Punch (93.1887)

December 31, 1887.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

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SCJENE — A snug and s?q icsiercd if cliudj earner of the Elysian Fields. Present, the Shades of Shakspeaee and Bacon, engaged in
reading Mr. Donelly's egregious lucubrations, not without such mild and mitigated mirth as becomes the locality. To them
enters a small and sprightly Personage, light-footed, but of seeming cis-Stygian solidity.

.ZJrtMOT Xltoqelher). IIillo !
ohalespeare]

Mr. Punch. That sounds human. Savours rather of my own Fleet Street than of the realms of the other Rhada-
manthua. What cheer, sweet Will ? How fare you, Brother Francis ? [Salutes courteously.

Bacon. Twere affectation to ask who you are, Sir. Tbe question, " How gat you here ? " may perchance be more
pertinent—and pardonable.

Mr. P. (airily). Oh, I had been for—say, the xth time—to see " Our Mary" in The Winter's Tale, and being more
inclined for profitable talk than for sleep, I just took you on my way home.

Bacon (smiling). Marry, Mr. Punch, were the statement of sequence equivalent to the explanation of causation, yours
would be a most satisfactory answer.

Shahs, (mildly). Be not too scientifically scrutinising, Brother Bacon. Mr. Punch, Puck and Ariel in one, is free of
all places, lord of all latitudes, penelrator of all spheres, permeator of all elements.

Mr. P. True, sweet Will ! How much more catholic, in comprehension, as in charity, is the creative mind than
the merely critical one !

Bacon. Humph ! That sounds Sphinxian. Heraclttus the Obscure was pellucid in compar.son.

Mr. P. And yet, I warrant you, Master Shakspeare here could play the " Diver of Delos" where your pundit's
plummet should not find bottom. However, " broad-browed Verulam," let not that brow's breadth cloud or corrugate in
vexation at my persiflnge. What do you read, Sir?

Shahs. " Words, words, words ! "

Mr. P. " I mean the matter that you read."

Shahs. " Slanders, Sir." For the coney-catching rogue—one Donelly—says here-but of course you know what

hesajs. [The trio laugh Homerieally, until the asphodels wag their white heads and convulse their starry corollas in sheer
sympathy.

Bacon. By Dbmocritos, laughter in these latitudes is seldom enough of this sort and compass.
Mr. P. To succeed in shaking the sides—of Bacon, here, is somewhat indeed, the greatest triumph, be sure, that
awaits the incongruous Cryptogrammatist.

Shahs. Would that Ben Jonson were with us to join in the glorious guffaw.

Mr. P. Conceive Rare Ben being jockeyed into accepting you, his contemporary and tavern-companion, as the author
of such " unconsidered trifles " as Hamlet and Lear, Othello and Macbeth, The Tempest and The Midsummer Night's Dream !
Wer't ever at the "Mermaid," Verulam?

Bacon. Verily, Mr. Punch, I should like mightily to have joined in that company, just for once, and to have discussed