When we had won the honor and glory, 



The cigar in the mouth going home, — 

 The sandwich, the big stack of straw wc 



Demolished outright at Uum-Dum — 

 The brandy and water, the bilkings 



Attending our cover side meals, 

 The tank, into which our friend W — ns, 



One morning, rolled head over heels. 

 The many and many a header 



And roll which wide places entail, 

 And make many a red face look redder 



And many a pale one more pale. 



(Oh I that verse making I were a dab at !) 



There's, — Cruel, that capital bitch ! 

 And the way, that our huntsman on Abbot 



Rode over the Gourypore ditch ; 

 And how, on the best day this season 



We rode a friend's horse called the Friest, 

 How that he too, without rhyme or reason, 



Was ordained to be lamed by Nim East. 

 How the Clipper's leg came to be broken. 



And how at his fate we were moved ; 

 How his master, by way of a token. 



Kept a hoof of the steed he so loved. 



There's Lavender living in Clover, 



There's the Colonel too touched to the core (corps). 

 Both lament that the season is over. 



That hunting for them is no more. 

 Still we've plenty to talk of — the minute 



And other discussions of late, 

 Schieroni, with notes like a linnet. 



The bank, whose notes discord create ; 

 And steam, and now that the Coorg Rajah's 



About from his throne to be hurled> 

 Th' Italian Society's adagios — • 



The feuds in the medical world ; — 



