In the green spaces of the listening trees
Pan sits at ease,
Watching with lazy eyes
Little blue butterflies
That flicker sidelong in the fitful breeze;
While on his pipe he plays
Quaint trills, and roundelays
With dropping cadences;
And shy red squirrels rub against his knees.
And, thro' the city's tumult and the beat
Of hurrying feet,
Those whom the god loves hear
Pan's pipe, insistent, clear;
Echoes of elfin laughter, high and sweet;
Catch in the sparrows' cries
Those tinkling melodies
That sing where brooklets meet,
And the wood's glamour colours the grey street.
=A LOCAL FOOD-CONTROLLER.=
"No partner for you this evening, Sir," said the Inspector. "Mr.
Tibbits has just telephoned through that he has rheumatism badly
again."
I know Tibbits' rheumatism. I also know he plays off his heat in the
club billiard handicap to-night. I can imagine him writhing round
the table. Still I remember the first rule of the force--under no
circumstances give another policeman away.
"You'll have to take Dartmouth Street by yourself, Sir," continues the
Inspector.
"What's it like?"
"Bit of a street market. All right--just tact and keep them moving."
I reach Dartmouth Street. It is a thronged smelly thoroughfare. I pass
along modestly, hoping that every one will ignore me.
But a gentleman who is selling fish detects me and calls "'Ere, Boss,
move this ole geezer on."
"What's the trouble?" I inquire.
The old geezer turns rapidly on me. "'Ere 'e's gone and sold me two
'errings for tuppence 'alfpenny which was that salt my 'usband went
near mad, what with the pubs bein' shut all afternoon, an' now 'e's
popped the fender jus' to get rid of 'is thirst."
"I told you to soak 'em in three waters," says the fishmonger.
"'Ow much beer is my 'usband to soak 'imself in--tell me that?"
It is time for tact. I whisper in the lady's ear, "Come along--don't
argue with a man like that. He's beneath you."
She comes away. I am triumphant. But she turns round and cries, "This
gentleman as _is_ a gentleman says I ain't to lower meself by talkin'
to a 'ound like you."
I move on. I doubt if the fishmonger will be pleased by the lady's
representation of my few words, and I make a mental note to keep away
from his stall. All at once another lady, who for some obscure reason
is carrying a bucket, grips me by the arm.
"I'm goin' to 'ave the law on my side, I am," she declares
emphatically, "an' then I'll smash 'is bloomin' fice in."