“Individualists. No!! nor anti-intellectualists. These also are labels. The ‘individualist’ is a member of a mob as fully as any other man: and the mob of individualists is the most unpleasing, because it has the least character. Nietzsche was a mob-man, just as Bergson is an intellectualist. We cannot escape the label, but let it be one which carries no distinction, and arouses no self-consciousness. Sufficient that we should find simple labels, and not further exploit them. I am, I confess to you, in private life, a bank-clerk....” “And should, according to your own view, have a wife, three children, and a vegetable garden in a suburb,” said Appleplex. “Such is precisely the case,” returned Eeldrop, “but I had not thought it necessary to mention this biographical detail. As it is Saturday night, I shall return to my suburb. Tomorrow will be spent in that garden....” “I shall pay my call on Mrs. Howexden,” murmured Appleplex. (Next chapter in June number.) Pierrots Scene courte mais typique (After the “Pierrots” of Jules Laforgue.) John Hall Your eyes! Since I lost their incandescence Flat calm engulphs my jibs, The shudder of _Vae soli_ gurgles beneath my ribs. You should have seen me after the affray, I rushed about in the most agitated way Crying: My God, My God, what will she say? My soul’s antennae are prey to such perturbations, Wounded by your indirectness in these situations And your bundle of mundane complications. Your eyes put me up to it. I thought: Yes, divine, these yes, but what exists Behind them? What’s there? Her soul’s an affair for oculists. And I am sliced with loyal æsthetics. Hate tremolos and national frenetics. In brief, violet is the ground tone of my phonetics. I am not “that chap there” nor yet “The Superb.” But my soul, the sort which harsh sounds disturb, Is, at bottom, distinguished and fresh as a March herb. My nerves still register the sounds of contra-bass’, I can walk about without fidgeting when people pass, Without smirking into a pocket-looking-glass. Yes, I have rubbed shoulders and knocked off my chips Outside your set but, having kept faith in your eyes, You might pardon such slips. Eh, make it up?— Soothings, confessions; These new concessions Hurl me into such a mass of divergent impressions. (_Exit._) Jodindranath Mawhwor’s Occupation Ezra Pound 1. The soul of Jodindranath Mawhwor clove to the god of this universe and he meditated the law of the Shastras.