There was Babu Chuckerbutty,

An' Amir Singh the Sikh,
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,

The Roman Catholick !

We 'adn't good regalia,

An' our Lodge was old an' bare, But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,

An' we kep''em to a hair;
An' lookin' on it backwards

It often strikes me thus,
There ain't such things as infidels,

Excep', per’aps, it's us.

For monthly, after Labour,

We'd all sit down and smoke (We dursn't give no banquits,

Lest a Brother's caste were broke), An' man on man got talkin'

Religion an' the rest, An' every man comparin’

Of the God 'e knew the best.

So man on man got talkin',

An' not a Brother stirred

Till mornin' waked the parrots

An' that dam' brain-fever-bird; We'd say 'twas ’ighly curious,

An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed, With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva

Changin' pickets in our 'ead.

Full oft on Guy'ment service

This rovin' foot 'ath pressed, An' bore fraternal greetin's

To the Lodges east an' west,
Accordin' as commanded

From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them

In my Mother Lodge once more!

I wish that I might see them,

My Brethren black an' brown, With the trichies smellin' pleasant

An' the hog-darn* passin' down; An' the old khansamah snorin'

On the bottle-khana | floor, Like a Master in good standing

With my Mother Lodge once more!

* Cigar-lighter.

| Butler.

| Pantry.

Outside—“Sergeant ! Sir! Salute! Salaam !"
Inside-"Brother," an' it doesn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the

Square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out

there!

“FOLLOW ME 'OME."

THERE was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,

Nor any o'the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an'

died,
Which is just what the best men do.

So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me! An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me! Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',

Follow me-follow me 'ome!

'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long,

She paws the 'ole night through,
An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is

step,
Which is just what a beast would do.

'Is girl she goes with a bombardier

Before 'er month is through;

An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the

beggar hooked,
Which is just what a girl would do.

We fought 'bout a dog-last week it were

No more than a round or two;
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't

now,
Which is just what a man can't do.

’E was all that I'ad in the way of a friend,

An' i've 'ad to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar

back, .
Which it's just too late to do.

So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin' !

Follow me-follow me 'ome!

Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best

men go. Take "im away! An' the gun-wheels

turnin' slow.