Struck Ile

'Two years ago Sir A. Colvin, in introducing the Income Tax Bill,
described that year as the last of the fat kine. He said that the lean kine
were come in.'— Vide Mr. Westland's Financial statement, Jan. 30th.

'Peace, peace, such a small lamp illumes on this highway
So dimly, so few steps in front of our feet.'
The Song of the Bower.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
Holding the Treasury keys,
Promised to 'pay the bearer'
Eighty crores of rupees,
And C—lv—n was caught up to Allahabad
–Valhallahabad of L.G.'s.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
Proved in a lucid way
Nobody ought to be wrath if
Government couldn't pay;
And C—lv—n leaned from the bar of Heaven
and cheered him on to the fray.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
Served up the usual hash,
Added a grain of salt, and
Drew pro-notes for the cash;
Devastating the P——r
with seven columns of trash.

A scrape from the golah's mouth-
A tea cupful of the brine—
A crutch and a stay and we pull through the day,
And blunder along the line,
While Krishna W—stl—nd tootles his flute
to C—lv—n's starveling kine.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
Trusting to Time and Chance,
Tinkered the leak with a kerosine-can
In the name of paraffinance;
And C—lv—n lighted a hurricane lamp
to shine on the dreary dance.

Knaust where we lack the nous—
Thora mutti–ki–tel
A pinch and a shift and away we drift
With a dying wind in the sail;
But what shall we do when the cruize is run
and the last, least catspaws fail?

Here is a study in oils—
Naught in the world could be fairer
W—stl—nd making his Bearer pay,
Instead of 'paying the bearer',
And an Empire starting a bunnia's shop,
as the pice grow rarer and rarer.