ing.

Like Mr. Forbes, I enjoy a ramble among these old shops, and can say, as
he said to me at parting:--

"I love the trundling stall
Where ragged authors wait the buyer's call,
Where, for the tariff of a modest supper,
You'll buy a twelvemonth's moral feast in Tupper;
Where Virgil's tome is labelled at a groat,
And twopence buys what tittering Flaccus wrote;
Where lie the quips of Addison and Steele,
And the thrice-blessed songs of Rob Mossgiel;
And some that resurrection seek in vain
From the swart dust that chokes the lumbering wain."

FAVOURITES.

I have often been asked: "You who are so much on the move, who have had
so much train-travelling to do, what books would you recommend for a
long railway journey?" I do not know that one man's likes and dislikes
in reading are of value save as showing his own limitations, yet there
are certain books of which I never tire. I never leave home without the
following books handy for perusal: (i.) The _Odes of Horace_, (ii.) The
_Sonnets of Shakespeare_, (iii.) A French novel and a few copies of the
Paris _Matin_, (iv.) A Greek book of some kind, (v.) Pope or Addison,
(vi.) Some Victorian classic. The list is varied enough, and has
furnished me with much of the material for my speaking.

HORACE.

The pleasant thing about Horace is that his odes are so short: you can
read one in a few minutes--shut your eyes and enjoy the mental taste of
it--try to repeat it, and, if you fail, consult the original--then,
finally (as Pope and many others have done), endeavour to find modern
parallels. Suppose, _e.g._, you are reading, as is likely, the first Ode
of the first Book, you might find present-day resemblances like the
following:--

_Curriculo pulverem._

What mad attractions sway the world!
Some are unhappy save when whirled
In motor cars that madly race,
To leave a stench in every place,
And maim those foolish folk that stray
Abroad upon the king's highway.

_Tergeminis honoribus._

Yon babbling wight, of sense forlorn,
Who thinks himself a Gladstone born,
Although a bailie, still must strain
To gain himself a Provost's chain.
And, after that, the worthy prater
Aspires to be a legislator;
Dreams of St. Stephen's, where he sees
Himself hobnobbing with M.P.'s.

_Patrios agros._

But Farmer Bob is somewhat saner--
He minds his stock and is