one must needs think in this way of those who stand
forth, professed instructors and inspirers, what of those who merely
listen? The reading-public--oh, the reading-public! Hardly will a
prudent statistician venture to declare that one in every score of those
who actually read sterling books do so with comprehension of their
author. These dainty series of noble and delightful works, which have so
seemingly wide an acceptance, think you they vouch for true appreciation
in all who buy them? Remember those who purchase to follow the fashion,
to impose upon their neighbour, or even to flatter themselves; think of
those who wish to make cheap presents, and those who are merely pleased
by the outer aspect of the volume. Above all, bear in mind that busy
throng whose zeal is according neither to knowledge nor to conviction,
the host of the half-educated, characteristic and peril of our time.
They, indeed, purchase and purchase largely. Heaven forbid that I should
not recognize the few among them whose bent of brain and of conscience
justifies their fervour; to such--the ten in ten thousand--be all aid and
brotherly solace! But the glib many, the perky mispronouncers of titles
and of authors' names, the twanging murderers of rhythm, the maulers of
the uncut edge at sixpence extra, the ready-reckoners of bibliopolic
discount--am I to see in these a witness of my hope for the century to
come?

I am told that their semi-education will be integrated. We are in a
transition stage, between the bad old time when only a few had academic
privileges, and that happy future which will see all men liberally
instructed. Unfortunately for this argument, education is a thing of
which only the few are capable; teach as you will, only a small
percentage will profit by your most zealous energy. On an ungenerous
soil it is vain to look for rich crops. Your average mortal will be your
average mortal still: and if he grow conscious of power, if he becomes
vocal and self-assertive, if he get into his hands all the material
resources of the country, why, you have a state of things such as at
present looms menacingly before every Englishman blessed--or cursed--with
an unpopular spirit.

XXIII.

Every morning when I awake, I thank heaven for silence. This is my
orison. I remember the London days when sleep was broken by clash and
clang, by roar and shriek, and when my first sense on returning to
consciousness was hatred of the lif