Princess Mary's Gift Book Part 12

BUT really, I forget, For now the stripes are faint, In my own Noah's Ark set I once licked off the paint.

AT least, so I am told (A stupid thing to do!

But I was not so old Then--only half-past two).

NOAH'S sons--just look at Ham, j.a.phet, of course, and Shem!

I think I really am Glad I don't look like them!

[Ill.u.s.tration: j.a.pHET

JUST LOOK _at Ham_

OF COURSE

AND _Shem_!]

THEY all stand on green rings Of gra.s.s. Perhaps at night The cows and sheep and things Prowled round to steal a bite.

HORRID for Shem to feel Tickling around his toes, Hoping to s.n.a.t.c.h a meal, Two hungry buffaloes!

BUT think what lovely pets Noah had all for his own; Each one in double sets, And mostly quite unknown.

EVEN a tame baboon!-- See, he is painted red-- Would get to know you soon And sleep upon your bed.

THE kangaroo that jumps, Camels that learn to kneel And let you ride their b.u.mps, Or follow you to heel.

THE pets that I keep now Are guinea-pigs and such; My parents won't allow The ones I want so much.

A baby crocodile Or _really_ tame giraffe, I wonder why you smile; They, too, say "no" and laugh.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NOAH]

I WOULD have loved it so To travel in the Ark, With all the Zoo, you know-- Except when it was dark

[Ill.u.s.tration:

"So n.o.body can quite explain Exactly where the rainbows end."

_Painted for Princess Mary's Gift Book by Arthur Rackham. R.W.S._]

[Ill.u.s.tration:

"The animals, you know, Were not as they are now"]

III.--WHEN JIM IS QUITE GROWN UP

WHEN Jim is quite grown up, And has a bulldog pup, And sits up very late _Always_ till half-past eight, Then, when he is a man, He means to marry Ann.

HER age is twenty-two, But he _thinks_ she will do; He has not told her yet, Or she might be upset At having got to wait Until this distant date.

THE life that he will lead Sounds very fine indeed: Adventures, wounds, and fights, And hunting raids of nights; Murders and blug and fun With sword and axe and gun.

AIRs.h.i.+PS and hydroplanes, Mustangs and prairie flames!

Deserts and jungles vast, And, when quite tired at last With being on the roam, Of course, he would come home.

AND, after miles of tramp, Reel, wounded, into camp, Bound with a handkerchief, And munching bully-beef; While Ann at the camp fire Would listen and admire.

WHAT fun he will have, too!

Nothing he will not do.

He often says to me (Excepting the V.C.) Medals he would decline-- They are not in his line.

BUT he would soar to fame And win a glorious name.

And Ann? How odd you are!

Why, just like his Mamma, Would sit at home and sew, Like women do, you know.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NOT IN HIS LINE

MAGEPA THE BUCK

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD

_Drawings by_ J. BYAM SHAW, A.R.W.S.

_Copyright in the U.S.A. by H. Rider Haggard_

[Ill.u.s.tration]

IN a preface to the story of the early life of the late Allan Quatermain, known in Africa as Mac.u.mazahn, which has recently been published under the name of "Marie," Mr. Curtis, the brother of Sir Henry Curtis, tells of how he found a number of ma.n.u.scripts that were left by Mr. Quatermain in his house in Yorks.h.i.+re. Of these "Marie" was one, but in addition to it and sundry other completed stories, I, the Editor to whom it was directed that these ma.n.u.scripts should be handed for publication, have found a quant.i.ty of uncla.s.sified notes and papers.

One of these notes--it is contained in a book, much soiled and worn, that evidently its owner had carried about with him for years--reminds me of a conversation I had with Mr. Quatermain long ago when I was his guest in Yorks.h.i.+re. The note itself is short; I think that he must have jotted it down within an hour or two of the event to which it refers. It runs thus:

"I wonder whether in the 'Land Beyond' any recognition is granted for acts of great courage and unselfish devotion--a kind of spiritual Victoria Cross. If so I think it ought to be accorded to that poor old savage, Magepa, at least it would be if I had any voice in the matter.

Upon my word he has made me feel proud of humanity. And yet he was nothing but a 'n.i.g.g.e.r,' as so many call the Kaffirs."

For a while I, the Editor, wondered to what this entry could allude.

Then of a sudden it all came back to me. I saw myself, as a young man, seated in the hall of Quatermain's house one evening after dinner. With me were Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. We were smoking, and the conversation had turned upon deeds of heroism. Each of us detailed such acts as he could remember which had made the most impression on him.

When we had finished, old Allan said:

"With your leave I'll tell you a story of what I think was one of the bravest things I ever saw. It happened at the beginning of the Zulu war, when the troops were marching into Zululand. Now at that time, as you know, I was turning an honest penny transport-riding for Government, or rather for the military authorities. I hired them three wagons with the necessary voorloopers and drivers, sixteen good salted oxen to each wagon, and myself in charge of the lot. They paid me--well, never mind how much--I am rather ashamed to mention the amount. I asked a good price for my wagons, or rather for the hire of them, of a very well satisfied young gentleman in uniform who had been exactly three weeks in the country, and, to my surprise, got it. But when I went to those in command and warned them what would happen if they persisted in their way of advance, then in their pride they would not listen to the old hunter and transport-rider, but politely bowed me out. If they had, there would have been no Isandhlwana disaster."