Chapter IX: Mounted Police

Army Reserve; a worshipper of _BOBS_, With whom he stripped the smock from _CANDAHAR_; Neat as his mount, that neatest among cobs; Whenever pageants pass, or meetings are, He moves conspicuous, vigilant, severe, With his Light Cavalry hand and seat and look, A living type of Order, in whose sphere Is room for neither _Hooligan_ nor _Hook_. For in his shadow, wheresoe'er he ride, Paces, all eye and hardihood and grip, The dreaded _Crusher_, might in his every stride And right materialized girt at his hip; And they, that shake to see these twain go by, Feel that the _Tec_, that plain-clothes Terror, is nigh.