An adventure of the Author's, and one designed to show that grievances may be met with in the cottages of the humblest, and may take the most unexpected forms.
Friend, when the year is on the wing, 'Tis held a fair and comely thing To turn reflective glances Over the days' forbidden Scroll, See if we're better on the whole,...
In the dim and distant ages, in the half-forgotten days, Ere the East became the fashion and an Indian tour the craze, Lived a certain Major-General, renowned throughout the State...
Come, let us weep for Begum; he is dead. Dead; and afar, where Thamis' waters lave The busy marge, he lies unvisited, Unsung; above no cypress branches wave, Nor tributary blossoms fringe his grave;...
Ye distant Hills, ye smiling glades, In decent foliage drest, Where green Sylvanus proudly shades The Sirkar's haughty crest, And ye, that in your wider reign...
In Spring there are lashings of new books, In Autumn fresh novels are sold, They are many, but my shelf has few books, My comrades, the favourites of old;...
Now the busy screw is churning, Now the horrid sirens blow; Now are India's guests returning Home from India's Greatest Show; Now the gleeful Asiatic Speeds them on their wild career,...
It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic Schools There are rules By observing which when mundane matter irks, Or the world has gone amiss, you Can incontinently issue From the circumscribing tissue...