The Fourth Sea Lord has a deal to plan, For he's, chief of all, the Transport man. He finds the Fleet in coal and victuals (Supplying the beer--if not the skittles); He sees to the bad'uns that get imprisoned, And settles what uniform's worn (or isn't).... Even the stubbornest own the sway Of the Lord of Food and the Lord of Pay! * * * * * SEARCHLIGHTS ON THE MERSEY. A long lean bar of silver spans The ebon-rippled water-way, And like a lost moon's errant ray Strikes on the passing caravans-- Ghost-ships that from the desert seas Loom silent through the steady beams, Pale phantoms of elusive dreams Cargoed with ancient memories. Through the long night across the cool Black waters to their shrouded berth, Bearing the treasures of the earth, Glide the fair ships to Liverpool. * * * * * "Londoner" in _The Evening News_:-- "Long live King Leopold, a faithful prince if ever there was one, as loyal to his brave Belgians as they, gallant souls that they are, are loyal to him. Does he, I wonder, ever take a look at his family pedigree?" Because, if so, he would discover that his name was really Albert. * * * * * Illustration: THE KING AT THE FRONT. "TOMMY", (_having learned the language_). "VIVE LE ROI!" * * * * * Illustration: _Michael (gloomily)_. "MUMMY, I DO HOPE I SHAN'T DIE SOON." _Mummy_. "DARLING! SO DO I--BUT WHY?" _Michael_. "IT WOULD BE _TOO_ AWFUL TO DIE A CIVILIAN." * * * * * THE ENTENTE IN BEING. We were sitting in a little restaurant in the gay city--which is not a gay city any more, but a city of dejection, a city that knows there is a war going on and not so long since could hear the guns. There are, however, corners where, for the moment, contentment or, at any rate, visitations of mirth are possible, and this little restaurant is one of them. Well, we were sitting there waiting for coffee, the room (for it was late) now empty save for the table behind me, where two elderly French bourgeois and a middle-aged woman were seated, when suddenly the occupant of the chair which backed into mine and had been backing into it so often during the evening that I had punctuated my eating with comments on other people's clumsy bulkiness; suddenly, as I say, this occupant, turning completely round, forced his face against mine and, cigarette in hand, asked me for a light. I could see nothing but face--a waste of plump ruddy face set deep between vast shoulders, a face garnished with grey beard and moustache, and sparkling moist eyes behind highly magnifying spectacles. Very few teeth and no hair. But the countenance as a whole radiated benignance and enthusiasm; and one thing, at any rate, was clear, and that was that none of my resentment as to the restlessness of the chair had been telepathed.