers, which moved _Punch_ to include among "the things that we are still waiting, and it seems, likely to wait for--A Temporary Surcease from Omar Khayyám." This last-named nuisance has ceased to be so vocal of late years, but the plague of "Diaritis" is worse than ever. Mr. H. G. Wells appears on _Punch's_ horizon in 1898, but only as the weaver of circumstantial scientific romances, not as the regulator of the Universe, and discoverer of new Heavens and Hells. _The War of the Worlds_ is parodied in _The Martian_, but the wonderland of science appealed less to _Punch_ than the dream-world of "Lewis Carroll," whose death inspired a graceful tribute to author and illustrator:-- Lover of children! Fellow-heir with those Of whom the imperishable kingdom is! Beyond all dreaming now your spirit knows The unimagined mysteries. Darkly as in a glass our faces look To read ourselves, if so we may, aright; You, like the maiden in your faërie book-- You step beyond and see the light! The heart you wore beneath your pedant's cloak Only to children's hearts you gave away; Yet unaware in half the world you woke The slumbering charm of childhood's day. We older children, too, our loss lament, We of the "Table Round," remembering well How he, our comrade, with his pencil lent Your fancy's speech a firmer spell. Master of rare woodcraft, by sympathy's Sure touch he caught your visionary gleams, And made your fame, the dreamer's, one with his, The wise interpreter of dreams. Farewell! But near our hearts we have you yet, Holding our heritage with loving hand, Who may not follow where your feet are set Upon the ways of Wonderland. [Sidenote: _Magic, Megalomania, and Sham Culture_]