Only yesterday I rode about town in the car and had the chauffeur stop a while every place where they were shoveling snow. The nicest man was with me -- he is connected with a settlement, and has given his life to sociology and all that sort of thing. "Just think," I said to him, "how much real practical sociology we have right here before us -- all these men shoveling snow -- and how little they realize, most of them, that their work is taking them into sociology at all." He didn't say anything, but he seemed impressed. And I'm not sure the unemployed should be grateful to the serious thinkers for the careful study we give them. Don't you think so? SOULS AND TOES I went to a Soul Fight at Hermione's And nothing normal can describe it . . . It was beyond rhyme, reason, rum, rhubarb or rhythm . . . Therefore, Vers Libre Muse, help me! Imagist outcast with the bleary eyes, My psychic Pup, my polyrhythmic hound, lift up Your voice and help me howl! Tenth Muse, doggerel muse, slink hither, brute, And lick your master's hand . . . I've need of Thee . . . Come catercornered on three legs with doubtful tail And eager eyes . . . Tomorrow I may bash you in the ribald ribs again And publicly disown you; But oh! Today I've need of thee . . . Winged mongrel, mutt divine, come here and help Me bay the piebald moon! It was a Soul Fight at Hermione's . . . A fat Terpsichore with polished toes . . . a barefoot she Soul With ten Achaian toes . . . and each toe had a separate soul, she said . . . Was there . . . not only there, but IT. She sat upon a couch and lectured . . . not with words, But with her toes, her eloquent, her temperamental toes . . . Her topes that had trod (so she said) the paths of beauty Since Hector was a pup at Troy . . . She sat upon a couch . . . bards, swamis and Hermione, Gilt souls and purple, melomaniacs, yellow souls And blue, Souse socialists and other cognac-scented cognoscenti, Post-cubist chicles that would ne'er jell into gum . . . All, all the little groups from all the brainstorm Slums . . . Why specify? . . . we know our little groups! . . . where there . . . Were there to worship at those feet . . . to vibrate and change color with the moods of those unusual feet. . . . "This toe," she said, "is Beauty . . . this is Art . . . This toe is Italy, and this is Greece." . . . A poet, quite beside himself with inspiration, Suddenly arose and cried: "This little pig went to market, This little pig stayed home This little pig was Greece, This little pig was Rome!" But they chilled him . . . he went Into the Silences . . . And Terpischore resumed: "My ten toes are: Beauty, Art, Italy, Greece, Life, Music, Psyche, Color, Motion, Liberty! Put yourself into a receptive attitude now, and Beauty will speak to you!" And while a satellite ran rosy fingers down a lute, she moved the toe named Beauty to and fro . . .