He wrote for certain papers, which, as everybody knows, Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the crows.
He praised her "queenly beauty" first; and, later on, he hinted At the "vastness of her intellect" with compliment unstinted.
He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was such That he lent her all his horses and--she galled them very much.
One day, THEY brewed a secret of a fine financial sort; It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report.
"Twas almost worth the keeping,--only seven people knew it-- And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently pursue it.
It was a Viceroy"s Secret, but--perhaps the wine was red-- Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head-- Perhaps Delilah"s eyes were bright--Delilah"s whispers sweet-- The Aged Member told her what "twere treason to repeat.
Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and flowers; Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several hours; Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him dance-- Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance.
The summer sun was setting, and the summer air was still, The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer Hill.
The wasteful sunset faded out in Turkish-green and gold, Ulysses pleaded softly, and-- that bad Delilah told!
Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-important news; Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his shoes.
Next month, I met Delilah and she did not show the least Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a "beast."
We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done-- Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne!
WHAT HAPPENED
Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazaar, Owner of a native press, "Barrishter-at-Lar,"
Waited on the Government with a claim to wear Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair.
Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, Said to Chunder Mookerjee: "Stick to pen and ink.
They are safer implements, but, if you insist, We will let you carry arms wheresoe"er you list."
Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and Bland, Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made sword, Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad.
But the Indian Government, always keen to please, Also gave permission to horrid men like these-- Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal, Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil;
Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq-- He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo Took advantage of the Act--took a Snider too.
They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them not.
They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the spot; And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, Made them slow to disregard one another"s rights.
With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts Said: "The good old days are back--let us go to war!"
Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow Bazaar,
Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail; Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail; Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee.
Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, Abdul Huq, Wahabi, jerked his dagger from its place, While amid the jungle-gra.s.s danced and grinned and jabbered Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared his dah-blade from the scabbard.
What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say?
Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute.
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 shiny 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.]