Where do they come from?  Where on earth
    In olden days did they reside,
  When there was really lots of birth
    And hardly anybody died? 
  Where had this multitude its lair? 
    Some pleasant spot, I make no doubt;
  I only wish they’d go back there
    And leave me room to move about;

  And leave some little house for me
    In any shire, in any town,
  Or, otherwise, myself must flee
    And build a dug-out in a down;
  If none may settle on the land,
    Yet might one settle underground
  (Provided people understand
    They must not come and dig all round).

  There will I dwell (alone) till death
    And soothe my crowd-corroded soul;
  And, when I breathe my latest breath,
    Let no man move me from my hole;
  Let but a little earth be cast,
    And someone write above the tomb: 
  “Here had the poet peace at last;
    Here only had he elbow-room.”

  A.P.H.

* * * * *

THE SWEET-SHOP.

It was a mean street somewhere in the wilderness of Fulham.  How I got there I don’t exactly know; all that I am clear about is that I was trying, on insufficient data, to make a short cut.  Twilight was falling, there was a slight drizzle of rain and I told myself that I had stumbled on the drabbest bit of all London.

Here and there, breaking the monotony of dark house-fronts, were little isolated shops, which gave a touch of colour to the drabness.  I paused before one of them, through whose small and dim window a light shed a melancholy beam upon the pavement.  Nothing seemed to be sold there, for the window was occupied by empty glass jars, bearing such labels as “peppermint rock,” “pear drops” and “bull’s-eyes.”  Apparently the shop had sold out.

I was on the point of turning away when I noticed that someone was moving about inside, and presently an ancient dame began to take certain jars from the window and fill them with sweets from boxes on the counter.  Evidently a new stock had just arrived.  Then I remembered that sweets had been “freed.”

A little girl stopped beside me, stared through the window and then ran off at top speed.  Within a couple of minutes half-a-dozen youngsters were peering into the shop, and a pair of them marched in, consulting earnestly as they went.  The news spread; more children arrived.  I distributed a largesse of pennies which gave me a popularity I have never achieved before.  The street seemed to take on a different aspect.  I almost liked it.

* * * * *

AN OLD DOG.

There can be no doubt about it.  Not merely is Soo-ti getting to be an old dog, but he has already got there.  He is an old dog.  Yet the change in the case of this beloved little Pekinese has been so gradual that until it was accomplished few of us noticed it.  Yesterday, as it seemed, Soo-ti was a young dog, capable of holding his own for frolics and spirits with any Pekinese that ever owned the crown of the road and refused to stir from it though all the hooters of Europe endeavoured to blast him off it.  To-day he is still a challenger of motor-cars; but he hurls his defiance with less assurance and has been seen to retire before the advance of a motor-bicycle.