Shun—shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in ’t; Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in ’t. There may be silver in the “blue-black”—all I know of is the iron and the gall. 1 Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, Is a dismal failure—is a Might-have-been. In a luckless moment he discovered men Rise to high position through a ready pen. 2 Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore—“I, With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high.” Only he did not possess when he made the trial, Wicked wit of Colvin, irony of Lyall. [Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows, Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.] 3 Never young Civilian’s prospects were so bright, Till an Indian paper found that he could write: Never young Civilian’s prospects were so dark, When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark. 4 Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm, In that Indian paper—made his seniors squirm, Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth— Was there ever known a more misguided youth? 5 When the Rag he wrote for praised his plucky game, Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame; When the men he wrote of shook their heads and swore, Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more: 6 Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim, Till he found promotion didn’t come to him; Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, And his many Districts curiously hot. 7 Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win, Boanerges Blitzen didn’t care a pin: Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn’t right— Boanerges Blitzen put it down to “spite”; 8 Languished in a District desolate and dry;– Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by; Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair. • • • • That was seven years ago—and he still is there!
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