english analysi

It was said: Based on the two poems : the white mans burden and the man who would be king complete this chart and answer the questions.

Take up the White Man’s burden–

Send forth the best ye breed–

Go bind your sons to exile

To serve your captives’ need;

To wait in heavy harness,

On fluttered folk and wild–

Your new-caught, sullen peoples,

Half-devil and half-child.

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Take up the White Man’s burden–

In patience to abide,

To veil the threat of terror

And check the show of pride;

By open speech and simple,

An hundred times made plain

To seek another’s profit,

And work another’s gain.

Take up the White Man’s burden–

The savage wars of peace–

Fill full the mouth of Famine

And bid the sickness cease;

And when your goal is nearest

The end for others sought,

Watch sloth and heathen Folly

Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man’s burden–

No tawdry rule of kings,

But toil of serf and sweeper–

The tale of common things.

The ports ye shall not enter,

The roads ye shall not tread,

Go mark them with your living,

And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man’s burden–

And reap his old reward:

The blame of those ye better,

The hate of those ye guard–

The cry of hosts ye humour

(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:–

“Why brought he us from bondage,

Our loved Egyptian night?”

Take up the White Man’s burden–

Ye dare not stoop to less–

Nor call too loud on Freedom

To cloke your weariness;

By all ye cry or whisper,

By all ye leave or do,

The silent, sullen peoples

Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man’s burden–

Have done with childish days–

The lightly proferred laurel,

The easy, ungrudged praise.

Comes now, to search your manhood

Through all the thankless years

Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,

The judgment of your peers!

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

“I can’t tell all we did for the next six

months because Dravot did a lot I couldn’t

see the hang of, and he learned their lingo

in a way I never could. My work was to

help the people plough, and now and again

to go out with some of the Army and see

what the other villages were doing, and

make ’em throw rope-bridges across the

ravines which cut up the country horrid.

Dravot was very kind to me, but when he

walked up and down in the pine wood pulling

that bloody red beard of his with both

fists I knew he was thinking plans I could

not advise him about, and I just waited for

orders.
“But Dravot never showed me disrespect

before the people. They were afraid of me

and the Army, but they loved Dan. He

was the best of friends with the priests and

the Chiefs; but any one could come across

the hills with a complaint and Dravot would

hear him out fair, and call four priests together

and say what was to be done. He

used to call in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and

Pikky Kergan from Shu, and an old Chief

we called Kafuzelum—it was like enough to

his real name—and hold councils with ’em

when there was any fighting to be done in

small villages. That was his Council of

War, and the four priests of Bashkai, Shu,

Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council.

Between the lot of ’em they sent me, with

forty men and twenty rifles, and sixty men

carrying turquoises, into the Ghorband

country to buy those hand-made Martini

rifles, that come out of the Amir’s workshops

at Kabul, from one of the Amir’s Herati regiments

that would have sold the very teeth

out of their mouths for turquoises.
“I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave

the Governor the pick of my baskets for

hush-money, and bribed the colonel of the

regiment some more, and, between the two

and the tribes-people, we got more than a

hundred hand-made Martinis, a hundred

good Kohat Jezails that’ll throw to six hundred

yards, and forty manloads of very bad

ammunition for the rifles. I came back with

what I had, and distributed ’em among the

men that the Chiefs sent in to me to drill.

Dravot was too busy to attend to those

things, but the old Army that we first made

helped me, and we turned out five hundred

men that could drill, and two hundred that

knew how to hold arms pretty straight.

Even those cork-screwed, hand-made guns

was a miracle to them. Dravot talked big

about powder-shops and factories, walking

up and down in the pine wood when the

winter was coming on.
“‘I won’t make a Nation,’ says he. ‘I’ll

make an Empire! These men aren’t niggers;

they’re English! Look at their eyes—

look at their mouths. Look at the way they

stand up. They sit on chairs in their own

houses. They’re the Lost Tribes, or something

like it, and they’ve grown to be English.

I’ll take a census in the spring if the

priests don’t get frightened. There must be

a fair two million of ’em in these hills. The

villages are full o’ little children. Two million

people—two hundred and fifty thousand

fighting men—and all English!  They only

want the rifles and a little drilling. Two

hundred and fifty thousand men, ready to

cut in on Russia’s right flank when she tries

for India! Peachey, man,’ he says, chewing

his beard in great hunks, ‘we shall be Emperors

—Emperors of the Earth!  Rajah

Brooke will be a suckling to us. I’ll treat

with the Viceroy on equal terms. I’ll ask

him to send me twelve picked English—

twelve that I know of—to help us govern a

bit. There’s Mackray, Sergeant-pensioner at

Segowli—many’s the good dinner he’s given

me, and his wife a pair of trousers. There’s

Donkin, the Warder of Tounghoo Jail;

there’s hundreds that I could lay my hand

on if I was in India. The Viceroy shall do

it for me. I’ll send a man through in the

spring for those men, and I’ll write for a

dispensation from the Grand Lodge for what

I’ve done as Grand-Master. That—and all

the Sniders that’ll be thrown out when the

native troops in India take up the Martini.

They’ll be worn smooth, but they’ll do for

fighting in these hills. Twelve English, a

hundred thousand Sniders run through the

Amir’s country in driblets—I’d be content

with twenty thousand in one year—and we’d

be an Empire. When everything was ship-shape,

I’d hand over the crown—this crown

I’m wearing now—to Queen Victoria on my

knees, and she’d say:—“Rise up, Sir Daniel

Dravot.” Oh, its big! It’s big, I tell you!

But there’s so much to be done in every

place—Bashkai, Khawak, Shu, and everywhere

else.’
“‘What is it?’ I says. ‘There are no

more men coming in to be drilled this

autumn. Look at those fat, black clouds.

They’re bringing the snow.’
“‘It isn’t that,’ says Daniel, putting his

hand very hard on my shoulder; ‘and I

don’t wish to say anything that’s against

you, for no other living man would have

followed me and made me what I am as you

have done. You’re a first-class Commander-in-Chief,

and the people know you; but—it’s

a big country, and somehow you can’t help

me, Peachey, in the way I want to be helped.’
“‘Go to your blasted priests, then!’ I said,

and I was sorry when I made that remark,

but it did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking

so superior when I’d drilled all the men, and

done all he told me.
“‘Don’t let’s quarrel, Peachey,’ says Daniel

without cursing. ‘You’re a King too,

and the half of this Kingdom is yours; but

can’t you see, Peachey, we want cleverer

men than us now—three or four of ‘em that

we can scatter about for our Deputies? It’s

a hugeous great State, and I can’t always tell

the right thing to do, and I haven’t time for

all I want to do, and here’s the winter coming

on and all.’ He put half his beard into

his mouth, and it was as red as the gold of

his crown.
“‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ says I. ‘I’ve done

all I could. I’ve drilled the men and shown

the people how to stack their oats better, and

I’ve brought in those tinware rifles from

Ghorband—but I know what you’re driving

at. I take it Kings always feel oppressed

that way.’
“‘There’s another thing too,’ says Dravot,

walking up and down. ‘The winter’s coming

and these people won’t be giving much

trouble, and if they do we can’t move about.

I want a wife.’
“‘For Gord’s sake leave the women alone!’

I says. ‘We’ve both got all the work we

can, though I am a fool. Remember the

Contrack, and keep clear o’ women.’
“‘The Contrack only lasted till such time

as we was Kings; and Kings we have been

these months past,’ says Dravot, weighing

his crown in his hand. ‘You go get a wife

too, Peachey—a nice, strappin’, plump girl

that’ll keep you warm in the winter. They’re

prettier than English girls, and we can take

the pick of ’em. Boil ’em once or twice in

hot water, and they’ll come as fair as chicken

and ham.’
“‘Don’t tempt me!’ I says. ‘I will not

have any dealings with a woman not till we

are a dam’ side more settled than we are now.

I’ve been doing the work o’ two men, and

you’ve been doing the work o’ three. Let’s

lie off a bit, and see if we can get some

better tobacco from Afghan country and run

in some good liquor; but no women.’
“‘Who’s talking o’ women?’ says Dravot.

‘I said wife—a Queen to breed a King’s son

for the King. A Queen out of the strongest

tribe, that’ll make them your blood-brothers,

and that’ll lie by your side and tell you all

the people thinks about you and their own

affairs. That’s what I want.’
“‘Do you remember that Bengali woman

I kept at Mogul Serai when I was plate-layer?’

says I. ‘A fat lot o’ good she was

to me. She taught me the lingo and one or

two other things; but what happened? She

ran away with the Station Master’s servant

and half my month’s pay. Then she turned

up at Dadur Junction in tow of a half-caste,

and had the impidence to say I was her husband

—all among the drivers of the running-shed!’
“‘We’ve done with that,’ says Dravot.

‘These women are whiter than you or me, and

a Queen I will have for the winter months.’
“‘For the last time o’ asking, Dan, do

not,’ I says. ‘It’ll only bring us harm. The

Bible says that Kings ain’t to waste their

strength on women, ’specially when they’ve

got a new raw Kingdom to work over.’
“‘For the last time of answering, I will,’

said Dravot, and he went away through the

pine-trees looking like a big red devil. The

low sun hit his crown and beard on one side,

and the two blazed like hot coals.
“But getting a wife was not as easy as

Dan thought. He put it before the Council,

and there was no answer till Billy Fish said

that he’d better ask the girls. Dravot

damned them all round. ‘What’s wrong

with me?’ he shouts, standing by the idol

Imbra. ‘Am I a dog or am I not enough

of a man for your wenches? Haven’t I put

the shadow of my hand over this country?

Who stopped the last Afghan raid?’ It was

me really, but Dravot was too angry to remember.

‘Who bought your guns? Who

repaired the bridges? Who’s the Grand-Master

of the sign cut in the stone?’ and he

thumped his hand on the block that he used

to sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which

opened like Lodge always. Billy Fish said

nothing and no more did the others. ‘Keep

your hair on, Dan,’ said I; ‘and ask the

girls. That’s how it’s done at home, and

these people are quite English.’
“‘The marriage of a King is a matter of

State,’ says Dan, in a white-hot rage, for he

could feel, I hope, that he was going against

his better mind. He walked out of the

Council-room, and the others sat still, looking

at the ground.
“‘Billy Fish,’ says I to the Chief of Bashkai,

‘what’s the difficulty here? A straight

answer to a true friend.’ ‘You know,’ says

Billy Fish. ‘How should a man tell you

who know everything? How can daughters

of men marry gods or devils? It’s not

proper.’
“I remembered something like that in the

Bible; but if, after seeing us as long as they

had, they still believed we were gods it

wasn’t for me to undeceive them.
“‘A god can do anything,’ says I. ‘If

the King is fond of a girl he’ll not let her

die.’ ‘She’ll have to,’ said Billy Fish.

‘There are all sorts of gods and devils in

these mountains, and now and again a girl

marries one of them and isn’t seen any more.

Besides, you two know the Mark cut in the

stone. Only the gods know that. We

thought you were men till you showed the

sign of the Master.’
“‘I wished then that we had explained

about the loss of the genuine secrets of a

Master-Mason at the first go-off; but I said

nothing. All that night there was a blowing

of horns in a little dark temple half-way

down the hill, and I heard a girl crying fit

to die. One of the priests told us that she

was being prepared to marry the King.
“‘I’ll have no nonsense of that kind,’

says Dan. ‘I don’t want to interfere with

your customs, but I’ll take my own wife.

‘The girl’s a little bit afraid,’ says the priest.

‘She thinks she’s going to die, and they are

a-heartening of her up down in the temple.’
“‘Hearten her very tender, then,’ says

Dravot, ‘or I’ll hearten you with the butt

of a gun so that you’ll never want to be

heartened again.’ He licked his lips, did

Dan, and stayed up walking about more

than half the night, thinking of the wife

that he was going to get in the morning. I

wasn’t any means comfortable, for I knew

that dealings with a woman in foreign parts,

though you was a crowned King twenty

times over, could not but be risky. I got up

very early in the morning while Dravot was

asleep, and I saw the priests talking together

in whispers, and the Chiefs talking together

too, and they looked at me out of the corners

of their eyes.
“‘What is up, Fish?’ I says to the Bashkai

man, who was wrapped up in his furs

and looking splendid to behold.
“‘I can’t rightly say,’ says he; ‘but if you

can induce the King to drop all this nonsense

about marriage, you’ll be doing him and me

and yourself a great service.’
“‘That I do believe,’ says I. ‘But sure,

you know, Billy, as well as me, having

fought against and for us, that the King

and me are nothing more than two of the

finest men that God Almighty ever made.

Nothing more, I do assure you.’
“‘That may be,’ says Billy Fish, ‘and yet

I should be sorry if it was.’ He sinks his

head upon his great fur cloak for a minute

and thinks. ‘King,’ says he, ‘be you man

or god or devil, I’ll stick by you to-day. I

have twenty of my men with me, and they

will follow me. We’ll go to Bashkai until

the storm blows over.’
“A little snow had fallen in the night, and

everything was white except the greasy fat

clouds that blew down and down from the

north. Dravot came out with his crown

on his head, swinging his arms and stamping

his feet, and looking more pleased than

Punch.
“‘For the last time, drop it, Dan,’ says I

in a whisper. ‘Billy Fish here says that

there will be a row.’
“‘A row among my people!’ says Dravot.

‘Not much. Peachy, you’re a fool not to

get a wife too. Where’s the girl?’ says he

with a voice as loud as the braying of a

jackass. ‘Call up all the Chiefs and priests,

and let the Emperor see if his wife suits him.’
“There was no need to call any one. They

were all there leaning on their guns and

spears round the clearing in the centre of

the pine wood. A deputation of priests went

down to the little temple to bring up the

girl, and the horns blew up fit to wake the

dead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets

as close to Daniel as he could, and behind

him stood his twenty men with matchlocks.

Not a man of them under six feet. I was

next to Dravot, and behind me was twenty

men of the regular Army. Up comes the

girl, and a strapping wench she was, covered

with silver and turquoises but white as death,

and looking back every minute at the priests.
“‘She’ll do,’ said Dan, looking her over.

‘What’s to be afraid of, lass? Come and

kiss me.’ He puts his arm round her. She

shuts her eyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and

down goes her face in the side of Dan’s flaming

red beard.
“‘The slut’s bitten me!’ says he, clapping

his hand to his neck, and, sure enough, his

hand was red with blood. Billy Fish and

two of his matchlock-men catches hold of

Dan by the shoulders and drags him into the

Bashkai lot, while the priests howls in their

lingo,—‘Neither god nor devil but a man!’

I was all taken aback, for a priest cut at me

in front, and the Army behind began firing

into the Bashkai men.
“‘God A-mighty!’ says Dan. ‘What is

the meaning o’ this?’
“‘Come back! Come away!’ says Billy

Fish. ‘Ruin and Mutiny is the matter.

We’ll break for Bashkai if we can.’
“I tried to give some sort of orders to my

men—the men o’ the regular Army—but it

was no use, so I fired into the brown of ’em

with an English Martini and drilled three

beggars in a line. The valley was full of

shouting, howling creatures, and every soul

was shrieking, ‘Not a god nor a devil but

only a man!’ The Bashkai troops stuck to

Billy Fish all they were worth, but their

matchlocks wasn’t half as good as the Kabul

breech-loaders, and four of them dropped.

Dan was bellowing like a bull, for he was

very wrathy; and Billy Fish had a hard job

to prevent him running out at the crowd.
“‘We can’t stand,’ says Billy Fish.

‘Make a run for it down the valley! The

whole place is against us.’ The matchlock-men

ran, and we went down the valley

in spite of Dravot’s protestations. He was

swearing horribly and crying out that he

was a King. The priests rolled great stones

on us, and the regular Army fired hard, and

there wasn’t more than six men, not counting

Dan, Billy Fish, and Me, that came

down to the bottom of the valley alive.
“‘Then they stopped firing and the horns

in the temple blew again. ‘Come away—

for Gord’s sake come away!’ says Billy

Fish. ‘They’ll send runners out to all the

villages before ever we get to Bashkai. I

can protect you there, but I can’t do anything

now.’
“My own notion is that Dan began to go

mad in his head from that hour. He stared

up and down like a stuck pig. Then he was

all for walking back alone and killing the

priests with his bare hands; which he could

have done. ‘An Emperor am I,’ says Daniel,

‘and next year I shall be a Knight of the

Queen.
“‘All right, Dan,’ says I; ‘but come

along now while there’s time.’
“‘It’s your fault,’ says he, ‘for not looking

after your Army better. There was

mutiny in the midst, and you didn’t know

—you damned engine-driving, plate-laying,

missionary’s-pass-hunting hound!’ He sat

upon a rock and called me every foul name

he could lay tongue to. I was too heart-sick

to care, though it was all his foolishness

that brought the smash.
“‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ says I, ‘but there’s no

accounting for natives. This business is our

Fifty-Seven. Maybe we’ll make something

out of it yet, when we’ve got to Bashkai.’
“‘Let’s get to Bashkai, then,’ says Dan,

‘and, by God, when I come back here again

I’ll sweep the valley so there isn’t a bug in

a blanket left!’
“‘We walked all that day, and all that

night Dan was stumping up and down on

the snow, chewing his beard and muttering

to himself.
“‘There’s no hope o’ getting clear,’ said

Billy Fish. ‘The priests will have sent

runners to the villages to say that you are

only men. Why didn’t you stick on as gods

till things was more settled? I’m a dead

man,’ says Billy Fish, and he throws himself

down on the snow and begins to pray

to his gods.
“Next morning we was in a cruel bad

country—all up and down, no level ground

at all, and no food either. The six Bashkai

men looked at Billy Fish hungry-wise as if

they wanted to ask something, but they said

never a word. At noon we came to the top

of a flat mountain all covered with snow,

and when we climbed up into it, behold,

there was an army in position waiting in

the middle!
“‘The runners have been very quick,’

says Billy Fish, with a little bit of a laugh.

‘They are waiting for us.’
“Three or four men began to fire from the

enemy’s side, and a chance shot took Daniel

in the calf of the leg. That brought him to

his senses. He looks across the snow at the

Army, and sees the rifles that we had

brought into the country.
“‘We’re done for,’ says he. ‘They are

Englishmen, these people,—and it’s my

blasted nonsense that has brought you to

this. Get back, Billy Fish, and take your

men away; you’ve done what you could,

and now cut for it. Carnehan,’ says he,

‘shake hands with me and go along with

Billy. Maybe they won’t kill you. I’ll go

and meet ’em alone. It’s me that did it.

Me, the King!’
“‘Go!’ says I. ‘Go to Hell, Dan. I’m

with you here. Billy Fish, you clear out,

and we two will meet those folk.’
“‘I’m a Chief,’ says Billy Fish, quite

quiet. ‘I stay with you. My men can go.’
“The Bashkai fellows didn’t wait for a

second word but ran off, and Dan and Me

and Billy Fish walked across to where the

drums were drumming and the horns were

horning. It was cold-awful cold. I’ve

got that cold in the back of my head now.

There’s a lump of it there.”
The punkah-coolies had gone to sleep.

Two kerosene lamps were blazing in the

office, and the perspiration poured down my

face and splashed on the blotter as I leaned

forward. Carnehan was shivering, and I

feared that his mind might go. I wiped

my face, took a fresh grip of the piteously

mangled hands, and said:—“What happened

after that?”
The momentary shift of my eyes had

broken the clear current.
“What was you pleased to say?” whined

Carnehan. “They took them without any

sound. Not a little whisper all along the snow,

not though the King knocked down the first

man that set hand on him—not though old

Peachey fired his last cartridge into the

brown of ’em. Not a single solitary sound

did those swines make. They just closed up,

tight, and I tell you their furs stunk. There

was a man called Billy Fish, a good friend

of us all, and they cut his throat, Sir, then

and there, like a pig; and the King kicks

up the bloody snow and says:—‘We’ve had a

dashed fine run for our money. What’s

coming next?’ But Peachey, Peachey

Taliaferro, I tell you, Sir, in confidence as betwixt

two friends, he lost his head, Sir. No,

he didn’t neither. The King lost his head,

so he did, all along o’ one of those cunning

rope-bridges. Kindly let me have the

paper-cutter, Sir. It tilted this way. They

marched him a mile across that snow to a

rope-bridge over a ravine with a river at the

bottom. You may have seen such.  They

prodded him behind like an ox. ‘Damn

your eyes!’ says the King. ‘D’you

suppose I can’t die like a gentleman?’ He

turns to Peachey—Peachey that was crying

like a child. ‘I’ve brought you to this,

Peachey,’ says he. ‘Brought you out of

your happy life to be killed in Kafiristan,

where you was late Commander-in-Chief of

the Emperor’s forces. Say you forgive me,

Peachey.’ ‘I do,’ says Peachey. ‘Fully and

freely do I forgive you, Dan.’ ‘Shake

hands, Peachey,’ says he. ‘I’m going now.’

Out he goes, looking neither right nor left,

and when he was plumb in the middle of those

dizzy dancing ropes, ‘Cut, you beggars,’ he

shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell,

turning round and round and round, twenty

thousand miles, for he took half an hour to

fall till he struck the water, and I could see

his body caught on a rock with the gold

crown close beside.
“But do you know what they did to

Peachey between two pine-trees? They

crucified him, sir, as Peachey’s hands will

show. They used wooden pegs for his hands

and his feet; and he didn’t die. He hung

there and screamed, and they took him

down next day, and said it was a miracle

that he wasn’t dead. They took him down

—poor old Peachey that hadn’t done them

any harm—that hadn’t done them any…”
He rocked to and fro and wept bitterly,

wiping his eyes with the back of his scarred

hands and moaning like a child for some

ten minutes.
“They was cruel enough to feed him up

in the temple, because they said he was more

of a god than old Daniel that was a man.

Then they turned him out on the snow, and

told him to go home, and Peachey came

home in about a year, begging along the

roads quite safe; for Daniel Dravot he walked

before and said:—‘Come along, Peachey.

It’s a big thing we’re doing.’ The mountains

they danced at night, and the mountains

they tried to fall on Peachey’s head,

but Dan he held up his hand, and Peachey

came along bent double. He never let go

of Dan’s hand, and he never let go of Dan’s

head. They gave it to him as a present in

the temple, to remind him not to come again,

and though the crown was pure gold, and

Peachey was starving, never would Peachey

sell the same. You knew Dravot, sir! You

knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot!

Look at him now!”
He fumbled in the mass of rags round his

bent waist; brought out a black horsehair

bag embroidered with silver thread; and

shook therefrom on to my table—the dried,

withered head of Daniel Dravot! The morning

sun that had long been paling the lamps

struck the red beard and blind sunken eyes;

struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded

with raw turquoises, that Carnehan placed

tenderly on the battered temples.
“You behold now,” said Carnehan, “the

Emperor in his habit as he lived—the King

of Kafiristan with his crown upon his

head. Poor old Daniel that was a monarch

once!”
I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements

manifold, I recognized the head of the man

of Marwar Junction. Carnehan rose to go.

I attempted to stop him. He was not fit to

walk abroad. “Let me take away the whiskey,

and give me a little money,” he gasped.

“I was a King once. I’ll go to the Deputy

Commissioner and ask to set in the Poor-house

till I get my health. No, thank you,

I can’t wait till you get a carriage for me.

I’ve urgent private affairs—in the south—at

Marwar.”
He shambled out of the office and departed

in the direction of the Deputy Commissioner’s

house. That day at noon I had

occasion to go down the blinding hot Mall,

and I saw a crooked man crawling along the

white dust of the roadside, his hat in his

hand, quavering dolorously after the fashion

of street-singers at Home. There was not a

soul in sight, and he was out of all possible

earshot of the houses. And he sang through

his nose, turning his head from right to left:—
   “The Son of Man goes forth to war,

      A golden crown to gain;

    His blood-red banner streams afar—

      Who follows in his train?”
I waited to hear no more, but put the poor

wretch into my carriage and drove him off to

the nearest missionary for eventual transfer

to the Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice

while he was with me whom he did not in

the least recognize, and I left him singing to

the missionary.
Two days later I inquired after his welfare

of the Superintendent of the Asylum.
“He was admitted suffering from sun-stroke.

He died early yesterday morning,”

said the Superintendent. “Is it true that he

was half an hour bareheaded in the sun at

midday?”
“Yes,” said I, “but do you happen to

know if he had anything upon him by any

chance when he died?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said the Superintendent.
And there the matter rests.

CHART:

 
Complete this portion of the chart with evidence from “The White Man’s Burden.”

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