_Sweet Voice from the other end_. "THAT WILL BE A TRUNK CALL."] * * * * * SELF-DETERMINATION IN DEVON. "At a public meeting at Barnstaple, the Vicar presiding, it was decided to form a local branch of the League of Nations."--_Western Morning News_. Won't WILSON be bucked? * * * * * [Illustration: _Little Girl (in foreground)._ "MOTHER, I SUPPOSE THE BRIDEGROOM _MUST_ COME TO HIS WEDDING?"] * * * * * THE LAST WATCH OF THE NIGHT. The hand of dawn is on the door That seals the dolorous arch of night; Dim gardens and hushed groves once more Dream of the half-forgotten light; Yet all the ancient fires are cold On altars battered and forlorn, And men grope still for gauds of gold, Oblivious of the imminent morn. When comes the dawn? Its unseen dew Distils on folded swath and mound, Where grass is deep or sods are new, And branches shake without a sound; Where, numberless and low and grey, The furrows lessen to the sky; There sleep the sons of England, they Who died that England should not die. Better--ah, better for us all, For them who sleep and us who wake, That never bird at dawn should call Nor golden foam of morning break; That on one high cairn of the dead The ultimate light should be unsealed, Than that the world should live unled, Unchanged, unpurified, unhealed. Life and all things that make it fair Men gave that better lives might be; They went exulting and aware Forth to the great discovery; But who will prize life over-much Or deem that death comes over-soon If hands of fools and barterers touch The architrave of Hope half-hewn! Under a brave new baldachin, New robes drooped o'er their crimson feet, The old unaltered twain begin Their ride along the embannered street; With golden charms for men to kiss A-swing from wrist and bridle-rein, The brethren Pride and Avarice, The monarchs of the world again. If this thing be and no new world Rise from the old dead world beneath, Then morning's chaplet seven-pearled Is made the bauble-crest of death; All dreams belied, all vows made void, Pale Hope a wingless fugitive, And man a stumbling anthropoid-- Can these things be if England live? If England live, the anarch tide Shall lose itself among her waves, And the grey earth be glorified By the young blossom on her graves; And by her grace no power shall part; Fulfilment from the dreams that were, If still the music of her heart Be theirs who lived and died for her. D.M.S. * * * * * [Illustration: THE DOVE AT SEA. BIRD OF PEACE. "EXCUSE ME, BUT IS THIS THE ARK?" MAN OF WAR. "DUNNO NOTHIN' ABOUT NO ARK; BUT WE'RE FOR ARK-ANGEL, IF THAT'S ANY USE TO YOU."] * * * * * ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.