"I never feel quite myself till I've had a good bath!" said the Bird whom an elderly Lady had purchased from a Street Boy as a Goldfinch. And behold, when the Bird came out of its saucer of water, it was a Sparrow! _Note._--Like many Philosophers, Piljosh would seem to have had no great liking for ablutions. But water which could transform a Goldfinch into a Sparrow must previously have been enchanted by some Magician, so that our Parabolist's shaft misses fire in this instance (as indeed in many others!). Possibly, however, his Translator has once more proved a Traitor!--H. B. J. * * * * * "Pride not yourself upon your Lustre and Symmetry," said the Jet Ear-ring austerely to the Pearl, "for, after all, you owe your beauty to nothing but the morbid secretions of a Diseased Oyster!" "I am sorry to spoil your moral," retorted the Pearl with much suavity, "but, like yourself, I happen to be Artificial." _Note._--Inhabitants of glassy mansions should not indulge in lapidation.--H. B. J. * * * * * "Come!" said the Peacock's Feather proudly to the Fly-flapper and the Tin Squeaker, as the final illumination flickered out and they lay in the gutter together, limp and exhausted with their exertions in tickling and generally exasperating inoffensive strangers. "They may say what they please--but at least we have shown them that the Spirit of Patriotism is not yet extinct!" _Note._--This must refer to some Cryptic customs prevalent in the Parabolist's time. But I do not clearly apprehend what connection either tickling, fly-flapping, or squeaking can have with Patriotism!--H. B. J. * * * * * LAST WORDS Here conclude the Parables of Piljosh, together with the present volume. That the former can possibly obtain honble mention when compared with the apologues of Plato, Æsop, Corderius Nepos, or even Confucius, I cannot for a moment anticipate, and none can be more sensible than my humble self how very poor a figure they cut in proximity to the production of my own pen! However, indulgent critics will please not saddle my unoffending head with the responsibility, the fact being that I was vehemently advised that, without some meretricious padding of this sort, my Romance would not be of sufficient robustness to produce a boom. But should "A Bayard from Bengal" unfortunately fail to render the Thames combustible, I should rather attribute the cause to its having been unwisely diluted with such milk and watery material as the Parables of Piljosh. So, leaving the decision to the impartial and unanimous verdict of popular approval, I subscribe myself, The Reader's very obsequious and palpitating Servant, HURRY BUNGSHO JABBERJEE, B.A., etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS, EDINBURGH End of Project Gutenberg's A Bayard From Bengal, by Hurry Bungsho Jabberjee