erhaps he would appoint her Mouser to the King's Household, and she
would keep the King's peace with tooth and claw.

Or perhaps she would become playmate to the Royal children, and live on
cream and sleep all day on a silken cushion.

Or--and this is where her heart ceased to beat--perhaps she would pay the
price of her temerity and the Hereditary Executioner would smite off her
head.

She had put it boldly to the test, to sink or swim. What would the King do?

The King rose slowly from his throne and passed out to his own apartments,
whilst all the Court bowed.

The King had not noticed the cat.

* * * * *

THE RULING PASSION.

"A Russian official accredited to this country, in an interview with a
representative of the Morning Post yesterday, said:--Potatoes."--
_Evening Times and Echo_ (_Bristol_).

* * * * *

"I could well enter into the feelings of this lad's colonel when, with
a lint in his eye, he descrihimbed as 'a riceless youngster.'"--_Civil
and Military Gazette_.

We fear that the insertion of the bandage in the colonel's eye must have
prevented him from forming a true appreciation of the young fellow.

* * * * *

Headline to a leading article in _The Evening News_:--

"WATCH ITALY AND RUSSIA."

Extract from same:--

"We ought to keep our eyes fixed on the Western front."

Correspondents should address their inquiries to Carmelite, Squinting House
Square.

* * * * *

HERBS OF GRACE.

VI.

ROSEMARY.

Whenas on summer days I see
That sacred herb, the Rosemary,
The which, since once Our Lady threw
Upon its flow'rs her robe of blue,
Has never shown them white again,
But still in blue doth dress them--
_Then, oh, then_
_I think upon old friends and bless them._

And when beside my winter fire
I feel its fragrant leaves suspire,
Hung from my hearth-beam on a hook,
Or laid within a quiet book
There to awake dear ghosts of men
When pages ope that press them--
_Then, oh, then_
_I think upon old friends and bless them._

The gentle Rosemary, I wis,
Is Friendship's herb and Memory's.
Ah, ye whom this small herb of grace
Brings back, yet brings not face to face,
Yea, all who read these lines I pen,
Would ye for truth confess them?
_Then, oh, th