VERSE

1. There's a one-eyed Yellow Idol to the north of Khatmandu,

There's a little marble cross below the town,

There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,

And the Yellow God for ever gazes down.

2. He was known as 'Mad Carew' by the subs at Khatmandu,

He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell,

But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,

And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well .

3. He had loved her all along, with the passion of the strong,

The fact that she loved him was plain to all;

She was nearly twenty-one, and arrangements had begun

To celebrate her birthday with a Ball.

4. He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew,

They met next day, as he dismissed a squad,

And jestingly she told him then, that 'Nothing else would do

But , the green eye of the Little Yellow God'.

5. On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,

And they chaffed him as the puffed at their cigars,

But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone a while,

Then went out into the night, beneath the stars.

6. He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn

And a gash across his temples dripping red.

He was patched-up right away, and he slept all through the day,

And the Colonel's daughter watched, beside his bed.

7. He woke at last, and asked, if they could send his tunic through.

She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod.

He bade her search the pocket, saying ,'That's from Mad Carew',

And she found the little green eye of the God.

8. She upbraided poorCarew, in the way that women do,

Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;

But she wouldn't take the stone, and Carew was left alone

With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

9. When the Ball was at it's height, on that still and tropic-night,

She thought of him, and hastened to his room,

As she crossed the Barrack-square, she could hear the dreamy air

Of a waltz-tune softly stealing through the gloom.

10. His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through,

The place was wet and slippy where she trod,

An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew;

'Twas the vengeance of the Little Yellow God.

11. There's a one-eyed Yellow Idol to the north of Khatmandu,

There's a little marble cross below the town,

There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,

And the Yellow God for ever gazes down

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint 'o beer,

The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."

The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I :

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an "Tommy, go away" ;

But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play

The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,

O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,

They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;

They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,

But when it comes to fightin' Lord !they'll shove me in the stalls !

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an "Tommy, wait outside" ;

But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,

The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,

O its "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap ;

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit

Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 'an "Tommy, 'ows yer soul?"

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,

The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,

O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you ;

An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints ;

While it's Tommy this an', an Tommy that, an "Tommy, fall behin'd,"

But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,

O it's "Please to walk in front , sir," when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an fires, an' all :

We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face

The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute !"

But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot ;

An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an anything you please ;

An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees !

RUDYARD KIPLING

With his hand upon the throttle as the train swept round the bend, the engineer stood ready the signal forth to send; his eye alert and watchful as he scanned the iron way that between him and the station in the gleaming sunlight lay. All alone he kept his vigil, save for one who, true and tried, with a spirit never failing, shared each danger by his side--his fireman, brave and dauntless, with his nerves like tempered steel ; but, with heart of gold within him, prompt to act and quick to feel.

Like a flash of summer lightning, onward dashed the fiery steed, never pausing for a moment in its rush of headlong speed. When suddenly the whistle sounded shrill upon the air, and the engineer grew pallid with a look of wild despair ; for there, before him standing, not a hundred yards away, was a tiny blue-eyed baby, from her mother's arms astray--a fairy little figure, with her bright hair floating back, all unconcious of her danger, on the curving railway track. From the throttle-valve his fingers in a nerveless tremor fell ; but only for an instant--quick as thought he struck the bell and reversed the flying engine ; but alas, in vain ! for, with terrible momentum, onward sped the rushing train.

'You stay ! I'll save the baby !' all at once rang in his ear ; and, almost before the meaning of his comrade's words was clear, from his cab had leaped the fireman, of the danger thinking nought, driven onward by an impulse that with generous love was fraught.. Like a deer before its hunters, like an arrow through the sky, sped he on his noble mission, the dread monster to outvie ; while from every door and window of the scarcely slackened train anxious eyes his footsteps followed as he strove the goal to gain. On he dashed, the score of watchers gazing with suspended breath at the contest,so unequal, in the very jaws of death ; every voice to whispers sinking, direst fear in every face, lest the brave man, speeding onward, should be conquered in the race. It could last but little longer, and a breathless silence fell, when suddenly, like thunder, rose a wild triumphant yell, that, echoing and re-echoing, seemed to pierce the very skies, for the fireman was the victor, and the baby's life his prize !

Ah ! the smiles and tears and praises showered on him everywhere as he placed the blue-eyed baby in hr mother's tender care ; then, to his post up-springing, as the train again moved on, 'mid the sound of cheering voices, in a moment he was gone.

Good people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song ;

And if you find it wond'rous short,

It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,

That still a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes ;

The naked every day he clad,

When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends ;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad

To every Christian eye ;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light ;

That show'd the rogues they lied :

The man recover'd of the bite,

The dog it was that died.