Pleasant it is for the Little Tin Gods,
When great Jove nods;
But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakes
In missing the hour when great Jove wakes.


As a general rule, it is inexpedient to meddle with questions of
State in a land where men are highly paid to work them out for you.
This tale is a justifiable exception.

Once in every five years, as you know, we indent for a new Viceroy;
and each Viceroy imports, with the rest of his baggage, a Private
Secretary, who may or may not be the real Viceroy, just as Fate
ordains. Fate looks after the Indian Empire because it is so big
and so helpless.

There was a Viceroy once, who brought out with him a turbulent
Private Secretary--a hard man with a soft manner and a morbid
passion for work. This Secretary was called Wonder--John Fennil
Wonder. The Viceroy possessed no name--nothing but a string of
counties and two-thirds of the alphabet after them. He said, in
confidence, that he was the electro-plated figurehead of a golden
administration, and he watched in a dreamy, amused way Wonder's
attempts to draw matters which were entirely outside his province
into his own hands. "When we are all cherubims together," said His
Excellency once, my dear, good friend Wonder will head the
conspiracy for plucking out Gabriel's tail-feathers or stealing
Peter's keys. THEN I shall report him."

But, though the Viceroy did nothing to check Wonder's