out of date. But I could never feel that. I have a deep
affection for Graevius and Gronovius and the rest, and if I knew as much
as they did, I should be well satisfied to rest under the young man's
disdain. The zeal of learning is never out of date; the example--were
there no more--burns before one as a sacred fire, for ever unquenchable.
In what modern editor shall I find such love and enthusiasm as glows in
the annotations of old scholars?

Even the best editions of our day have so much of the mere school-book;
you feel so often that the man does not regard his author as literature,
but simply as text. Pedant for pedant, the old is better than the new.

XIV.

To-day's newspaper contains a yard or so of reading about a spring horse-
race. The sight of it fills me with loathing. It brings to my mind that
placard I saw at a station in Surrey a year or two ago, advertising
certain races in the neighbourhood. Here is the poster, as I copied it
into my note-book:

"Engaged by the Executive to ensure order and comfort to the public
attending this meeting:--

14 detectives (racing),
15 detectives (Scotland Yard),
7 police inspectors,
9 police sergeants,
76 police, and a supernumerary contingent of specially selected men
from the Army Reserve and the Corps of Commissionaires.

The above force will be employed solely for the purpose of maintaining
order and excluding bad characters, etc. They will have the
assistance also of a strong force of the Surrey Constabulary."

I remember, once, when I let fall a remark on the subject of horse-racing
among friends chatting together, I was voted "morose." Is it really
morose to object to public gatherings which their own promoters declare
to be dangerous for all decent folk? Every one knows that horse-racing
is carried on mainly for the delight and profit of fools, ruffians, and
thieves. That intelligent men allow themselves to take part in the
affair, and defend their conduct by declaring that their presence
"maintains the character of a sport essentially noble," merely shows that
intelligence can easily enough divest itself of sense and decency.

XV.

Midway in my long walk yesterday, I lunched at a wayside inn. On the
table lay a copy of a popular magazine. Glancing over this miscellany, I
found an article, by a woman, on "Lion Hunting," and in this article I
came upon a passage which seemed worth copying.

"As