e of mon sense can one feel surprise that war is ceaselessly talked of； often enough declared。 In days gone by； distance and rarity of munication assured peace between many realms。 Now that every country is in proximity to every other； what need is there to elaborate explanations of the distrust； the fear； the hatred； which are a perpetual theme of journalists and statesmen？ By approximation； all countries have entered the sphere of natural quarrel。 That they find plenty of things to quarrel about is no cause for astonishment。 A hundred years hence there will be some possibility of perceiving whether international relations are likely to obey the law which has acted with such beneficence in the life of each civilized people； whether this country and that will be content to ease their tempers with bloodless squabbling； subduing the more violent promptings for the mon good。 Yet I suspect that a century is a very short time to allow for even justifiable surmise of such an oute。 If by any chance newspapers ceased to exist 。 。 。
Talk of war； and one gets involved in such utopian musings！
VII
I have been reading one of those prognostic articles on international politics which every now and then appear in the reviews。 Why I should so waste my time it would be hard to say； I suppose the fascination of disgust and fear gets the better of me in a moment's idleness。 This writer； who is horribly perspicacious and vigorous； demonstrates the certainty of a great European war； and regards it with the peculiar satisfaction excited by such things in a certain order of mind。 His phrases about 〃dire calamity〃 and so on mean nothing； the whole tenor of his writing proves that he represents； and consciously； one of the forces which go to bring war about； his part in the business is a fluent irresponsibility； which casts scorn on all who reluct at the 〃inevitable。〃 Persistent prophecy is a familiar way of assuring the event。
But I will read no more such writing。 This resolution I make and will keep。 Why set my nerves quivering with rage； and spoil the calm of a whole day； when no good of any sort can e of it？ What is it to me if nations fall a…slaughtering each other？ Let the fools go to it！ Why should they not please themselves？ Peace； after all； is the aspiration of the few； so it always； was； and ever will be。 But have done with the nauseous cant about 〃dire calamity。〃 The leaders and the multitude hold no such view； either they see in war a direct and tangible profit； or they are driven to it； with heads down； by the brute that is in them。 Let them rend and be rent； let them paddle in blood and viscera till……if that would ever happen……their stomachs turn。 Let them blast the cornfield and the orchard； fire the home。 For all that； there will yet be found some silent few； who go their way amid the still meadows； who bend to the flower and watch the sunset； and these alone are worth a thought。
VIII
In this hot weather I like to walk at times amid the full glow of the sun。 Our island sun is never hot beyond endurance； and there is a magnificence in the triumph of high summer which exalts one's mind。 Among streets it is hard to bear； yet even there； for those who have eyes to see it； the splendour of the sky lends beauty to things in themselves mean or hideous。 I remember an August bank… holiday； when； having for some reason to walk all across London； I unexpectedly found myself enjoying the strange desertion of great streets； and from that passed to surprise in the sense of something beautiful； a charm in the vulgar vista； in the dull architecture； which I had never known。 Deep and clear…marked shadows； such as one only sees on a few days of summer； are in themselves very impressive； and bee more so when they fall upon highways devoid of folk。 I remember observing； as something new； the shape of familiar edifices； of spires； monuments。 And when at length I sat down； somewhere on the Embankment； it was rather to gaze at leisure than to rest； for I felt no weariness； and the sun； still pouring upon me its noontide radiance； seemed to fill my veins with life。
That sense I shall never know again。 For me Nature has forts； raptures； but no more invigoration。 The sun keeps me alive； but cannot； as in the old days； renew my being。 I would fain learn to enjoy without reflecting。
My walk in the golden hours leads me to a great horse…chestnut； whose root offers a convenient seat in the shadow of its foliage。 At that resting…place I have no wide view before me； but what I see is enough……a corner of waste land； over…flowered with poppies and charlock； on the edge of a field of corn。 The brilliant red and yellow harmonize with the glory of the day。 Near by； too； is a hedge covered with great white blooms of the bindweed。 My eyes do not soon grow weary。
A little plant of which I am very fond is the rest…harrow。 When the sun is hot upon it； the flower gives forth a strangely aromatic scent； very delightful to me。 I know the cause of this peculiar pleasure。 The rest…harrow sometimes grows in sandy ground above the seashore。 In my childhood I have many a time lain in such a spot under the glowing sky； and； though I scarce thought of it； perceived the odour of the little rose…pink flower when it touched my face。 Now I have but to smell it； and those hours e back again。 I see the shore of Cumberland； running north to St。 Bee's Head； on the sea horizon a faint shape which is the Isle of Man； inland； the mountains； which for me at that time guarded a region of unknown wonder。 Ah； how long ago！
IX
I read much less than I used to do； I think much more。 Yet what is the use of thought which can no longer serve to direct life？ Better； perhaps； to read and read incessantly； losing one's futile self in the activity of other minds。
This summer I have taken up no new book； but have renewed my acquaintance with several old ones which I had not opened for many a year。 One or two have been books such as mature men rarely read at all……books which it is one's habit to 〃take as read〃； to presume sufficiently known to speak of； but never to open。 Thus； one day my hand fell upon the Anabasis； the little Oxford edition which I used at school； with its boyish sign…manual on the fly…leaf； its blots and underlinings and marginal scrawls。 To my shame I possess no other edition； yet this is a book one would like to have in beautiful form。 I opened it； I began to read……a ghost of boyhood stirring in my heart……and from chapter to chapter was led on； until after a few days I had read the whole。
I am glad this happened in the summer…time； I like to link childhood with these latter days； and no better way could I have found than this return to a school…book； which； even as a school…book； was my great delight。
By some trick of memory I always associate school…boy work on the classics with a sense of warm and sunny days； rain and gloom and a chilly atmosphere must have been far the more frequent conditions； but these things are forgotten。 My old Liddell and Scott still serves me； and if； in opening it； I bend close enough to catch the SCENT of the leaves； I am back again at that day of boyhood （noted on the fly…leaf by the hand of one long dead） when the book was new and I used it for the first time。 It was a day of summer； and perhaps there fell upon the unfamiliar page； viewed with childish tremor； half apprehension and half delight； a mellow sunshine； which was to linger for ever in my mind。
But I am thinking of the Anabasis。 Were this the sole book existing in Greek； it would be abundantly worth while to learn the language in order to read it。 The Anabasis is an admirable bination of concise and rapid narrative with colour and picturesqueness。 Herodotus wrote a prose epic； in which the author's personality is ever before us。 Xenophon； with curiosity and love of adventure which mark him of the same race； but self… forgetful in the pursuit of a new artistic virtue； created the historical romance。 What a world of wonders in this little book； all aglow with ambitions and conflicts； with marvels of strange lands； full of perils and rescues； fresh with the air of mountain and of sea！ Think of it for a moment by the side of Caesar's mentaries； not to pare things inparable； but in order to appreciate the perfect art which shines through Xenophon's mastery of language； his brevity achieving a result so different from that of the like characteristic in the Roman writer。 Caesar's conciseness es of strength and pride； Xenophon's； of a vivid imagination。 Many a single line of the Anabasis presents a picture which deeply stirs the emotions。 A good instance occurs in the fourth book； where a delightful passage of unsurpassable narrative tells how the Greeks rewarded and dismissed a guide who had led them through dangerous country。 The man himself was in peril of his life； laden with valuable things which the soldiers had given him in their gratitude； he turned to make his way through the hostile region。 ＇Greek text which cannot be reproduced＇。 〃When evening came he took leave of us； and went his way by night。〃 To my mind； words of wonderful suggestiveness。 You see the wild； eastern landscape； upon which the sun has set。 There are the Hellenes； safe for the moment on their long march； and there the mountain tribesman； the serviceable barbarian； going away； alone； with his tempting guerdon； into the hazards of the darkness。
Also in the fourth book； another picture moves one in another way。 Among the Carduchian Hills two men were seized； and information was sought from them about the track to be followed。 〃One of them would say nothing； and kept silence in spite of every threat； so； in the presence of his panion； he was slain。 Thereupon that other made known the man's reason for refusing to point out the way； in the direction the Greeks must take there dwelt a daughter of his； who was married。〃
It would not be easy to express more pathos than is conveyed in these few words。 Xenophon himself； one may be sure； did not feel it quite as we do； but he preserved the incident for its own sake； and there； in a line or two； shines something of human love and sacrifice； significant for all time。
X
I sometimes think I will go and spend the sunny half of a twelvemonth in wandering about the British Isles。 There is so much of beauty and interest that I have not seen； and I grudge to close my eyes on this beloved home of ours； leaving any corner of it unvisited。 Often I wander in fancy over all the parts I know； and grow restless with desire at familiar names which bring no picture to memory。 My array of county guide…books （they have always been irresistible to me on the stalls） sets me roaming； the only dull pages in them are those that treat of manufacturing towns。 Yet I shall never start on that pilgrimage。 I am too old； too fixed in habits。 I dislike the railway； I dislike hotels。 I should grow homesick for my library； my garden； the view from my windows。 And then……I have such a fear of dying anywhere but under my own roof。
As a rule； it is better to re…visit only in imagination the places which have greatly charmed us； or which； in the retrospect； seem to have done so。 Seem to have charmed us； I say； for the memory we form； after a certain lapse of time； of places where we lingered； often bears but a faint resemblance to t