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ing； this author； investigator； lecturer； or studious gentleman； to whose coat…tails I cling； does he always represent justice and peace； sweetness of manners； purity of life……all the things which makes for true civilization？ Here is a fallacy of bookish thought。 Experience offers proof on every hand that vigorous mental life may be but one side of a personality； of which the other is moral barbarism。 A man may be a fine archaeologist； and yet have no sympathy with human ideals。 The historian； the biographer； even the poet； may be a money…market gambler； a social toady； a clamorous Chauvinist； or an unscrupulous wire…puller。 As for 〃leaders of science；〃 what optimist will dare to proclaim them on the side of the gentle virtues？ And if 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 prehension 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 e？
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 bees 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 life about me。 Noises of wood and metal； clattering of wheels； banging of implements； jangling of bells……all such things are bad enough； but worse still is the clamorous human voice。 Nothing on earth is more irritating to me than a bellow or scream of idiot mirth； nothing more hateful than a shout or yell of brutal anger。 Were it possible； I would never again hear the utterance of a human tongue； save from those few who are dear to me。
Here； wake at what hour I may； early or late； I lie amid gracious stillness。 Perchance a horse's hoof rings rhythmically upon the road； perhaps a dog barks from a neighbour farm； it may be that there es the far； soft murmur of a train from the other side of Exe； but these are almost the only sounds that could force themselves upon my ear。 A voice； at any time of the day； is the rarest thing。
But there is the rustle of branches in the morning breeze； there is the music of a sunny shower against the window； there is the matin song of birds。 Several times lately I have lain wakeful when there sounded the first note of the earliest lark； it makes me almost glad of my restless nights。 The only trouble that touches me in these moments is the thought of my long life wasted amid the senseless noises of man's world。 Year after year this spot has known the same tranquillity； with ever so little of good fortune； with ever so little wisdom； beyond what was granted me； I might have blessed my manhood with calm； might have made for myself in later life a long retrospect of bowered peace。 As it is； I enjoy with something of sadness； remembering that this melodious silence is but the prelude of that deeper stillness which waits to enfold us all。
XXIV
Morning after morning； of late； I have taken my walk in the same direction； my purpose being to look at a plantation of young larches。 There is no lovelier colour on earth than that in which they are now clad； it seems to refresh as well as gladden my eyes； and its influence sinks deep into my heart。 Too soon it will change； already I think the first radiant verdure has begun to pass into summer's soberness。 The larch has its moment of unmatched beauty……and well for him whose chance permits him to enjoy it； spring after spring。
Could anything be more wonderful than the fact that here am I； day by day； not only at leisure to walk forth and gaze at the larches； but blessed ind needful for such enjoyment？ On any morning of spring sunshine； how many mortals find themselves so much at peace that they are able to give themselves wholly to delight in the glory of heaven and of earth？ Is it the case with one man in every fifty thousand？ Consider what extraordinary kindness of fate must tend upon one； that not a care； not a preoccupation； should interfere with his contemplative thought for five or six days successively！ So rooted in the human mind （and so reasonably rooted） is the belief in an Envious Power； that I ask myself whether I shall not have to pay； by some disaster； for this period of sacred calm。 For a week or so I have been one of a small number；