thing that he sighs after in 'Forlorn Adventurers,' the lyric that lends its title to his book:
...The sweetest love of the loves of earth,
Treasure thrice tried in fire,
Power beyond the dreams of kings—
These we have got in our venturings,
But never our heart's desire.
And of such spoil we are content
Our loves alone to keep:
Gold through our careless hands shall run,
And all the lands we lightly won
Wiser than we shall reap.
Wayfaring men, yea, fools are we,
Who do not count the cost:
Of little worth in men's esteem,
Yet happy, for we chase a dream
More fair than aught we lost.
The eldest son of Sir John Lewis Jenkins, K.C.S.I., I.C.S., he had himself hoped to enter the Indian Civil Service, 'for which,' writes Frank Fletcher, in an introduction to Forlorn Adventurers, 'he seemed naturally destined by the traditions of both sides of his family and by his father's brilliant record.' Another Marlborough boy, he went to Balliol with a classical scholarship, but abandoned all personal ambitions, and became a lieutenant in
