SONGS OF SIMLA
.
IV.—MRS. HAWKSBEE.
Hazards beset her social groove;
Dilemmas rise—she wriggles free;
Landslip or earthquake cannot move
Her imperturbability.
Where 'er she goes her presence thrills,
And in her youthfulness there shines
The everlasting of our hills,
The evergreenness of our pines.
Hung in a poise that knows no law
The kestrels watch above the trees,
But never was kestrel yet that saw
The half that Mrs. Hawksbee sees.
Rosy and smiling mid her furs
Along the Mall her way she trips
With subalterns whose worship stirs
The cynic swiftness of her lips.
When Jakko-wards her rickshaw sweeps,
The monkeys scamper o'er the grass,
And breathlessly each rascal peeps
To see the Queen of mischief pass.
Our Viceroys know the call of Fate;
Our Generals pass nor question why;
Councils dissolve and Staffs migrate,
But Mrs. Hawksbee shall not die.
J.M.S.
"So far from the wage-earning classes being shown the necessity for a revival in our industry, the Prime Minister talks nonsense about 'removing the sceptre of unemployment.'"—Morning Paper.
This will comfort those who were afraid that it was permanently enthroned.
