tness. One would take it as a joke; only that, perchance, to the
author of _Quiet Days in Spain_ all days may seem quiet, because, a
courageous convert, he is now at peace with himself.

How better can we take leave of this interesting Vagabond than with the
road salutation of passing wayfarers: "And on you be peace! . . . You
have chosen your ideal, and it is a good choice. There's nothing like
giving up one's life to an unselfish passion. Let the rich and the
powerful of this globe preach their sound gospel of palpable progress.
The part of the ideal you embrace is the better one, if only in its
illusions. No great passion can be barren. May a world of gracious and
poignant images attend the lofty solitude of your renunciation!"

THE LIFE BEYOND--1910

You have no doubt noticed that certain books produce a sort of physical
effect on one--mostly an audible effect. I am not alluding here to Blue
books or to books of statistics. The effect of these is simply
exasperating and no more. No! the books I have in mind are just the
common books of commerce you and I read when we have five minutes to
spare, the usual hired books published by ordinary publishers, printed by
ordinary printers, and censored (when they happen to be novels) by the
usual circulating libraries, the guardians of our firesides, whose names
are household words within the four seas.

To see the fair and the brave of this free country surrendering
themselves with unbounded trust to the direction of the circulating
libraries is very touching. It is even, in a sense, a beautiful
spectacle, because, as you know, humility is a rare and fragrant virtue;
and what can be more humble than to surrender your morals and your
intellect to the judgment of one of your tradesmen? I suppose that there
are some very perfect people who allow the Army and Navy Stores to censor
their diet. So much merit, however, I imagine, is not frequently met
with here below. The flesh, alas! is weak, and--from a certain point of
view--so important!

A superficial person might be rendered miserable by the simple question:
What would become of us if the circulating libraries ceased to exist? It
is a horrid and almost indelicate supposition, but let us be brave and
face the truth. On this earth of ours nothing lasts. _Tout passe, tout
casse, tout lasse_. Imagine the utter wreck overtaking the morals of our
beautiful country-houses should the circulating libraries sud