"Is this woman demanding the insurance money for the burial of her own child?" asked _Mr. Punch_, sternly. And he turned his ring. "And pray, Madam," he continued, addressing the beetle-browed woman, "tell me the truth." "Certainly," replied the woman, as if in a trance. "First, I insured my own KATE--then I starved her to death, and took the money. Then little BILL followed. I let him catch cold in the winter, and gave him a night or two on the stones, and that finished him. Then came TIM FLAHERTY, and I managed him with the beetle-poison, and--" "Come," said _Mr. Punch_, taking Father TIME's arm once more; "let us get out of this--I can't breathe here." Scarcely had they quitted the place ere they had to encounter an appeal for custom, the Applicant being apparently one of the big guns in the Mercury wine trade, and he was not long 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.