A childhood land of mountain ways,
Where earthy gnomes and forest fays,
Kind foolish giants, gentle bears,
Sport with the peasant as he fares
Affrighted through the forest glades,
And lead sweet wistful little maids
Lost in the woods, forlorn, alone,
To princely lovers and a throne.
* * * * *
Dear haunted land of gorge and glen,
Ah me! the dreams, the dreams of men!

A learned land of wise old books
And men with meditative looks,
Who move in quaint red-gabled towns
And sit in gravely-folded gowns,
Divining in deep-laden speech
The world’s supreme arcana—­each
A homely god to listening Youth
Eager to tear the veil of Truth;
* * * * *
Mild votaries of book and pen—­
Alas, the dreams, the dreams of men!

A music land, whose life is wrought
In movements of melodious thought;
In symphony, great wave on wave—­
Or fugue, elusive, swift, and grave;
A singing land, whose lyric rhymes
Float on the air like village chimes: 
Music and Verse—­the deepest part
Of a whole nation’s thinking heart!
* * * * *
Oh land of Now, oh land of Then! 
Dear God! the dreams, the dreams of men!

Slave nation in a land of hate,
Where are the things that made you great? 
Child-hearted once—­oh, deep defiled,
Dare you look now upon a child? 
Your lore—­a hideous mask wherein
Self-worship hides its monstrous sin:—­
Music and verse, divinely wed—­
How can these live where love is dead?
* * * * *
Oh depths beneath sweet human ken,
God help the dreams, the dreams of men!

* * * * *

“The Blessington Papers are included with all their atmosphere of distinguished High Bohemia.  Among them are some interesting Disraeli letters—­he was ever her staunch friend from the early ’thirties to the late ’forties, when his son had risen and her’s—­how brilliant!—­had set.”—­Saturday Review.

And up to the present we had been under the impression that both these distinguished persons were childless.

* * * * *

HINT FOR HORTICULTURISTS.

    “Mr. ——­, undertaker, of Temuka, improved his plant by the
    purchase of a new hearse.”—­Timaru Herald (New Zealand).

* * * * *

    “Mr. ——­ hopes shortly to be seen again in revue in the Wet
    End.”—­Pall Mall Gazette.

Or, as the CENSOR would put it, “somewhere in England.”

* * * * *

    Daily Mail (Ordinary Edition), 3 September, 1917:  “Lord
    Halsbury is 92 to-day.”

    Times (Late War Edition), 3 September, 1917:  “The Earl of
    Halsbury is 94 to-day.”

Yet, from personal observation, one would never believe that the EX-LORD CHANCELLOR was ageing so rapidly.