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。 Glancing over this miscellany； I found an article； by a woman； on 〃Lion Hunting；〃 and in this article I came upon a passage which seemed worth copying。
〃As I woke my husband； the lion……which was then about forty yards off……charged straight towards us； and with my 。303 I hit him full in the chest； as we afterwards discovered； tearing his windpipe to pieces and breaking his spine。 He charged a second time； and the next shot hit him through the shoulder； tearing his heart to ribbons。〃
It would interest me to look upon this heroine of gun and pen。 She is presumably quite a young woman； probably； when at home； a graceful figure in drawing…rooms。 I should like to hear her talk； to exchange thoughts with her。 She would give one a very good idea of the matron of old Rome who had her seat in the amphitheatre。 Many of those ladies； in private life； must have been bright and gracious； high…bred and full of agreeable sentiment； they talked of art and of letters； they could drop a tear over Lesbia's sparrow； at the same time； they were connoisseurs in torn windpipes； shattered spines and viscera rent open。 It is not likely that many of them would have cared to turn their own hands to butchery； and； for the matter of that； I must suppose that our Lion Huntress of the popular magazine is rather an exceptional dame； but no doubt she and the Roman ladies would get on very well together； finding only a few superficial differences。 The fact that her gory reminiscences are weled by an editor with the popular taste in view is perhaps more significant than appears either to editor or public。 Were this lady to write a novel （the chances are she will） it would have the true note of modern vigour。 Of course her style has been formed by her favourite reading； more than probably； her ways of thinking and feeling owe much to the same source。 If not so already； this will soon； I daresay； be the typical Englishwoman。 Certainly； there is 〃no nonsense about her。〃 Such women should breed a remarkable race。
I left the inn in rather a turbid humour。 Moving homeward by a new way； I presently found myself on the side of a little valley； in which lay a farm and an orchard。 The apple trees were in full bloom； and； as I stood gazing； the sun； which had all that day been niggard of its beams； burst forth gloriously。 For what I then saw； I have no words； I can but dream of the still loveliness of that blossomed valley。 Near me； a bee was humming； not far away； a cuckoo called； from the pasture of the farm below came a bleating of lambs。
XVI
I am no friend of the people。 As a force； by which the tenor of the time is conditioned； they inspire me with distrust； with fear； as a visible multitude； they make me shrink aloof； and often move me to abhorrence。 For the greater part of my life； the people signified to me the London crowd； and no phrase of temperate meaning would utter my thoughts of them under that aspect。 The people as country… folk are little known to me； such glimpses as I have had of them do not invite to nearer acquaintance。 Every instinct of my being is anti…democratic； and I dread to think of what our England may bee when Demos rules irresistibly。
Right or wrong； this is my temper。 But he who should argue from it that I am intolerant of all persons belonging to a lower social rank than my own would go far astray。 Nothing is more rooted in my mind than the vast distinction between the individual and the class。 Take a man by himself； and there is generally some reason to be found in him； some disposition for good； mass him with his fellows in the social organism； and ten to one he bees a blatant creature； without a thought of his own； ready for any evil to which contagion prompts him。 It is because nations tend to stupidity and baseness that mankind moves so slowly； it is because individuals have a capacity for better things that it moves at all。
In my youth； looking at this man and that； I marvelled that humanity had made so little progress。 Now； looking at men in the multitude； I marvel that they have advanced so far。
Foolishly arrogant as I was