第17部分(第3/7 頁)

e　about　us；　and　bids　us　cherish　hope　for　a　world　〃which　has　such　people　in't。〃

These　volumes　I　had　at　hand；　I　could　reach　them　down　from　my　shelves　at　the　moment　when　I　hungered　for　them。　But　it　often　happens　that　the　book　which　es　into　my　mind　could　only　be　procured　with　trouble　and　delay；　I　breathe　regretfully　and　put　aside　the　thought。　Ah！　the　books　that　one　will　never　read　again。　They　gave　delight；　perchance　something　more；　they　left　a　perfume　in　the　memory；　but　life　has　passed　them　by　for　ever。　I　have　but　to　muse；　and　one　after　another　they　rise　before　me。　Books　gentle　and　quieting；　books　noble　and　inspiring；　books　that　well　merit　to　be　pored　over；　not　once　but　many　a　time。　Yet　never　again　shall　I　hold　them　in　my　hand；　the　years　fly　too　quickly；　and　are　too　few。　Perhaps　when　I　lie　waiting　for　the　end；　some　of　those　lost　books　will　e　into　my　wandering　thoughts；　and　I　shall　remember　them　as　friends　to　whom　I　owed　a　kindness……friends　passed　upon　the　way。　What　regret　in　that　last　farewell！

III

Every　one；　I　suppose；　is　subject　to　a　trick　of　mind　which　often　puzzles　me。　I　am　reading　or　thinking；　and　at　a　moment；　without　any　association　or　suggestion　that　I　can　discover；　there　rises　before　me　the　vision　of　a　place　I　know。　Impossible　to　explain　why　that　particular　spot　should　show　itself　to　my　mind's　eye；　the　cerebral　impulse　is　so　subtle　that　no　search　may　trace　its　origin。　If　I　am　reading；　doubtless　a　thought；　a　phrase；　possibly　a　mere　word；　on　the　page　before　me　serves　to　awaken　memory。　If　I　am　otherwise　occupied；　it　must　be　an　object　seen；　an　odour；　a　touch；　perhaps　even　a　posture　of　the　body　suffices　to　recall　something　in　the　past。　Sometimes　the　vision　passes；　and　there　an　end；　sometimes；　however；　it　has　successors；　the　memory　working　quite　indep