“What would they think of such a—­such an apotheosis of degradation in one of your Music Halls at home, eh?” demanded TIME.

Privately, Mr. Punch was of opinion that it would not be at all unpopular.  However, he was not going to admit this:—­

[Illustration]

“It would be hissed off the stage,” he said, courageously.  “The fact is, that our Eccentric Vocalists have always shrunk from the responsibility of presenting a national vice under an attractive light, and so such exhibitions are absolutely unknown among us.”

“I respect them for their scruples,” said TIME; “they have their reward in a clear conscience,” “No doubt,” said Mr. Punch.  “Shall we go on?” And as TIME had had enough of the Boozer King, they went on, and entered the next hall, just as a remarkably pretty young girl, with an innocent rosebud mouth and saucy bright eyes like a bird’s, tripped daintily on to the platform.

“Come,” said TIME, with more approval than he had yet shown, “this is better—­much better.  We need feel no shame is listening to this young lady, at all events.  What is she going to give us?  Some tender little love-ditty, I’ll be bound?”

She sang of love, certainly, though she treated the subject from rather an advanced point of view, and this was the song she sang:—­

  “True love—­you tyke the tip from me—­’s all blooming tommy-rot! 
  And the only test we go by is—­’ow much a man has got? 
  So none of you need now despair a girlish ’art to mash,—­
  So long as you’re provided with the necessairy cash!”

And the chorus was:—­

  “You may be an ’owling cad;
  Or be gowing to the bad;
  Or a hoary centenarian, or empty-headed lad;
  Or the merest trifle mad—­
  If there’s rhino to be had,
  Why, a modern girl will tyke you—­yes, and only be too glad!”

As she carolled out this charming ditty in her thin high voice, TIME positively shivered in his stall, “Are all the girls like that in Seriocomix?” he moaned.  “I trust not.”

“It seems the fashion to assume so here, at any rate,” said Mr. Punch, not without a hazy recollection of having heard very similar sentiments in Music Halls much nearer home than Seriocomix.  “The young woman is probably an authority on the subject.  Are you off already?”

“Yes,” said TIME, as he made for the exit.  “I think she is going to sing again presently.  Come along!”

At the next Music Hall they were just in time to hear the announcement of a new Patriotic Song, and old TIME, who had in his day seen great and noble deeds accomplished by men who loved and were proud of their Fatherland, was disposed to congratulate both himself and the audience on the choice of topic.

Only, as the song went on, he seemed dissatisfied somehow, as if he had expected some loftier and more exalted strain.  And yet it was a high-spirited song, too, and told the Seriocomicans what fine fellows they were, and how naturally superior to the inhabitants of all other planets, while the chorus ran as follows:—­