buried during a dust-storm in a loathsome
Indian cemetery. No friend stood by the grave. A hard priest
reluctantly pattered an abbreviated service: and people whispered that
it was not well with the Collector's soul. He is now forgotten.

But, dear friend, thy memory blossoms in my heart for ever, thy merry
laugh will still sound in my ear:--

"Abiding with me till I sail
To seek thee on the mystic deeps,
And this electric force, that keeps
A thousand pulses dancing, fail."

No. XXXVIII

THE GRYPHON'S ANABASIS

[March 29, 1880.]

For some days the moustaches had been assuming a fiercer curl; more
and more troopers had been added to the escort; the Lord whispered in
the unreluctant ear softer and softer nothings; the scarlet runners
bowed lower and lower; and it was rumoured that the Lord had given the
Gryphon a pot of his own club-mutton hair-grease. It would be a halo.
This development of glory must have a limit: a feeling got abroad that
the Gryphon must go.

The Commander-in-Chief would come up to him bathed in smiles and say
nothing; at other times with tears in his eyes he would swear with far
resounding, multitudinous oaths to accompany the Gryphon. One day
Wolseley's pocket-book and a tooth-brush would be packed in tin; next
day they would be unpacked. The vacillation was awful; it amounted to
an agony; it involved all the circles; the newspapers were profoundly
moved.

The Gryphon starts. Editors forget their proofs; Baboos forget Moses;
mothers forget their cicisbeos. The mind of Calcutta is turned upon
the Gryphon.

A thousand blue eyes and ten thousand black focus him. He takes his
seat. A double-first class carriage has been reserved. The
Superintendent-General of Balloons and Fireworks appears on the
platform: the Gryphon steps out, takes precedence of him, and then
returns to his carriage. The excitement increases. Pre-paid telegrams
are flashed to Bombay, Madras, Allahabad, and Lahore; the engine
whistles "God save the Queen-Empress and the Secretary to the Punjab
Government;" and the train pours out its glories into the darkness.

My Lord is deeply stirred. He believes the Asian mystery has been
solved. He returns to Government House and gives vent to his
overwrought feelings in smoke--Parascho cigarettes; then he telegraphs
himself to sleep. Dreams sweep over him, issuing from the fabled gates
of shining ivory.

Meanwhile the Gryphon speeds on, ye