e can't help it.

If the whole truth were told, he is a warm-hearted, generous, plucky
fellow, with boundless vanity and a romantic vein of maudlin sentiment
that seduces him from time to time into the gin-and-water corner of an
Indian newspaper. Under the heading of "The Forest Ranger's Lament,"
or "The Old Shikarry's Tale of Woe," he hiccoughs his column of sickly
lines (with St. Vitus's dance in their feet), and then I believe he
feels better. I have seen him do it; I have caught him in criminal
conversation with a pen and a sheet of paper; bottle at hand--

A quo, ceu fonte perenni,
Vatum Pieriis ora rigantur aquis.

In appearance he is a very short man with a long black beard, a
sunburnt face, and a clay pipe. He has shot battalions of tigers and
speared squadrons of wild pig. He is universally loved, universally
admired, and universally laughed at.

He is generous to a fault. All the young fellows for miles round owe
him money. He would think there was something wrong if they did not
borrow from him; and yet, somehow, I don't think that he is very well
off. There is nothing in his bungalow but guns, spears, and hunting
trophies; he never goes home, and I have an idea that there is some
heavy drain on his purse in the old country. But you should hear him
troll a hunting song with his grand organ voice, and you would fancy
him the richest man in the world, his note is so high and triumphant!

So when in after days we boast
Of many wild boars slain,
We'll not forget our runs to toast
Or run them o'er again;

And when our memory's mirror true
Reflects the scenes of yore,
We'll think of _him_ it brings to view,
Who loved to hunt the boar.

ALI BABA, K.C.B.

No. XVIII

THE GRASS-WIDOW IN NEPHELOCOCCYGIA

[Illustration: THE GRASS WIDOW--"Sweet little Mrs. Lollipop."]

Her bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne?

[December 6, 1879]

Little Mrs. Lollipop has certainly proved a source of disappointment
to her lady friends. They have watched her for three seasons going
lightly and merrily through all the gaieties of Cloudland; they have
listened to the scandal of the cuckoos among the pine-trees and
rhododendrons, but they have not caught her tripping. Oh, no, they
will never catch her tripping. She does not trip for their amusement:
perhaps she trips it when they go on the ligh