beech leaves they walked, while Puck between them chanted something like this:

'Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria
Cujus prosperitas est transitoria?
Tam cito labitur ejus potentia

Quam vasa figuli quæ sunt fragilia.'

They found themselves at the little locked gates of the wood.

'Quo Cæsar abiit celsus imperio?

Vel Dives splendidus totus in prandio?

Dic ubi Tullius-'

Still singing, he took Dan's hand and wheeled him round to face Una as she came out of the gate. It shut behind her, at the same time as Puck threw the memorymagicking Oak, Ash, and Thorn leaves over their heads. 'Well, you are jolly late,' said Una. 'Couldn't you get away before?'

'I did,' said Dan. 'I got away in lots of time, but but I didn't know it was so late. Where've you been?' 'In Volaterrae-waiting for you.'

'Sorry,' said Dan. 'It was all that beastly Latin.'

A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG

(A. D. 406)

My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come,
To look on that so-holy spot-

The very Rome

Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height-
The Race began!

Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakeable, we pray, that clings,
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood-
In arduous things.

Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round—
In us thy Sons,

Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require

Thee, thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills,

The Imperial Fire!

ON THE GREAT WALL