ple； my well…bound eight…volume Milman edition； which I have read and read and read again for more than thirty years……never do I open it but the scent of the noble page restores to me all the exultant happiness of that moment when I received it as a prize。 Or my Shakespeare； the great Cambridge Shakespeare……it has an odour which carries me yet further back in life； for these volumes belonged to my father； and before I was old enough to read them with understanding； it was often permitted me； as a treat； to take down one of them from the bookcase； and reverently to turn the leaves。 The volumes smell exactly as they did in that old time； and what a strange tenderness es upon me when I hold one of them in hand。 For that reason I do not often read Shakespeare in this edition。 My eyes being good as ever； I take the Globe volume； which I bought in days when such a purchase was something more than an extravagance； wherefore I regard the book with that peculiar affection which results from sacrifice。
Sacrifice……in no drawing…room sense of the word。 Dozens of my books were purchased with money which ought to have been spent upon what are called the necessaries of life。 Many a time I have stood before a stall； or a bookseller's window； torn by conflict of intellectual desire and bodily need。 At the very hour of dinner； when my stomach clamoured for food； I have been stopped by sight of a volume so long coveted； and marked at so advantageous a price； that I COULD not let it go； yet to buy it meant pangs of famine。 My Heyne's Tibullus was grasped at such a moment。 It lay on the stall of the old book…shop in Goodge Street……a stall where now and then one found an excellent thing among quantities of rubbish。 Sixpence was the price…… sixpence！ At that time I used to eat my midda