“Ladies’ foot-ball,” echoed Mr. Punch, “why what has that to do with matters nautical?”

“Pardon me, Mr. Punch,” returned the Resident in a tone of impatience, “but to-day you are certainly dense.  Ladies’ foot-ball is entirely nautical.  Are not the ladies, as they play it, quite at sea?”

The Sage of Fleet Street bowed, and admitted that second thoughts were best.

“And now you must really excuse me,” continued the Resident, “for it is my duty, as a director of the Royal Naval Exhibition to start the donkey races.  I suppose you have had nothing like our Exhibition down below?”

“Nothing,” returned the Sage.

[Illustration]

“So I thought,” was the reply.  “If you have time, you can call upon the Admiral Survival of the Fittest.”

“Gentlemen,” said that illustrious official, after they had entered his bureau, “it is usual to salute me by tugging at your forelocks and scraping the deck with your right feet.  While you perform this operation, you will notice that I will hitch up my trousers in true nautical style.”

“Oh, certainly,” returned Mr. Punch, “Delighted!  But, Admiral, isn’t that sort of thing a little old-fashioned?”

“And what of that, Sir?  In spite of everything we still have hearts of oak.  We have not changed since the time of NELSON and Trafalgar.  We can still run up the rigging (there isn’t any but that is an unimportant detail) like kittens, and reef a sail (there’s not one left, but what does that matter?) in a Nor-Wester as our ancestors did before us.  And if you don’t believe me, go to any public dinner when response is being made for the Navy.”

“But if the ships have changed, would it not be better if the crews had undergone an appropriate transformation?”

“We don’t think so.  But, there, it’s no use palavering.  Some day the matter will be put to the test?”

“By a war?”

“No; by the Fleet starting for a cruise in calm weather.  Some say we should all go to the bottom.  But I am talking of the Planet Neptune.  On your little Earth, I suppose, things are very different?”

“Very,” replied Mr. Punch. “We have the Admiralty!”

And considering this an appropriate moment for departure, the Sage and his Venerable Companion floated amongst the stars.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  AMONG THE DRAMATIC AND OPERATIC STARS.

AIRY FAIRY LILIAN.

KING ARTHUR.

THE ONLY ADELINA.

OUR ELLEN.

OUR HENRY.

THE GRASSHOPERATIC STAR.

THE SOCIETY CLOWN.

“O.K.”

OUR JOHNNIE.]

* * * * *

ARTISTIC STARS.

[Illustration]

“It’s wonderful!” exclaimed TIME.  “We haven’t got anything like this on Earth.”

“Plenty more where they come from,” said his Guide Philosopher and Friend; “but now just give me a lock of your hair, and I’ll stand you a fly through the artistic quarter.”