But these
are not names for me. Better are those homely sounds that link the pageant
of night with the immemorial life of the fields. Arcturus is Alpha of the
Herdsman. Shall it be that?
And then my eye roves westward to where the Great Bear hangs head downwards
as if to devour the earth. Great Bear, Charles's Wain, the Plough, the
Dipper, the Chariot of David--with what fancies the human mind through all
the ages has played with that glorious constellation! Let my fancy play
with it too. There at the head of the Plough flames the great star that
points to the pole. I will hitch my little waggon to that sublime image. I
will be Alpha of the Plough.
ON LETTER-WRITING
Two soldiers, evidently brothers, stood at the door of the railway
carriage--one inside the compartment, the other on the platform.
"Now, you won't forget to write, Bill," said the latter.
"No," said Bill. "I shall be back at--tonight, and I'll write all round
to-morrow. But, lor, what a job. There's mother and the missus and Bob and
Sarah and Aunt Jane and Uncle Jim, and--well, you know the lot.
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