y meal （of course my dinner） at a coffee…shop in Oxford Street； one of the real old coffee…shops； such as now； I suppose； can hardly be found。 Sixpence was all I had……yes； all I had in the world； it would purchase a plate of meat and vegetables。 But I did not dare to hope that the Tibullus would wait until the morrow； when a certain small sum fell due to me。 I paced the pavement； fingering the coppers in my pocket； eyeing the stall； two appetites at bat within me。 The book was bought and I went home with it； and as I made a dinner of bread and butter I gloated over the pages。
In this Tibullus I found pencilled on the last page： 〃Perlegi； Oct。 4； 1792。〃 Who was that possessor of the book； nearly a hundred years ago？ There was no other inscription。 I like to imagine some poor scholar； poor and eager as I myself； who bought the volume with drops of his blood； and enjoyed the reading of it even as I did。 How much THAT was I could not easily say。 Gentle…hearted Tibullus！… …of whom there remains to us a poet's portrait more delightful； I think； than anything of the kind in Roman literature。
An tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres； Curantem quidquid dignum sapiente bonoque est？
So with many another book on the thronged shelves。 To take them down is to recall； how vividly； a struggle and a triumph。 In those days money represented nothing to me； nothing I cared to think about； but the acquisition of books。 There were books of which I had passionate need； books more necessary to me than bodily nourishment。 I could see them； of course； at the British Museum； but that was not at all the same thing as having and holding them； my own property； on my own shelf。 Now and then I have bought a volume of the raggedest and wretchedest aspect； dishonoured with foolish s