_Mr. P._ True, O Swan! Let the Great Brethren of British Genius be brethren still--twins, if you please, but twain. Verily it might almost pass the might of Mother Nature to round two such splendid orbs into one. Rare BEN had his tribute for you also, my VERULAM. "No man ever spake more neatly, more purely, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness in what he uttered." Might have been said of ME! _Bacon._ Praise shared with you is praise indeed! But the language of the Realm of Phantasy--WILL'S own world--the speech of Arcady, of Arden, of shadowy Elsinore, of _Prospero's_ enchanted Isle--WILL'S native tongue--passeth many a league-long step beyond the "neatness" of the judgment-seat, or the "fulness" of the _Novum Organum Scientiarum_. _Mr. P._ Well said, Wisdom! _Shaks._ (_chortling softly_). Why, who knows? One day, perchance,--æons hence, of course,--some puzzle-headed pragmatist may propound the preposterous question, "Who wrote _Punch?_" From out the fathomless deeps of its many thousand wit-stored tomes the DONELLY of that dim and distant future may readily dip up, in his poor bucket, a Cryptogram, to show that they were produced by a scientific syndicate, including FARADAY and MILL, HUXLEY and HERBERT SPENCER, DARWIN and the Duke of ARGYLL. [_At the mention of the Olympian and autocratic Scottish Sciolist, Homeric laughter bursts forth anew in yet fuller force._ _Bacon._ Prithee, sweet WILL, don't! Shadowy sides can ache, I find, and then, what will Rhadamanthus think? _Mr. P._ As Jupiter did when the adventurous Ixion intruded into Olympus, perhaps. Well, well, put aside that preposterous book, which, as you, my Lord BACON, said of the Aristotelian method, is "only strong for disputations and contentions, but barren of works for the benefit of the life of man," and, I may add, of immortals. _Shaks._ (_yawning_). Not all reading, my FRANCIS, makes a full man--save in the sense in which one may be filled with the East wind. _My_ books were men. Not much that is novel in Nature, human or otherwise, to study in these shadowy realms. I miss the "Mermaid," and the mazy world which was my stage. DONELLY'S book is dull, however. Canst furnish us with a substitute, excellent Mr. PUNCH? _Mr. P._ That can I, sweet WILL. To that end indeed came I hither. As a popular stage-character--not one of your own--saith, "I hope I don't intrude." Ah, I thought not; but you needn't try (ineffectually) to wring my hands off, the pair of you. Behold!!!!!! As Mr. PUNCH reluctantly turned his back upon Elysium, he left the two Illustrious Shades, prone side by side and cheek by jowl upon an asphodel bank, eagerly and diligently perusing his Ninety-Third Volume! [Illustration] [Transcriber's Note: All apparent printer's errors retained. Italics denoted with underscores (_).] End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, December 31, 1887, by Various