ARMY HEADQUARTERS

Old is the song that I sing —

Old as my unpaid bills —

Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring

Men at dak-bungalows — old as the Hills.

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “Operatic Own”

Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone.

His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer;

He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had an ear.

He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a day,

He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way,

His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders,

But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders.

He took two months to Simla when the year was at the spring,

And underneath the deodars eternally did sing.

He warbled like a bulbul, but particularly at

Cornelia Agrippina who was musical and fat.

She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled a Dept.,

Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds were kept

From April to October on a plump retaining fee,

Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian Treasury.

Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used to play;

He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false as they:

So when the winds of April turned the budding roses brown,

Cornelia told her husband: “Tom, you must n't send him down.”

They haled him from his regiment which did n't much regret him;

They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool they set him,

To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day,

And draw his plump retaining fee — which means his double pay.

Now, ever after dinner, when the coffeecups are brought,

Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte;

And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen great,

And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the State.