There'll some come back to the old 'ome port--'ere's 'opin' I'll be
one;
But some 'ave made a new landfall, an' sighted another shore,
An' it ain't no use to watch for them, for they won't come 'ome no
more.
There ain't no 'arbour dues to pay when once they're over the bar,
Moored bow an' stern in a quiet berth where the lost three-deckers
are,
An' there's NELSON 'oldin' 'is one 'and out an' welcomin' them that's
made
The roads o' Glory an' the port of Death in the North Atlantic trade!"

C. F. S.

* * * * *

SELF-DENIAL.

"And what," I said, "did you do during the Great War, Francesca?"

"In the first place I fine you a sum not exceeding one hundred pounds
for asking me such a question. In the second place I retort upon you by
telling you that one of the things you're going to do during the Great
War is to give up marmalade."

"What! Give up the thing which lends to breakfast its one and only
distinction? Never."

"That," she said, "sounds very brave; but what are you going to do if
there isn't any marmalade to be obtained for love or money?"