ade a dinner of bread and butter I gloated over the pages。
In this Tibullus I found pencilled on the last page： 〃Perlegi； Oct。 4； 1792。〃 Who was that possessor of the book； nearly a hundred years ago？ There was no other inscription。 I like to imagine some poor scholar； poor and eager as I myself； who bought the volume with drops of his blood； and enjoyed the reading of it even as I did。 How much THAT was I could not easily say。 Gentle…hearted Tibullus！… …of whom there remains to us a poet's portrait more delightful； I think； than anything of the kind in Roman literature。
An tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres； Curantem quidquid dignum sapiente bonoque est？
So with many another book on the thronged shelves。 To take them down is to recall； how vividly； a struggle and a triumph。 In those days money represented nothing to me； nothing I cared to think about； but the acquisition of books。 There were books of which I had passionate need； books more necessary to me than bodily nourishment。 I could see them； of course； at the British Museum； but that was not at all the same thing as having and holding them； my own property； on my own shelf。 Now and then I have bought a volume of the raggedest and wretchedest aspect； dishonoured with foolish scribbling； torn； blotted……no matter； I liked better to read out of that than out of a copy that was not mine。 But I was guilty at times of mere self…indulgence； a book tempted me； a book which was not one of those for which I really craved； a luxury which prudence might bid me forego。 As； for instance； my Jung…Stilling。 It caught my eye in Holywell Street； the name was familiar to me in Wahrheit und Dichtung； and curiosity grew as I glanced over the pages。 But that day I resisted； in truth； I could not afford the eighteen…pence； which means that just then I was poor indeed。 Twice again did I pass； each time assuring myself that Jung…Stilling had found no purchaser。 There came a day when I was in funds。 I see myself hastening to Holywell Street （in those days my habitual pace was five miles an hour）； I see the little grey old man with whom I transacted my business……what was his name？……the bookseller who had been； I believe； a Catholic priest； and still had a certain priestly dignity about him。 He took the volume； opened it； mused for a moment； then； with a glance at me； said； as if thinking aloud： 〃Yes； I wish I had time to read it。〃
Sometimes I added the labour of a porter to my fasting endured for the sake of books。 At the little shop near Portland Road Station I came upon a first edition of Gibbon； the price an absurdity……I think it was a shilling a volume。 To possess those clean…paged quartos I would have sold my coat。 As it happened； I had not money enough with me； but sufficient at home。 I was living at Islington。 Having spoken with the bookseller； I walked home； took the cash； walked back again； and……carried the tomes from the west end of Euston Road to a street in Islington far beyond the Angel。 I did it in two journeys……this being the only time in my life when I thought of Gibbon in avoirdupois。 Twice……three times； reckoning the walk for the money……did I descend Euston Road and climb Pentonville on that occasion。 Of the season and the weather I have no recollection； my joy in the purchase I had made drove out every other thought。 Except； indeed； of the weight。 I had infinite energy； but not much muscular strength； and the end of the last journey saw me upon a chair； perspiring； flaccid； aching……exultant！
The well…to…do person would hear this story with astonishment。 Why did I not get the bookseller to send me the volumes？ Or； if I could not wait； was there no omnibus along that London highway？ How could I make the well…to…do person understand that I did not feel able to afford； that day； one penny more than I had spent on the book？ No； no； such labour…saving expenditure did not e within my scope； whatever I enjoyed I earned it； literally； by the sweat of my brow。 In those days I hardly knew what it was to travel by omnibus。 I have walked London streets for twelve and fifteen hours together without ever a thought of saving my legs； or my time； by paying for waftage。 Being poor as poor can be； there were certain things I had to renounce； and this was one of them。
Years after； I sold my first edition of Gibbon for even less than it cost me； it went with a great many other fine books in folio and quarto； which I could not drag about with me in my constant removals； the man who bought them spoke of them as 〃tomb…stones。〃 Why has Gibbon no market value？ Often has my heart ached with regret for those quartos。 The joy of reading the Decline and Fall in that fine type！ The page was appropriate to the dignity of the subject； the mere sight of it tuned one's mind。 I suppose I could easily get another copy now； but it would not be to me what that other was； with its memory of dust and toil。
XIII
There must be several men of spirit and experiences akin to mine who remember that little book…shop opposite Portland Road Station。 It had a peculiar character； the books were of a solid kind……chiefly theology and classics……and for the most part those old editions which are called worthless； which have no bibliopolic value； and have been supplanted for practical use by modern issues。 The bookseller was very much a gentleman； and this singular fact； together with the extremely low prices at which his volumes were marked； sometimes inclined me to think that he kept the shop for mere love of letters。 Things in my eyes inestimable I have purchased there for a few pence； and I don't think I ever gave more than a shilling for any volume。 As I once had the opportunity of perceiving； a young man fresh from class…rooms could only look with wondering contempt on the antiquated stuff which it rejoiced me to gather from that kindly stall； or from the richer shelves within。 My Cicero's Letters for instance： podgy volumes in parchment； with all the notes of Graevius； Gronovius； and I know not how many other old scholars。 Pooh！ Hopelessly out of date。 But I could never feel that。 I have a deep affection for Graevius and Gronovius and the rest； and if I knew as much as they did； I should be well satisfied to rest under the young man's disdain。 The zeal of learning is never out of date； the example……were there no more…… burns before one as a sacred fire； for ever unquenchable。 In what modern editor shall I find such love and enthusiasm as glows in the annotations of old scholars？
Even the best editions of our day have so much of the mere schoolbook； you feel so often that the man does not regard his author as literature； but simply as text。 Pedant for pedant； the old is better than the new。
XIV
To…day's newspaper contains a yard or so of reading about a spring horse…race。 The sight of it fills me with loathing。 It brings to my mind that placard I saw at a station in Surrey a year or two ago； advertising certain races in the neighbourhood。 Here is the poster； as I copied it into my note…book：
〃Engaged by the Executive to ensure order and fort to the public attending this meeting：…
14 detectives （racing）； 15 detectives （Scotland Yard）； 7 police inspectors； 9 police sergeants； 76 police； and a supernumerary contingent of specially selected men from the Army Reserve and the Corps of missionaires。
The above force will be employed solely for the purpose of maintaining order and excluding bad characters； etc。 They will have the assistance also of a strong force of the Surrey Constabulary。〃
I remember； once； when I let fall a remark on the subject of horse… racing among friends chatting together； I was voted 〃morose。〃 Is it really morose to object to public gatherings which their own promoters declare to be dangerous for all decent folk？ Every one knows that horse…racing is carried on mainly for the delight and profit of fools； ruffians； and thieves。 That intelligent men allow themselves to take part in the affair； and defend their conduct by declaring that their presence 〃maintains the character of a sport essentially noble；〃 merely shows that intelligence can easily enough divest itself of sense and decency。
XV
Midway in my long walk yesterday； I lunched at a wayside inn。 On the table lay a copy of a popular magazine。 Glan