minatory figure, which was
speaking to him in such passionless even tones, clung an atmosphere of
awe; the traditional robes of office lent it a majesty that crushed
his will.

He knew he was being addressed, and he strove to listen. His brain was
a torrent of thoughts. And so his life had come to this. It was indeed
the final catastrophe. That was surely what the voice meant--that
voice which went on and on in an even stream of sound without meaning.
Why had he come to this--in the flower of his life to lose its
chiefest gift, Liberty?

Up and down the spaces of his brain thought sped like fire. The people
behind--did they care? A few perhaps pitied him. The others were
indifferent. To them it was merely a spectacle.

Suddenly into his mind crept the consciousness of a vast silence. The
voice had stopped. The abrupt cessation of sound whipped his quivering
nerves. It was like the holding of a great breath.

He gathered his forces. He knew that the huge concourse waited. A
question had been put to him. It seemed as if the world stood still to
listen.

He moistened his lips. He knew what he had meant to say, but his
tongue was a traitor to his desire. What use now to plead? The
soundlessness grew intolerable. He thought he should cry aloud.

And then--

"I will," he said, and, looking sideways, caught the swift shy glance
of his bride.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _The Master Plumber_. "I'VE NEVER SEED A BLOKE TAKE SO
LONG OVER A JOB IN ALL ME LIFE. THAT LAD'LL GO FAR."]

* * * * *

=NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.=

THE SPONGE.

The sponge is not, as you suppose,
A funny kind of weed;
He lives below the deep blue sea,
An animal, like you and me,
Though not so good a breed.

And when the sponges go to sleep
The fearless diver dives;
He prongs them with a cruel prong,
And, what I think is rather wrong,
He also prongs their wives.

For I expect they love their wives
And sing them little songs,
And though, of course, they have no heart
It hurts them when they're forced to part--
Especially with prongs.

I know you'd rather not believe
Such dreadful things are done;
Alas, alas, it is the case;
And every time you wash your face
You use a skeleton.

And that round hole in which you put
Your finger and your thumb,
And tear the nice new sponge in two,
As I have told you _not_ to do,
Was