The good ship steered toward the East, To the East, o'er the salt sea foam; And years rolled by, and time grew old, But she nevermore came home. When a man has taken a first-class degree, when he has won his blue, and has passed high into the Indian Civil Service without the wet-nursing of a crammer, it might be hazarded that he is worth something. One might go further and picture out his future career--how he would be a prop of Israel; how, step by step, he would rise until the Honourable Council enshrouded him; and how, after a life of useful work, he would, like Oliver, desire more, and drop into being the bore of "the House," or into the warmest corner of the "Oriental," and dream over …
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