. The yellow book : an illustrated quarterly. watch the world go by to win That glimmering goal their hearts remember yet. They lean among the lilacs by the door, To watch the winding road with wistful eyes, The long, white, dusty way that nevermoreShall bear them hope or wonder or surprise. Sometimes 24 The House Desolate Sometimes they call, but answer comes there none ; Sometimes they beckon—none will turn long procession glitters in the sun ; With echoing tramp the motley pilgrims ride. Some in the twilight chambers, wide and low,Around a cold hearth gather, murmuring Vague, half
. The yellow book : an illustrated quarterly. watch the world go by to win That glimmering goal their hearts remember yet. They lean among the lilacs by the door, To watch the winding road with wistful eyes, The long, white, dusty way that nevermoreShall bear them hope or wonder or surprise. Sometimes 24 The House Desolate Sometimes they call, but answer comes there none ; Sometimes they beckon—none will turn long procession glitters in the sun ; With echoing tramp the motley pilgrims ride. Some in the twilight chambers, wide and low,Around a cold hearth gather, murmuring Vague, half-remembered tales of long ago,Songs, half forgot, of Travel and the Spring. Wan faces peer from the uncurtained pane,Across the weedy garden, fain to see, The wayfarers that pass in sun or rain, The blue, far-shining stream that threads the lea. Here falls no word from any passer-by, None lifts the latch of this forgotten gate ; Only faint winds about the lintel sigh Your house is left unto you desolate. Merlin and Vivien By Henry R. Rheam. The Queens Pleasure By Henry Harland JAM writing to you from a lost corner of the far south-east ofEurope. The author of my guide-book, in his preface,observes that a traveller in this part of the world, unless he hassome acquaintance with the local idioms, is liable to find himselfa good deal bewildered about the names of places. On Thursdayof last week I booked from Charing Cross, by way of Dover,Paris, and the Oriental Express, for Vescova, the capital ofMonterosso; and yesterday afternoon—having changed on Sunday,at Belgrade, from land to water, and steamed for close upon forty-eight hours down the Danube—I was put ashore at the townof , in the Principality of Tchermnogoria. I certainly might well have found myself a good deal bewildered ; and if I did not—for Im afraid I cant boast of muchacquaintance with the local idioms—it was no doubt because thisisnt my first visit to the country. I was here some years ago, andthen
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