PUBLIC WASTE

Walpole talks of ‘a man and his price,'
List to a ditty queer-

The sale of a Deputy-Acting-Vice

Resident-Engineer

Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide,
By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side.

Y the laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass

BY

That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the Railways of State,

Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects wherein he must pass;

Because in all matters that deal not with Railways his knowledge is great.

Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boyhood to eld

On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North and South.

Many Lines had he built and surveyed-important the posts which he held;

And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened his mouth.

PUBLIC WASTE

Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier still

Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study and knowledge.

Never clanked sword by his side-Vauban he knew not nor drill

Nor was his name on the list of the men who had passed through the 'College.'

Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little tin souls,

Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs at his heels,

Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the Government rolls

For the billet of 'Railway Instructor to Little Tin Gods on Wheels.'

Letters not seldom they wrote him, 'having the honour to state,'

It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf: Much would accrue to his bank-book, and he consented to wait

Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself.

'Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the Fifty and Five,

Even to Ninety and Nine'-these were the terms of the pact:

Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may Their Highnesses thrive!)

Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle intact;

Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed the Bhamo State Line

(The which was one mile and one furlong-a guaranteed twenty-inch gauge),

So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign,

And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year of his age.

WHAT HAPPENED

URREE CHUNDER MOOKERJEE, pride of
Bow Bazar,

H

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 Ba

zar.

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, took the dagger from its place, While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and jabbered

Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared the dah-blade from the scabbard.

What become 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.