THE SOCIETY UPON THE HIMALAY.
(THEOSOPHICALLY ADAPTED FROM BRET HARTE.)
I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
I am not fond of pious frauds or Oriental games;
And I’ll tell in simple language, as well as I can say,
What broke up our Society upon the Himalay.
But first I would remark that there must needs be painful scenes
When Theosophic gents begin to give each other Beans;
And though Mahatma missives do pan out a little queer,
We should avoid disturbances in the Mahatmosphere.*
Now nothing could be nicer or more full of harmony
Than the first few months that followed the decease of “H.P.B.”;
Till Judge of Calaveras produced a curious set
Of missives in red pencil what he said were from Tibet.†
From these he reconstructed a Mahatma (very rare),
A Nest of that peculiar kind pertaining to a Mare;
But Mrs. Besant found a rival missive on the shelf,‡
And said she fancied Mr. Judge had written his himself.§
Then Judge’s smile took on a most unpleasant sort of curve;
He said he would not trespass so on Mrs. B.’s preserve.
He was a most resourceful man, that quiet Mr. Judge:
He got another missive saying Mrs. B.’s was fudge.||
Now, it is not edifying for a Theosophic priest
To call another one a fraud—to all intents, at least;
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
Reply by throwing things about to any great extent
Then Olcott, H., of Adyar, raised a point of order, when
A chunk of old red pencil took him in the abdomen;¶
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile and curled up on the floor,
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.**
