Where the leafy chimes of gladness in the tree-tops aye are ringing, Answering to the joyous chorus which the birds are ever singing; Where the seas of yellow plenty toss with music in the wind; Where the purple vines are laden, and the groves with fruit are lined; Where all grief is but a mem'ry, and all pain is left behind --As Time rolls on! But it lies beyond a desert 'cross which hosts of Death are marching, And a hot sirocco wanders under skies all red and parching, Lined with skeletons of armies through the centuries fierce and acre Bones of heroes and of sages marking Time's lapse year by year, Unmoistened by the night-dews 'mid the solitudes of fear --As Time rolls on! * Kindly written by Mr. F. J. Broomfield for insertion here. "Well done, Arty"! cried Ford. "I'd like to do a few 'thumbnails' for that." "Let me see it, please! Why don't you say 'rushes' for 'wanders' in the last verse, Arty?" asked George, reaching out his hand for the slips. "Go away!" exclaimed Mrs. Stratton, holding them out of reach. "Can't you wait two minutes before you begin your sub-editing tricks? Josie, keep him in order!" "He's a disgrace," replied Josie. "Don't pay any heed to him, Arty! They'll cut up your verses soon enough, and they're just lovely." The others laughed, all talking at once, commending, criticising, comparing. Arty laughed and joked and quizzed, the liveliest of them all. Ned stared at him in astonishment. He seemed like somebody else. He discussed his own verses with a strange absence of egotism. Evidently he was used to standing fire. "The metaphor in that third verse seems to me rather forced," said Stratton finally. "And I think George is right. 'Rushes' does sound better than 'wanders.' I like that 'rudely punctuated' line, but I think I'd go right through it again if it was mine." "I think I will, too," answered Arty. "There are half-a-dozen alterations I want to make now. I'll touch it up to-morrow. It'll keep till then." "That sort of stuff would keep for years if it wasn't for the Scrutineer," said Stratton. "Very few papers care to publish it nowadays." "The Scrutineer is getting just like all the rest of them," commented George. "It's being run for money, only they make their pile as yet by playing to the gallery while the other papers play to the stalls and dress circle." "It has done splendid work for the movement, just the same," said Ford. "Admit it's a business concern and that everybody growls at it, it's the only paper that dares knock things." "It's a pity there isn't a good straight daily here," said Geisner. "That's the want all over the world. It seems impossible to get them, though." "Why is it?" demanded Nellie. "It's the working people who buy the evening papers at least. Why shouldn't they buy straight papers sooner than these sheets of lies that are published?" "I've seen it tried," answered Geisner, "but I never saw it done. The London Star is going as crooked as the others I'm told."