What the teal and the black duck are dreaming at noon,
And the way of the wistful wild geese as they go
Through the haze of the hills to keep tryst with the moon.

Little Grey Water, folk say and they say
That the homing hill-shepherd, benighted, has heard
A song in the reeds, 'twixt the dawn and the day,
That was never the song of a breeze or a bird.

But I know you so silent, so silent and still,
And so proud of your trust that you'll never betray
What the fairies that gather from Grundiston Hill
Tell the stars before morning to witch them away.

W.H.O.

* * * * *

[Illustration: FAITH RESTORED.

MR. PUNCH. "STANDS ROBERT WHERE HE DID? GOOD! I WAS AFRAID FOR A MOMENT
THAT MY IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY."]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, June 2nd_.--The Lords seldom sit _die Lunae_, and were perhaps
feeling what humbler folk call "rather Mondayish" at being summoned from
their week-end pleasaunces to put the Local Government (Ireland) Bill