I should not be a bit surprised if I could add to our income by writing poetry, Primrose.

All the books, nearly all the magazines and newspapers, come from London.

Poppy will not be going to London until to-morrow--I'll run round this morning and ask her to try and find out for me which of the publishers want poems like my 'Ode to the Swallow.' Perhaps they'd like it in the -- -- _Review_; only the -- -- _Review_ is so horribly deep.

My ode is deep too, for Daisy cannot understand it.

Perhaps I could send my poem about Pink to one of the other magazines.