('Be christs!'- was one of W. T. Stead’s favourite sayings. Not ‘Be like Christ!’- but– ‘Be christs!’ And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,- anointed, ordained, chosen....

Hello! Hello! Are you there? Are you there? Ah! That you? Well,— This is just to tell you That there’s trouble in the air...

“My lord, there came unto the gate One, in such pitiful estate, So all forlorn and desolate, Ill-fed, ill-clad, of ills compact… A leper too,—his poor flesh wracke…

Let no man stand between my God a… I claim a Free man’s right Of intercourse direct with Him, Who gave me Freedom with the air… God made me free.—

We come from the gloom of the shad… Out away on the fringe of the Nig… Where no man could tell, when the… If his eyes would behold the light… To—the—Night,—

Winter hung about the ways, Very loth to go. Little Spring could not get past… Try she never so. This side,—that side, everywhere,

Where one is, There am I,— No man goeth alone! Though he fly to earth’s remotest… Though his soul in the depths of s…

The Golden Rose is blowing still, Is growing still, is glowing still… In lonely vale, on lordly hill, The Golden Rose is glowing still;… If only you can find it!

(Cradle Song from “The Long Road… Whisht, Baby! Whisht! Quick below the cover! Down into your nest, my bird! And—don’t—you—dare—peep—over!

right(AN ALLEGORY) One day, as I travelled the highw… I heard, on in front, a most dolor… And there, round the corner, a wea… Was nuzzling the hedge for a mouth…

Shapeless and grim, A Shadow dim O’erhung the ways, And darkened all my days. And all who saw,

Curly head, and laughing eyes,— Mischief that all blame defies. Cricket,—footer,—Eton-jacket,— Everlasting din and racket. Tennis,—boating,—socks and ties,—

“'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nig… Where Detiny with men for pieces… Hither and thither moves, and mate… And one by one back in the Closet… Omar Khayyam.

Fold up the tent! The sun is in the West. To-morrow my untented soul will ra… Among the blest. And I am well content,

When, with bowed head, And silent-streaming tears, With mingled hopes and fears, To earth we yield our dead; The Saints, with clearer sight,