ording to how
much you bring me so we will do business."

Is real wealth so unevenly distributed as we think? Is not Fate the true
Socialist? Who is the rich man, who the poor? Do we know? Does even
the man himself know? Are we not striving for the shadow, missing the
substance? Take life at its highest; which was the happier man, rich
Solomon or poor Socrates? Solomon seems to have had most things that
most men most desire--maybe too much of some for his own comfort.
Socrates had little beyond what he carried about with him, but that was
a good deal. According to our scales, Solomon should have been one of
the happiest men that ever lived, Socrates one of the most wretched. But
was it so?

Or taking life at its lowest, with pleasure its only goal. Is my
lord Tom Noddy, in the stalls, so very much jollier than 'Arry in the
gallery? Were beer ten shillings the bottle, and champagne fourpence a
quart, which, think you, we should clamour for? If every West End Club
had its skittle alley, and billiards could only be played in East End
pubs, which game, my lord, would you select? Is the air of Berkeley
Square so much more joy-giving than the atmosphere of Seven Dials? I
find myself a piquancy in the air of Seven Dials, missing from Berkeley
Square. Is there so vast a difference between horse-hair and straw, when
you are tired? Is happiness multiplied by the number of rooms in one's
house? Are Lady Ermintrude's lips so very much sweeter than Sally's of
the Alley? What IS success in life?

ON THE PLAYING OF MARCHES AT THE FUNERALS OF MARIONETTES

He began the day badly. He took me out and lost me. It would be so much
better, would he consent to the usual arrangement, and allow me to take
him out. I am far the abler leader: I say it without conceit. I am older
than he is, and I am less excitable. I do not stop and talk with every
person I meet, and then forget where I am. I do less to distract myself:
I rarely fight, I never feel I want to run after cats, I take but little
pleasure in frightening children. I have nothing to think about but the
walk, and the getting home again. If, as I say, he would give up taking
me out, and let me take him out, there would be less trouble all round.
But into this I have never been able to persuade him.

He had mislaid me once or twice, but in Sloane Square he lost me
entirely. When he loses me, he stands and barks for me. If only he would
remain where he first barked, I might find