ill be considerable； and what a vastly greater number of everyday 〃misunderstandings〃 may be thence inferred！ Verbal contention is； of course； moner among the poor and the vulgar than in the class of well…bred people living at their ease； but I doubt whether the lower ranks of society find personal association much more difficult than the refined minority above them。 High cultivation may help to self…mand； but it multiplies the chances of irritative contact。 In mansion； as in hovel； the strain of life is perpetually felt……between the married； between parents and children； between relatives of every degree； between employers and employed。 They debate； they dispute； they wrangle； they explode……then nerves are relieved； and they are ready to begin over again。 Quit the home and quarrelling is less obvious； but it goes on all about one。 What proportion of the letters delivered any morning would be found to be written in displeasure； in petulance； in wrath？ The postbag shrieks insults or bursts with suppressed malice。 Is it not wonderful……nay； is it not the marvel of marvels……that human life has reached such a high point of public and private organization？
And gentle idealists utter their indignant wonder at the continuance of war！ Why； it passes the wit of man to explain how it is that nations are ever at peace！ For； if only by the rarest good fortune do individuals associate harmoniously； there would seem to be much less likelihood of mutual understanding and good…will between the peoples of alien lands。 As a matter of fact； no two nations are ever friendly； in the sense of truly liking each other； with the reciprocal criticism of countries there always mingles a sentiment of animosity。 The original meaning of hostis is merely stranger； and a stranger who is likewise a foreigner will only by curious exception fail to stir antipathy in the average human being。 Add to this that a great number of persons in every country find their delight and their business in exasperating international disrelish； and with what vestige of mon sense can one feel surprise that war is ceaselessly talked of； often enough declared。 In days gone by； distance and rarity of munication assured peace between many realms。 Now that every country is in proximity to every other； what need is there to elaborate explanations of the distrust； the fear； the hatred； which are a perpetual theme of journalists and statesmen？ By approximation； all countries have entered the sphere of natural quarrel。 That they find plenty of things to quarrel about is no cause for astonishment。 A hundred years hence there will be some possibility of perceiving whether international relations are likely to obey the law which has acted with such beneficence in the life of each civilized people； whether this country and that will be content to ease their tempers with bloodless squabbling； subduing the more violent promptings for the mon good。 Yet I suspect that a century is a very short time to allow for even justifiable surmise of such an oute。 If by any chance newspapers ceased to exist 。 。 。
Talk of war； and one gets involved in such utopian musings！
VII
I have been reading one of those prognostic articles on international politics which every now and then appear in the reviews。 Why I should so waste my time it would be hard to say； I suppose the fascination of disgust and fear gets the better of me in a moment's idleness。 This writer； who is horribly perspicacious and vigorous； demonstrates the certainty of a great European war； and regards it with the peculiar satisfaction excited by such things in a certain order of mind。 His phrases about 〃dire calamity〃 and so on mean nothing； the whole tenor of his writing proves that he represents； and consciously； one of the forces which go to bring war about； his part in the business is a fluent irresponsibility； which casts scorn on all who reluct at the 〃inevitable。〃 Persistent prophecy is a familiar way of assuring the event。
But I will read no more such writing。 This resolution I make and will keep。 Why set my nerves quivering with rage； and spoil the calm of a whole day； when no good of any sort can e of it？ What is it to me if nations fall a…slaughtering each other？ Let the fools go to it！ Why should they not please themselves？ Peace； after all； is the aspiration of the few； so it always； was； and ever will be。 But have done with the nauseous cant about 〃dire calamity。〃 The leaders and the multitude hold no such view； either they see in war a direct and tangible profit； or they are driven to it； with heads down； by the brute that is in them。 Let them rend and be rent； let them paddle in blood and viscera till……if that would ever happen……their stomachs turn。 Let them blast the cornfield and the orchard； fire the home。 For all that； there will yet be found some silent few； who go their way amid the still meadows； who bend to the flower and watch the sunset； and these alone are worth a thought。
VIII
In this hot weather I like to walk at times amid the full glow of the sun。 Our island sun is never hot beyond endurance； and there is a magnificence in the triumph of high summer which exalts one's mind。 Among streets it is hard to bear； yet even there； for those who have eyes to see it； the splendour of the sky lends beauty to things in themselves mean or hideous。 I remember an August bank… holiday； when； having for some reason to walk all across London； I unexpectedly found myself enjoying the strange desertion of great streets； and from that passed to surprise in the sense of something beautiful； a charm in the vulgar vista； in the dull architecture； which I had never known。 Deep and clear…marked shadows； such as one only sees on a few days of summer； are in themselves very impressive； and bee more so when they fall upon highways devoid of folk。 I remember observing； as something new； the shape of familiar edifices； of spires； monuments。 And when at length I sat down； somewhere on the Embankment； it was rather to gaze at leisure than to rest； for I felt no weariness； and the sun； still pouring upon me its noontide radiance； seemed to fill my veins with life。
That sense I shall never know again。 For me Nature has forts； raptures； but no more invigoration。 The sun keeps me alive； but cannot； as in the old days； renew my being。 I would fain learn to enjoy without reflecting。
My walk in the golden hours leads me to a great horse…chestnut； whose root offers a convenient seat in the shadow of its foliage。 At that resting…place I have no wide view before me； but what I see is enough……a corner of waste land； over…flowered with poppies and charlock； on the edge of a field of corn。 The brilliant red and yellow harmonize with the glory of the day。 Near by； too； is a hedge covered with great white blooms of the bindweed。 My eyes do not soon grow weary。
A little plant of which I am very fond is the rest…harrow。 When the sun is hot upon it； the flower gives forth a strangely aromatic scent； very delightful to me。 I know the cause of this peculiar pleasure。 The rest…harrow sometimes grows in sandy ground above the seashore。 In my childhood I have many a time lain in such a spot under the glowing sky； and； though I scarce thought of it； perceived the odour of the little rose…pink flower when it touched my face。 Now I have but to smell it； and those hours e back again。 I see the shore of Cumberland； running north to St。 Bee's Head； on the sea horizon a faint shape which is the Isle of Man； inland； the mountains； which for me at that time guarded a region of unknown wonder。 Ah； how long ago！
IX
I read much less than I used to do； I think much more。 Yet what is the use of thought which can no longer serve to direct life？ Better； perhaps； to read and read incessantly； losing one's futile self in the activity of other minds。
This summer I have taken up no new book； but have renewed my acquaintance with several old ones which I had not opened for many a year。 One or two have been books such as mature men rarely read at all……books which it is one's habit to 〃take as read〃； to presume sufficiently known to speak of； but never to open。 Thus； one day my hand fell upon the Anabasis； the little Oxford edition which I used at school； with its boyish sign…manual on the fly…leaf； its blots and underlinings and marginal scrawls。 To my shame I possess no other edition； yet this is a book one would like to have in beautiful form。 I opened it； I began to read……a ghost of boyhood stirring in my heart……and from chapter to chapter was led on； until after a few days I had read the whole。
I am glad this happened in the summer…time； I like to link childhood with these latter days； and no better way could I have found than this return to a school…book； which； even as a school…book； was my great delight。
By some trick of memory I always associate school…boy work on the classics with a sense of warm and sunny days； rain and gloom and a chilly atmosphere must have been far the more frequent conditions； but these things are forgotten。 My old Liddell and Scott still serves me； and if； in opening it； I bend close enough to catch the SCENT of the leaves； I am back again at that day of boyhood （noted on the fly…leaf by the hand of one long dead） when the book was new and I used it for the f