Part 2 (2/2)

But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot.

What became of Ballard's guns? Afghans black and grubby Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; And the s.h.i.+ny bowie-knife and the town-made sword are Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border.

What became of Mookerjee? Ask Mahommed Yar Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow Bazaar.

Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh--question land and sea-- Ask the Indian Congressmen--only don't ask me!

PINK DOMINOES

They are fools who kiss and tell”-- Wisely has the poet sung.

Man may hold all sorts of posts If he'll only hold his tongue.

Jenny and Me were engaged, you see, On the eve of the Fancy Ball; So a kiss or two was nothing to you Or any one else at all.

Jenny would go in a domino-- Pretty and pink but warm; While I attended, clad in a splendid Austrian uniform.

Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged Early that afternoon, At Number Four to waltz no more, But to sit in the dusk and spoon.

I wish you to see that Jenny and Me Had barely exchanged our troth; So a kiss or two was strictly due By, from, and between us both.

When Three was over, an eager lover, I fled to the gloom outside; And a Domino came out also Whom I took for my future bride.

That is to say, in a casual way, I slipped my arm around her; With a kiss or two (which is nothing to you), And ready to kiss I found her.

She turned her head and the name she said Was certainly not my own; But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek She fled and left me alone.

Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame She'd doffed her domino; And I had embraced an alien waist-- But I did not tell her so.

Next morn I knew that there were two Dominoes pink, and one Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian House, Our big Political gun.

Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, And her eye was a blue cerulean; And the name she said when she turned her head Was not in the least like ”Julian.”

THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE

Shun--shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in 't; Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in 't.

There may be silver in the ”blue-black”--all I know of is the iron and the gall.

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, Is a dismal failure--is a Might-have-been.

In a luckless moment he discovered men Rise to high position through a ready pen.

Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore--”I, With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high.”

Only he did not possess when he made the trial, Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L--l.

[Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows, Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.]

Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright, Till an Indian paper found that he could write: Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark, When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark.

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