A long lean bar of silver spans
The ebon-rippled water-way,
And like a lost moon's errant ray
Strikes on the passing caravans--
Ghost-ships that from the desert seas
Loom silent through the steady beams,
Pale phantoms of elusive dreams
Cargoed with ancient memories.
Through the long night across the cool
Black waters to their shrouded berth,
Bearing the treasures of the earth,
Glide the fair ships to Liverpool.
* * * * *
"Londoner" in _The Evening News_:--
"Long live King Leopold, a faithful prince if ever there was one, as
loyal to his brave Belgians as they, gallant souls that they are,
are loyal to him. Does he, I wonder, ever take a look at his family
pedigree?"
Because, if so, he would discover that his name was really Albert.
* * * * *
Illustration: THE KING AT THE FRONT.
"TOMMY", (_having learned the language_). "VIVE LE ROI!"
* * * * *
Illustration: _Michael (gloomily)_. "MUMMY, I DO HOPE I SHAN'T DIE
SOON."
_Mummy_. "DARLING! SO DO I--BUT WHY?"
_Michael_. "IT WOULD BE _TOO_ AWFUL TO DIE A CIVILIAN."
* * * * *