The Man Who Could Write

Shun⁠—shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drinkHas ruined many geese who dipped their quills in 't;Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of InkSave when you write receipts for paid-up bills in 't.

There may be silver in the “blue-black”⁠—all5I know of is the iron and the gall.

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen,Is a dismal failure⁠—is a Might-have-been.In a luckless moment he discovered menRise to high position through a ready pen.10Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore⁠—“I,With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high.”Only he did not possess when he made the trial,Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L⁠—l.

[Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows,15Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.]

Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright,Till an Indian paper found that he could write:Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark,When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark.20Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm,In that Indian paper⁠—made his seniors squirm,Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth⁠—Was there ever known a more misguided youth?When the Rag he wrote for praised his plucky game,25Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame;When the men he wrote of shook their heads and swore,Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more:

Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim,Till he found promotion didn't come to him;30Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot,And his many Districts curiously hot.

Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win,Boanerges Blitzen didn't care to pin:Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn't right⁠—35Boanerges Blitzen put it down to “spite”;

Languished in a District desolate and dry;Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by;Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair.* * * * * * * * *40

That was seven years ago⁠—and he still is there!