ight lustre of
a pearl, the green glow of an emerald, and the dazzling white light
of a diamond--in what unfailing magic lies their charm? Tiny bits
of crystal as they appear to be--even the Orloff diamond could be
concealed in a child's hand--yet kings and queens have played for
stakes like these. Battle and murder have been done for them, honour
bartered and kingdoms lost, but the old magic beauty never fades, and
to-day, as always, sin and beauty, side, by side, are mirrored in the
flash of a jewel.

The Coming of My Ship

Straight to the sunrise my ship's sails are leaning,
Brave at the masthead her new colours fly;
Down on the shore, her lips trembling with meaning,
Love waits, but unanswering, I heed not her cry.
The gold of the East shall be mine in full measure,
My ship shall come home overflowing with treasure,
And love is not need, but only a pleasure,
So I wait for my ship to come in.

Silent, half troubled, I wait in the shadow,
No sail do I see between me and the dawn;
Out in the blue and measureless meadow,
My ship wanders widely, but Love has not gone.
"My arms await thee," she cries in her pleading,
"Why wait for its coming, when I am thy needing?"
I pass by in stillness, all else unheeding,
And wait for my ship to come in.

See, in the East, surrounded by splendour,
My sail glimmers whitely in crimson and blue;
I turn back to Love, my heart growing tender,
"Now I have gold and leisure for you.
Jewels she brings for thy white breast's adorning,
Measures of gold beyond a queen's scorning"--
To-night I shall rest--joy comes in the morning,
So I wait for my ship to come in.

Remembering waters beat cold on the shore,
And the grey sea in sadness grows old;
I listen in vain for Love's pleading once more,
While my ship comes with spices and gold.
The sea birds cry hoarsely, for this is their songing,
On masthead and colours their white wings are thronging,
But my soul throbs deep with love and with longing,
And I wait for my ship to come in.

Romance and the Postman

A letter! Do the charm and uncertainty of it ever fade? Who knows what
may be written upon the pages within!

Far back, in a dim, dream-haunted childhood, the first letter came to
me. It was "a really, truly letter," properly stamped and addressed,
and duly