lves the
intellectual pabulum for which your soul is starving. And all with a
view to getting you at last into his wretched little dungeon. See how
he goes about it. A friend of yours goes to the West Indies. You
suddenly wake up to the fact that you know very little about that
wonderful region. You go to your bookseller and ask for the latest
reliable work on the West Indies. You buy it, and he, the rascal,
takes a mental note of the fact. Next time you walk into the shop he
is at you like a flash.

'Good afternoon, sir. You are specially interested, I know, in the
West Indies. We have a very fine thing coming out now in monthly parts
. . .'

And so on. His attribution to you of special interest in the West
Indies is no empty flattery. The book you bought on your first visit
has charmed you, and you are most deeply and sincerely interested in
those fascinating islands. You order the monthly parts and the
interest deepens. The bookseller does the thing so slyly that you do
not notice that he is boxing you up in the West Indies. He is doing in
sober fact what the policeman did in childish imagination. He is
driving us into a blind alley, and, unless we are very careful, he will
have us cribb'd, cabin'd, and confined before we know where we are.

V

It was my experience in the auction-room that saved me. When I had
read all these books which I should never have bought if I could have
helped it, I discovered the folly of buying books that interest you.
If a book appeals to me at first sight it is probably because I know a
good deal about the subject with which it deals. But, as against that,
see how many subjects there are of which I know nothing at all! And
just look at all these books that have no attraction for me! And tell
me this: Why do they not appeal to me? Only one answer is possible.
They do not appeal to me because I am so grossly, wofully, culpably
ignorant of the subjects whereof they treat. If, therefore, my
bookseller approaches me, with a nice new book under his arm, and
observes coaxingly that he knows I am interested in history, I always
ask him to be good enough to show me the latest work on psychology. If
he reminds me of my fondness for astronomy, I ask him for a handbook of
botany. If he refers to my predilection for agriculture, I inquire if
there is anything new in the way of poetry; and if he politely refers
to my weakness for the West Indies, I ask him to bring me som