"Certainly. Oblige them!" added _Mr. Punch_, taking a banjo from one of the crowd and placing it in Father TIME's hands. "Give them a stanza of the Ballad of Truth." He turned his ring, and his aged companion struck up the following ditty:-- "Know ye the land where dwells only mock-turtle, Where wine that should gladden but makes you fell queer. Where bayonets bend, where guns burst and hurtle Their breech in the face of their friends at the rear, Where lamps labelled 'safety' with just terrors fill you, Where water supplied you for milk is no theft, Where pills that should cure, if persisted in, kill you And the 'Hair Resurrector' takes all you've got left! Where soap, that should soften your skin, only flays you, Where a horse proves a screw though got through a friend, Where the loss of your 'cover' confounds and dismays you, Though assured by the _Firm_ 'if you hold on t'will mend'? Know ye, in fine, where by pushing and 'rushing,' This--and much more, down the public throat crams, Blatant Advertisement, brazen, unblushing--? If you do, then you've spotted the _Planet of Shams_." [Illustration] Though a few paving-stones were hurled at the aged singer, the conclusion of his sons was greeted by a general roar of laughter, the populace apparently recognising the picture of their own chicanery with amusement and relish. After that they held on their way for some minutes in silence. They had now reached the other side, and were confronted by a couple of respectable-looking gentlemen of an almost clerical aspect, who appeared to be catering in the public streets in the interests of some institution. They approached _Mr. Punch_ and Father TIME, and offered them a prospectus. "'THE DEAR LITTLE CHILDREN'S HAPPY AND ELEGANT BURIAL INSTITUTION,'" read _Mr. Punch_, surveying the paper presented to him, and continuing, "'_A trivial payment of Ninepence a Month will ensure the youthful Subscriber, or his Representative, a sweet and elegantly-constructed little Coffin, beautifully frilled, with a one-black-horse Family Omnibus Hearse, and a tray of Two Handsome Plumes. N.B.--if preferred, payment of £2 19s. 6d. in cash on production of Corpse._'" They showed _Mr. Punch_ and Father TIME up the front steps, and ushered them into a large hall. It was thronged with a crowd of dirty and raggedly-dressed people, and partitioned off by a handsome and massive mahogany counter, beyond which sat a staff of clerks busily engaged in keeping the books and generally discharging the duties of the institution. [Illustration] "Ha, Mrs. MACSTOGGINS, and are we in your debt again?" asked the Agent of a beetle-browed woman of a sinister and forbidding expression, who was thrusting a paper across the counter to the cashier. "Yes; and I'll trouble you not to keep me waiting, either--seeing that it's gone three days since the burial."