WORSHIP, I WAS ON DOOTY OUTSIDE THE 'DOOK OF WELLINGTON' PUBLIC-'OUSE,
WHEN, AT THE INSTIGATION OF THE PRISONER, MY ATTENTION WAS DRAWN TO
SOMETHIN' THAT WASN'T THERE. 'E THEN 'IT ME."]

* * * * *

THE LETTERS THAT COUNT.

["Meanwhile one sighs for the letters which do not
exist."--C.K.S., in "_The Sphere_."]

I never have felt any hunger,
Apart from my shortage of gold,
For the spoils of the autograph-monger,
The screeds of the sages of old;
By envy unvexed and unsmitten
I study the connoisseur's list,
But I sigh for the letters unwritten,
Or those that no longer exist.

The notes, for example, that Hector
Despatched to his Andromache,
When, tied to a troublesome sector,
He couldn't get home to his tea;
Or the messages CÆSAR kept sending
To pacify QUEEN CLEOPAT,
When, simply from fear of offending
The mob, he avoided her flat.

But even more impetus giving,