oking the cigarette of Algeria, and humming,
always humming, the music that is being hummed in Paris. He is
picturesque, in his own way--shabby, but artistically shabby. At one
o'clock you will see him in "The Dieppe," taking their shilling table
d'hote _dejeuner_, with a half-bottle of _vin ordinaire_; and he will
sit over the coffee perhaps until three o'clock, murmuring the luscious,
facile phrases of Massenet.

His great friend is the Irishman who plays the drum, for they have this
in common: they are both exiles. They are both "saving up" to return
home. They have both been "saving up" for the last twenty years. In each
case there is a girl.... Or there was a girl twenty years ago. She is
waiting for them--one in Paris, and the other in Wicklow. At least, so
they believe. Sometimes, though, I think they must doubt; for I have met
them together in the Hotel Suisse putting absinthes away carelessly,
hopelessly; and a man does not play with absinthe when a girl is waiting
for him.

AN ITALIAN NIGHT

CLERKENWELL

_CLERKENWELL_

_Deep in the town of window smiles--
You shall not find it, though you seek;
But over many bricky miles
It draws me through the wearing week.
Its panes are dim, its curtains grey,
It shows no heartsome shine at dusk;
For gas is dear, and factory pay
Makes small display:
On the small wage she earns she dare not be too gay!_

_A loud saloon flings golden light
Athwart the wet and greasy way,
Where, every happy Sunday night,
We meet in mood of holiday.
She wears a dress of claret glow
That's thinly frothed with bead and lace.
She buys this lace in Jasmine Row,
A spot, you know,
Where luxuries of lace for a mere nothing go._

_I love the shops that flare and lurk
In the big street whose lamps are gems,
For there she stops when off to work
To covet silks and diadems.
At evenings, too, the organ plays
"My Hero" or in "Dixie Land";
And in the odoured purple haze,
Where naphthas blaze,
The grubby little girls the dust of dancing raise._

AN ITALIAN NIGHT

CLERKENWELL

For some obscure reason Saffron Hill is always associated in the public
mind with Little Italy. Why, I do not know. It isn't and never was
Italian. There is not a trace of anything the least Italian about it.
There isn't a shop or a home in the who