SONGS OF SIMLA.
III.—THE FURRIER.
Akbar the furrier squats on the floor
Sucking an Eastern pipe,
Thumbing the lakhs that he's made of yore,
Lakhs which creep to the long-dreamed crore
In a ledger of Western type.
And all around him the wild beasts sway,
Cured of their mortal ills—
Flying squirrels from Sikkim way,
Silver foxes that used to play
Up on the Kashmir hills.
On the shelf of a cupboard a polecat lies
Laughing between his paws,
And there's more than a hint of amused surprise
In the gape of the lynx, in the marten's eyes,
In the poise of the grey wolf's claws.
And, should you enter old Akbar's lair
And hear what he wants for his skins,
You will know why the little red squirrels stare,
Why the Bengal tiger gasps for air
And the gaunt snow-leopard grins.
J.M.S.
The Telephone Girl's motto: Nulla linea sine die—"Number engaged; ring again and again, please."