ried about on a
barrow, extended upon a pitiful mattress in a poor robe of gray cloth,
and a cap of the same, but attended withal by a royal train of
litters, led horses of all sorts, gentlemen and officers, did yet
herein represent a tender and unsteady authority: "The sick man is not
to be pitied, who has his cure in his sleeve." In the experience and
practise of this maxim, which is a very true one, consists all the
benefit I reap from books; and yet I make as little use of them,
almost, as those who know them not: I enjoy them as a miser does his
money, in knowing that I may enjoy them when I please: my mind is
satisfied with this right of possession. I never travel without books,
either in peace or war; and yet sometimes I pass over several days,
and sometimes months, without looking on them: I will read by and by,
say I to myself, or to-morrow, or when I please; and in the interim,
time steals away without any inconvenience. For it is not to be
imagined to what degree I please myself and rest content in this
consideration, that I have them by me to divert myself with them when
I am disposed, and to call to mind what a refreshment they are to my
life. 'Tis the best viaticum I have yet found out for this human
journey, and I very much pity those men of understanding who are
unprovided of it. I the rather accept of any other sort of diversion,
how light soever, because this can never fail me.

[Footnote 21: From the essay entitled "Of Three Commerces," Book III,
Chapter III. The translation of Charles Cotton, as revised by William
Carew Hazlitt.]

When at home, I a little more frequent my library, whence I overlook
at once all the concerns of my family. 'Tis situated at the entrance
into my house, and I thence see under me my garden, court, and
base-court, and almost all parts of the building. There I turn over
now one book, and then another, on various subjects without method or
design. One while I meditate, another I record and dictate, as I walk
to and fro, such whimsies as these I present to you here. 'Tis in the
third story of a tower, of which the ground room is my chapel, the
second story a chamber with a withdrawing-room and closet, where I
often lie, to be more retired; and above is a great wardrobe. This
formerly was the most useless part of the house. I there pass away
both most of the days of my life and most of the hours of those days.
In the night I am never there. There is by the side of it a cabinet