ted books being "down where you can't see them." Also the cases were open, without glass doors; he hated "having to fiddle to get out a book." He liked them to be just at the right height and

e looks at and can enjoy the face of a friend. I feel towards them when I look at them in the shelves,-well, as if they were feeling towards me just as I am feeling towards them." And he had added this touch, which is perhaps more illuminating. "The other day some one had had out one of my books and

rint. He bought it partly because of what he had heard during his last term at school of Don Juan, partly because he had picked up the idea that it was rather a fine thing to read poetry; and he kept it and read it in great secrecy beca

onwards. "On the Death of a Young Lady" (Admiral Parker's daughter, explained a footnote); "To E--"; "To D--" and so

"Jew it is." He turned on and numbered the cantos,-sixteen; and then the number of verses in each canto and the total,-two thousand one hundred and eighty.... Who-o-o!... It was as endless as the seven hundred and eight pages had appeared when he had staggered as far

happened upon two lines that struck into him-it was l

Greece, the i

g Sappho lov

white and green and in a sea of terrific blue.... And music, the thin note of distant trumpets.... Amazing! He read on. "Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! Eternal Summer gilds t

ins look o

on looks o

ly thin, tiny, gone! And high above the mou

'm dashed!" and p