Next the sleepy Babu wake,

Book a Kalka van "for four." Few, I think, will care to make Journeys with me any more As they used to do of yore.

I shall need a "special brake”— "Thing I never took before

Get me one for old sake's sake.

After that-arrangements make.
No hotel will take me in,

And a bullock's back would break
'Neath the teak and leaden skin.
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin,
Or, did I a back-seat take,
In a tonga I might spin,-

Do your best for old sake's sake.

After that-your work is done.
Recollect a Padre must
Mourn the dear departed one-
Throw the ashes and the dust.
Don't go down at once. I trust
You will find excuse to "snake
Three days' casual on the bust1,"-
Get your fun for old sake's sake.

I could never stand the Plains.
Think of blazing June and May,
Think of those September rains
Yearly till the Judgment Day!
I should never rest in peace,
I should sweat and lie awake.
Rail me then, on my decease,
To the Hills for old sake's sake!

'Three days' leave.

THE OVERLAND MAIL

(Foot-service to the Hills.)

IN THE name of the Empress of India, make way,
O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam,
The woods are astir at the close of the day-

We exiles are waiting for letters from Home.
Let the robber retreat-let the tiger turn tail-
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!

With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in,

He turns to the footpath that heads up the hillThe bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, And, tucked in his waistbelt, the Post Office bill;"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, "Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail.”

Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim.
Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff.
Does the tempest cry halt? What are tempests to him?
The service admits not a "but" or an “if."

While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail,
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail.

From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir,

From level to upland, from upland to crest,

From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur,
Fly the soft-sandalled feet, strains the brawny, brown
chest.

From rail to ravine-to the peak from the vale-
Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail.

There's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road-
A jingle of bells on the footpath below-
There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode-
The world is awake and the clouds are aglow.
For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:-
"In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!"

DIVIDED DESTINIES

IT WAS an artless Bandar1 and he danced upon a pine, And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine,

And many many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke, I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar spoke.

He said: "O man of many clothes! Sad crawler on the Hills! "Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills!

"I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress; "Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess.

"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide "(For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain-side, "I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life "Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife.

"O man of futile fopperies-unnecessary wraps; "I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tallwheeled traps "I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings, "Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on 'pretty things.

"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad; "But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord. "I never heard of fever-dumps nor debts depress my soul; "And I pity and despise you!" Here he pouched my break

fast-roll.

Monkey.

His hide was very mangey and his face was very red,
And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head.
His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried
To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain-side!

So I answered:-"Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree, "Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me.

"Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine;

"Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot with thine."

THE MASQUE OF PLENTY

ARGUMENT.-The Indian Government being minded to discover the economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee to inquire into it; and saw that it was good.

SCENE.-The wooded heights of Simla. The Incarnation of the Government of India in the raiment of the Angel of Plenty sings, to pianoforte accompaniment:

"HOW sweet is the shepherd's sweet life!

From the dawn to the even he strays—

He shall follow his sheep all the day
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
(adagio dim.) Filled with praise!"

(largendo con sp.) Now this is the position,
Go make an inquisition

Into their real condition

As swiftly as ye may.

(p) Ay, paint our swarthy billions
The richest of vermillions

Ere two well-led cotillions

Have danced themselves away.

TURKISH PATROL, as able and intelligent Investigators wind down the Himalayas:

What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupation? Hi! get along, get along, get along-lend us the information!

(dim.) Census the byle1 and the yabu-capture a first-class Babu,

Set him to file Gazetteers-Gazetteers

(f) What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc.

INTERLUDE, from Nowhere in Particular, to stringed and Oriental instruments.

Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear-
The earth is iron and the skies are brass-
And faint with fervour of the flaming air
The languid hours pass.

The well is dry beneath the village tree-
The young wheat withers ere it reach a span,
And belts of blinding sand show cruelly
Where once the river ran.

Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King—
Lift up your hands above the blighted grain,
Look westward-if they please, the Gods shall bring
Their mercy with the rain.

Look westward-bears the blue no brown cloud-bank?
Nay, it is written-wherefore should we fly?

On our own field and by our cattle's flank

Lie down, lie down to die!

1 The ox and the pony.