ter,
One day--as Art requires--when Spring
Had set the hawthorns blossoming
And waked the lanes to laughter.

And so adown these alleys dim,
Where oft she'd kept a tryst with him,
She nightly comes a-roaming;
And, sorrowing still, yet finds content,
I fancy, where "Sweet Themmes" is blent
With flower-beds and the gloaming.

Ah me, the leaf is down to-day;
Does still the little phantom stray,
Poor pretty ghost, a-shiver,
When sad flowers droop their weary heads
Along the chill Autumnal beds
Beside the misty river?

Or does it, at the year's decline--
As sensible as Proserpine--
When Autumn skies do harden,
Go down and coax the seeds to grow
Till daffodillies stand a-row
And April's in the garden?

I cannot tell; what's more, I doubt
We've other things to think about
This sorrowful November;
I only know for such sad hours
That dainty ghosts and Summer flowers
Are pleasant to remember.

* * * * *

The Absolute Limit.

"The directors of the Bradford Club have reviewed the position in
regard to the free admission of soldiers to the ground, the number
of men thus admitted having been far greater than was anticipated.
It has now been decided that men in uniform or bearing other
credentials of service shall be admitted to section E on payment of
the nominal sum of 3d. This will prevent the jostling of the
ordinary patrons."--_Bradford Daily Telegraph._

A cruiser here and there may be sunk, a regiment here and there may be
cut up, but thank God our Bradford football patrons will never again be
jostled by any of these vulgar soldiers in uniform.

* * * * *

Notice in a Battersea window:--

"BRIDE CAKES
ANY SIZE
TO SUIT ALL POCKETS."

In these days of narrow skirts most women will find the guinea size
sufficient.

* * * * *

Illustration: FACTS FROM THE FRONT.

TACTICAL USE, BY THE ENEMY, OF THE MORE RESILIENT UNITS OF THE LANDSTURM
FOR NEGOTIATING BELGIAN DYKES.

* * * * *

OUR LITERARY WAR LORDS.

["The other day the enemy's artillery fire on my battery was so
great that we were forced to take cover. I sat crouched in my
'funk-hole' for seventeen solid hours. Luckily I had Jacobs's 'Sea
Urchins' with me, which I read to the accompaniment of scream