he has fallen under the harshest lordship the modern world has known……that of scientific industrialism； and all his vigorous qualities are subdued to a scheme of life based upon the harsh； the ugly； the sordid。 His racial heritage； of course； marks him to the eye； even as ploughman or shepherd； he differs notably from him of the same calling in the weald or on the downs。 But the frank brutality of the man in all externals has been encouraged； rather than mitigated； by the course his civilization has taken； and hence it is that； unless one knows him well enough to respect him； he seems even yet stamped with the half…savagery of his folk as they were a century and a half ago。 His fierce shyness； his arrogant self…regard； are notes of a primitive state。 Naturally； he never learnt to house himself as did the Southerner； for climate； as well as social circumstance； was unfavourable to all the graces of life。 And now one can only watch the encroachment of his rule upon that old； that true England whose strength and virtue were so differently manifested。 This fair broad land of the lovely villages signifies little save to the antiquary； the poet； the painter。 Vainly； indeed； should I show its beauty and its peace to the observant foreigner； he would but smile； and； with a glance at the traction… engine just ing along the road； indicate the direction of his thoughts。
XV
Nothing in all Homer pleases me more than the bedstead of Odysseus。 I have tried to turn the passage describing it into English verse； thus：…
Here in my garth a goodly olive grew； Thick was the noble leafage of its prime； And like a carven column rose the trunk。 This tree about I built my chamber walls； Laying great stone on stone； and roofed them well； And in the portal set a ely door； Stout…hinged and tightly closing。 Then with axe I lopped the leafy olive's branching head； And hewed the bole to four…square shapeliness； And smoothed it； craftsmanlike； and grooved and pierced； Making the rooted timber； where it grew； A corner of my couch。 Labouring on； I fashioned all the bed…frame； which plete； The wood I overlaid with shining gear Of gold； of silver； and of ivory。 And last； between the endlong beams I stretched Stout thongs of ox…hide； dipped in purple dye。
Odyssey； xxiii。 190…201。
Did anyone ever imitate the admirable precedent？ Were I a young man； and an owner of land； assuredly I would do so。 Choose some goodly tree； straight…soaring； cut away head and branches； leave just the clean trunk and build your house about it in such manner that the top of the rooted timber rises a couple of feet above your bedroom floor。 The trunk need not be manifest in the lower part of the house； but I should prefer to have it so； I am a tree… worshipper； it should be as the visible presence of a household god。 And how could one more nobly symbolize the sacredness of Home？ There can be no home without the sense of permanence； and without home there is no civilization……as England will discover when the greater part of her population have bee flat…inhabiting nomads。 In some ideal monwealth； one can imagine the Odyssean bed a normal institution； every head of a household； cottager or lord （for the monwealth must have its lords； go to！）； lying down to rest； as did his fathers； in the Chamber of the Tree。 This； one fancies； were a somewhat more fitting nuptial chamber than the chance bedroom of a hotel。 Odysseus building his home is man performing a supreme act of piety； through all the ages that picture must retain its profound significance。 Note the tree he chose； the olive； sacred to Athena； emblem of peace。 When he and the wise goddess meet together to scheme destruction of the princes； they sit ＇Greek text＇。 Their talk is of bloodshed； true； but in punishment of those who have outraged the sanctity of the hearth； and to re…establish； after purification； domestic calm and security。 It is one of the dreary aspects of modern life that natural symbolism has all but perished。 We have no consecrated tree。 The oak once held a place in English hearts； but who now reveres it？……our trust is in gods of iron。 Money is made at Christmas out of holly and mistletoe； but who save the vendors would greatly care if no green branch were procurable？ One symbol； indeed； has obscured all others……the minted round of metal。 And one may safely say that； of all the ages since a coin first became the symbol of power； ours is that in which it yields to the majority of its possessors the poorest return in heart's contentment。
XVI
I have been dull to…day； haunted by the thought of how much there is that I would fain know； and how little I can hope to learn。 The scope of knowledge has bee so vast。 I put aside nearly all physical investigation； to me it is naught； or only； at moments； a matter of idle curiosity。 This would seem to be a considerable clearing of the field； but it leaves what is practically the infinite。 To run over a list of only my favourite subjects； those to which； all my life long； I have more or less applied myself； studies which hold in my mind the place of hobbies； is to open vistas of intellectual despair。 In an old note…book I jotted down such a list……〃things I hope to know； and to know well。〃 I was then four and twenty。 Reading it with the eyes of fifty…four； I must needs laugh。 There appear such modest items as 〃The history of the Christian Church up to the Reformation〃……〃all Greek poetry〃……〃The field of Mediaeval Romance〃……〃German literature from Lessing to Heine〃……〃Dante！〃 Not one of these shall I ever 〃know； and know well〃； not any one of them。 Yet here I am buying books which lead me into endless paths of new temptation。 What have I to do with Egypt？ Yet I have been beguiled by Flinders Petrie and by Maspero。 How can I pretend to meddle with the ancient geography of Asia Minor？ Yet here have I bought Prof。 Ramsay's astonishing book； and have even read with a sort of troubled enjoyment a good many pages of it； troubled； because I have but to reflect a moment； and I see that all this kind of thing is mere futile effort of the intellect when the time for serious intellectual effort is over。
It all means； of course； that； owing to defective opportunity； owing； still more perhaps； to lack of method and persistence； a possibility that was in me has been wasted； lost。 My life has been merely tentative； a broken series of false starts and hopeless new beginnings。 If I allowed myself to indulge that mood； I could revolt against the ordinance which allows me no second chance。 O mihi praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos！ If I could but start again； with only the experience there gained！ I mean； make a new beginning of my intellectual life； nothing else； O heaven！ nothing else。 Even amid poverty； I could do so much better； keeping before my eyes some definite； some not unattainable； good； sternly dismissing the impracticable； the wasteful。
And； in doing so； bee perhaps an owl…eyed pedant； to whom would be for ever dead the possibility of such enjoyment as I know in these final years。 Who can say？ Perhaps the sole condition of my progress to this state of mind and heart which make my happiness was that very stumbling and erring which I so regret。
XVII
Why do I give so much of my time to the reading of history？ Is it in any sense profitable to me？ What new light can I hope for on the nature of man？ What new guidance for the direction of my own life through the few years that may remain to me？ But it is with no such purpose that I read these voluminous books； they gratify……or seem to gratify……a mere curiosity； and scarcely have I closed a volume； when the greater part of what I have read in it is forgotten。
Heaven forbid that I should remember all！ Many a time I have said to myself that I would close the dreadful record of human life； lay it for ever aside； and try to forget it。 Somebody declares that history is a manifestation of the triumph of good over evil。 The good prevails now and then； no doubt； but how local and transitory is such triumph。 If historic tomes had a voice； it would sound as one long moan of anguish。 Think steadfastly of the past； and one sees that only by defect of imaginative power can any man endure to dwell with it。 History is a nightmare of horrors； we relish it； because we love pictures； and because all that man has suffered is to man rich in interest。 But make real to yourself the vision of every blood…stained page……stand in the presence of the ravening conqueror； the savage tyrant……tread the stones of the dungeon and of the torture…room……feel the fire of the stake……hear the cries of that multitude which no man can number； the victims of calamity； of oppression； of fierce injustice in its myriad forms； in every land； in every age……and what joy have you of your historic reading？ One would need to be a devil to understand it thus； and yet to delight in it。
Injustice……there is the loathed crime which curses the memory of the world。 The slave doomed by his lord's caprice to perish under tortures……one feels it a dreadful and intolerable thing； but it is merely the crude presentment of what has been done and endured a million times in every stage of civilization。 Oh； the last thoughts of those who have agonized unto death amid wrongs to which no man would give ear！ That appeal of innocence in anguish to the hard； mute heavens！ Were there only one such instance in all the chronicles of time； it should doom the past to abhorred oblivion。 Yet injustice； the basest； the most ferocious； is inextricable from warp and woof in the tissue of things gone by。 And if anyone soothes himself with the reflection that such outrages can happen no more； that mankind has passed beyond such hideous possibility； he is better acquainted with books than with human nature。
It were wiser to spend my hours with the books which bring no aftertaste of bitterness……with the great poets whom I love； with the thinkers； with the gentle writers of pages that soothe and tranquillize。 Many a volume regards me from the shelf as though reproachfully； shall I never again take it in my hands？ Yet the words are golden； and I would fain treasure them all in my heart's memory。 Perhaps the last fault of which I shall cure myself is that habit of mind which urges me to seek knowledge。 Was I not yesterday on the point of ord