on was new,
And built them little huts of stone
With briar and thistle over-grown.

The trees are few and do not bend
To make a whispering swaying arch;
They are the elder and the larch,
Who have the north-east wind for friend,
And shield them from his bluff salute
With elbow kinked and moss-girt root.

There, when the clear Spring sunset dies
Like a great pearl dissolved in wine,
Forgotten stragglers half-divine
Creep to their ancient sanctuaries
Where salt-sweet thyme and sorrel-spire
Feed on the dust of ancient fire.

And when the light is almost dead,
Low-swung and loose the brown clouds flow
In an unhasting happy row
Out seaward over Beachy Head,
Where, far below, the faithful sea
Mutters its wordless liturgy;

Then Sussex gods of sky and sun,
Gods never worshipped in a grove,
Walk on the hills they used to love,
Where the _Long Man of Wilmington_,
Warden of their old frontier, stands
And welcomes them with sceptred hands.

D.M.S.

* * * * *

Improving upon Nature.

From an hotel advertisement:--

"Fishing on lake and stream, also 4-1/2 miles Vyrnwy River, recently
redecorated."

_Provincial Paper._

* * * * *

"SHOT AT DAWN AGAIN.
BY HORATIO BOTTOMLEY."

_"John Bull" Poster._

This accomplished marksman seems to have missed his man at the first
attempt.

* * * * *

WHEN THE CHESTNUT FLOWERS.

FAMOUS FOLK WHO VISIT HAMPTON COURT.

(_Specially contributed by our mendacious Paragraphical Expert after the
best models._)

Wonderful is the lure that Cardinal WOLSEY'S ancient seat has for all
classes of Londoners, especially now when the spires of pink and yellow
blossoms rise amidst the dark foliage of Bushey Park, but it is not
generally known how many celebrities of the day are attracted to Hampton
Court Palace unobserved by anybody but me, who make a habit of noticing
this kind of thing. Leaders in the worlds of politics and art wander on the
closely-shaven lawns or through the stately chambers, where our English
kings made their home and in most cases left their bedsteads behind for
posterity to admire. It is as if some irresistible compulsion drove the
great minds of the present to commune with the mighty shades of the past.
Either that or because the return fare from Waterloo is comparati