them, and where, and why; but imagine the deserved fate of one who
would allow a brutal word to disturb their dust! They mean nothing,
except that men, in a world where it is easy to lose faith, treasure
the few tokens of faithfulness, courage, and enterprise proved in their
fellows; and so those old staffs, to which cling faded and dusty rags,
in a real sense support the Cathedral. Poplar once was a parish whose
name was more familiar in Eastern seas and on the coasts of the
Americans, and stood for something greater and of more value, than the
names of some veritable capital cities. That vista down the East India
Dock Road from North Street, past the plane trees which support on a
cloud the cupola of Green's Chapel, to the gateway of the dock which
was built for John Company, was what many would remember as essential
London who would pass the Mansion House as though it were a dingy and
nameless tavern. At the back of that road today, and opposite a church
which was a chapel-of-ease to save the crews of the East Indiamen lying
off Blackwall the long walk to Stebonhythe Church, is the public
library; and within that building are stored, as are the regimental
colours in the Cathedral, the houseflags of those very ships my
Register helps me to remember--the tokens of fidelity and courage, of a
service that was native, and a skill in that service which was
traditional to the parish. Tokens that now are dusty and in their
night, understood only by the few who also belong to the past.

There is the houseflag of the _Cutty Sark_, and her sister ships the
_Dharwar_, _Blackadder_, _Coldstream_--but one must be careful, and
refuse to allow these names to carry one-way. There are so many of
them. They are all good. Each can conjure up a picture and a memory.
They are like those names one reads in spring in a seed-merchant's
catalogue. They call to be written down, to be sung aloud, to be
shared with a friend. But I know the quick jealousy of some old