Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

A strange light descends from somewhere above, producing a blueish atmospheric effect. Weird, very. We are now in the Wine Demon's Cave. More pantomimic effects: big demons and little demons at work everywhere: champagne demons with strange faces,—I should say "fizzes,"—moving about noiselessly: the only sound is that of the occasional irrepressible effervescence of youth, or a pop from a recalcitrant cork in a distant cell, and, in a mysterious all-pervading way, an accompaniment of hammering.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Probably, champagne also dry. But remembering what I have heard of someone else's experience of Dock-visiting, which I presume is similar to cave-visiting, I do not mention my sudden drought. I feel that, while down here, if I took one glass of champagne, my head first, and then my legs, might become unsteady, whereupon nothing would be more likely than for me to take the wrong turning and lose my companions; if I did, what are the chances against my ever finding them again? Or if my legs failed me and I disappeared between the casks, who would think of looking for me there?
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I shout in return—then in the far distance I descry a light ... it grows bigger ... a shriek ... a wild waving of a blazing garish torch, and again I have to compress myself against the barrels as another trolly whizzes past at full speed, carrying two cheerful-looking, and except for that one shout, silent demons. "Hey trolly lolly!"
Source: Gutenberg

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