THE WATCHMAN ~ 
Like knight of old in silhouette bold 
Against a moonlit sky 
He stands, the one lone sentinel 
Upon his watchtower high; 
- With naught to break the stillness 
Save his own shrill warning cry. 
Majestic bird, thy voice is heard 
Proclaiming from thy height: 
“Tn all the world there’s naught to fear, 
Though day be hid from sight 
Love stands on guard as sentinel, 
The watchman of the night.” 
| | | —Nina Moore 
One April when alone, and quite conscious of that fact, 
in the strange town of Delft in Holland, a tourist wandered — 
into one of the porcelain shops, and found the first English 
speaking person she had met in several days. The delight, 
that came from hearing a langage she could understand, was 
added to by the quaint native costume that the owner of the 
- shop wore, of the same style that had been worn by the 
women of that town for many generations. Her tight dark 
bodice made her wide hips seem wider and she said that 
effect was produced by the number of petticoats she wore. 
Each full, long skirt was gathered on a belt and it gave the © 
- appearance of a little shelf running around her body. Unlike 
what is said of most Dutch women, she was quite willing to 
talk about her clothes, and was willing to sell one of the 
seven lace caps she wore, one above the other, on her head. 
_ As the tourist looked at the beautiful cobalt-blue Delft | 
ware, while she tried to find small pieces that could be 
brought home and yet would not bankrupt her, the proprietor 
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