"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,