With body shrivelled and worn,
With eyeballs glaring and red,
A savage man in plight forlorn,
Lay, raving loud on his bed.
Drink, drink, drink,
In racking fever and pain,
And still he raved of his murderous drink,
'Mid the frenzies of his brain.
A distinguished officer writes that the recent spell of warm weather has reminded him of a parody he read in India twenty-five years ago. It describes, in no exaggerated manner, a very disagreeable complaint to which Anglo-Indians are liable in the hot season:—