"I'd open 'is cheek to 'is chin-strap buckle, An' bung up 'is both eyes, too— An' bung up 'is both eyes, too!" "Look 'ere, where 'e comes, Bill 'Awkins! Now what in the devil will you say?" "It isn't fit an' proper to be fightin' on a Sunday, So I'll pass 'im the time o' day Gawd-bless-'im! I'll pass 'im the time o' day!" THE MOTHER-LODGE. THERE was Rundle, Station Master, Our Master twice was 'e, With 'im that kept the Europe shop, Outside-" Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam !" Inside-" Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm. We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square, An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there! We'd Bola Nath, Accountant, An' Saul the Aden Jew, An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An' Amir Singh the Sikh, An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds, We 'adn't good regalia, An' our Lodge was old an' bare, It often strikes me thus, For monthly, after Labour, We'd all sit down and smoke (We dursn't give no banquits, Lest a Brother's caste were broke), An' man on man got talkin' Religion an' the rest, An' every man comparin' Of the God 'e knew the best. So man on man got talkin', An' not a Brother stirred Till mornin' waked the parrots An' that dam' brain-fever-bird; We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious, An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva Changin' pickets in our 'ead. Full oft on Guv'ment service To the Lodges east an' west, From Kohat to Singapore, I wish that I might see them, With my Mother Lodge once more! Cigar-lighter. + Butler. + Pantry. * |