"Going to Paris by the train _de luxe!_ Ah, how different it used to be when our fathers were boys together. Do you remember the old-fashioned diligence? Some day we may travel by train across the sea."
"Well, I have a still easier mode of travelling. I can beat diligence and locomotive with a wish. I want to be in Paris!" In a moment, the Sage found himself seated under the Tour Eiffel amidst the ruins of the Exhibition. The confusion was indescribable.
"Dear me, I think I've had about enough of this!" said _Mr. Punch_. "I fancy I should like to be in Switzerland."
_Hey presto!_ and the Sage was in the home of the picturesque--in the land of _table d'hôtes_ of the first order, and of hotel prices of nearly the same altitude as the mountains.
"This is very perfect," observed the Sage to his faithful attendant. TOBY growled. "There is nothing needed to complete my happiness."
"Not know _me, Mr. Punch?_ Why, that is a good one!"
Then the First Gentleman in the World, who has appropriately been called the "pink," not to say the rose (of courtesy), recognised a well-known contributor to his pages. He gave this admirable type of a race that has its exponents in every country under the sun some excellent advice, and suggested that they might part company with mutual advantage.
"My good friend," said _Mr. Punch_, "I am quite aware that you are in the habit of corresponding with an intimate known as 'CHARLIE.' Oblige me with a duplicate of your next letter, and it shall be immortalised." It will be seen that _Mr. Punch_ has kept his word.
Dear CHARLIE,--You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll be bound. Not for Parry alone, mate, this time--I've bin doing the Reglar Swiss Round. Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, CHARLIE--guess it's a sight you'd enjoy To see 'ARRY, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss Boy.
'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by rail, But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest scale; Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old chap; And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on the rap.
Talk of hups and downs, CHARLIE! North Devon I found pooty steep, as you know, But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed Young Frow? I got 'andy with halpenstocks, CHARLIE, and never came _much_ of a spill; But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer Primrose 'Ill.