y--a tone of voice, a gesture, a way of
putting on the hat--'

'I always judge people,' one of the company remarked, 'by their boots.
It's people's feet I look at first. And bootlaces now--what an awful lot
bootlaces can tell you!'

As I slipped my feet back under my chair, I subjected my theory of Charm
to a rapid revision.

CARAVANS

Always over the horizon of the Sahara move those soundless caravans of
camels, swaying with their padded feet across the desert I imagine, till
in the shadowy distance of my mind they fade away, and vanish.

THE SUBURBS

What are the beliefs about God in Grosvenor Gardens, the surmises of
South Kensington concerning our fate beyond the Grave? On what grounds
does life seem worth living in Pimlico; and how far in the Cromwell Road
do they follow, or think they follow, the precepts of the Sermon on the
Mount?

If I can but dimly discern the ideals of these familiar regions, how
much more am I in the dark about the inner life of the great outer
suburbs. In what works of local introspection can I study the daydreams
of Brixton, the curiosities and discouragements of Camberwell or Ealing?

More than once I have paused before a suburban villa, telling myself
that I had after all but to ring the bell, and go in and ask them. But
alas, they would not tell me; they could not tell me, even if they
would.

THE CONCERTO

'What a beautiful movement!' she murmured, as the music paused.

'Beautiful!' I roused myself to echo, though I hadn't heard a note.

Immediately I found myself again in the dock; and again the trial began,
that ever-recurring criminal Action in which I am both Judge and
culprit, all the jury, and the advocate on either side.

I now pleaded my other respectable attainments and previous good
character; and winning a favourable verdict, I dropped back into my
dream, letting the violin wail unheard through the other movements, and
the Grand Piano tinkle.

SOMEWHERE

Somewhere, far below the horizon, there is a City; some day I shall sail
to find that sun-bright harbour; by what star I shall steer my vessel,
or where that seaport lies, I know not; but somehow, through calms and
storms and all the vague sea-noises I shall voyage, until at last some
mountain peak will rise to tell me I am near my destination; or I shall
see, some day at dusk, a lighthouse twinkling at its port.

THE PLATITUDE

'It's after all the little things