Reached the Kit'ldrumma District. Natives hostile at first; war-drums sounded incessantly. Fortunately fond of music, so easily pacified them by playing selection from "Tannhäuser," arranged for drum and panpipes by Liszt. Toby taking violent fancy to a "Spottiduff," or native dog, Spottiduff vanishing mysteriously shortly before dinner; find this animal considered a great dainty in this locality. Toby inconsolable.
Among the Ustingis. Received with great ceremony by their king—Chesipara. Palm wine (corked) handed round in liqueur glasses. Dinner beastly. Chesipara saying repeatedly that he "made no stranger of me"—he will, though, for the future. Exchange of presents. Gave Chesipara a silver-mounted dressing case (bankrupt stock—a bargain), a handsome coloured supplement, Muzzer's Darling (given away with Christmas Number of Timon), a microscope (object-lens missing—but he'll never miss it), a plated fish-slice, and a pair of nut-crackers. Chesipara, after a good deal of parade, presented me with a bunch of very indifferent bananas, and a brass collar, belonging to one of his wives, whom he had had killed on purpose! Told him, with much emotion, that I should never forget it.
Reached the Centre of Africa; found that luggage had not been forwarded after all! Had to borrow a clean shirt from Kollamangel chief, promised to return it on arrival at Coast. Difficulty with Tippoo-Tip of the Blackmaïlas, who refused to allow Mr. Punch to pass without tribute. Pacified him with palm butter and reached coast without further incident.
After leaving Tippoo-Tip, he continued his journey through the Colonies. Now he was taking tiffin in Calcutta, and a few minutes later found everyone asleep at Montreal. Christmas seemed to him to be being kept in Melbourne in the most sultry weather, and New Year's Day in Cape Colony was observed as a Midsummer festival. He had a general impression of constant change and constant improvement. The spirit of the mighty English Race seemed to be falling upon the world like a ray of glorious sunshine. This ray of light was continually increasing and beating back the darkness. And, as the Sage travelled through the air, he found everywhere content. It mattered not who the natives might be, they had but one flag, the Union Jack, one sovereign, the Empress-Queen Victoria!
"Rule Britannia!" cried Mr. Punch, enthusiastically. "But for all that, I wish I could have a few minutes to myself."
In a moment, he found himself seated amidst the eternal snows of the North Pole.
"Well, this is an ice place!" shivered the Sage. There was a roar of mighty laughter from the Aurora Borealis. It was the first time that the ancient jest had been uttered in those latitudes. The Sage blushed at his adoption of the venerable "Joe Miller," and wished himself back in Europe—in civilisation.
He found himself in Venice. Steam gondolas were travelling along the Grand Canal, and Cockneys were cutting their names on the sacred stones of the Church of St. Mark.
"It is becoming very English," murmured the Sage. "I suppose the next move will be to organise pigeon-shooting matches in front of the Café Florian, after turning the Doge's Palace into an illuminated Palace of Varieties."