d （noted on the fly…leaf by the hand of one long dead） when the book was new and I used it for the first time。 It was a day of summer； and perhaps there fell upon the unfamiliar page； viewed with childish tremor； half apprehension and half delight； a mellow sunshine； which was to linger for ever in my mind。
But I am thinking of the Anabasis。 Were this the sole book existing in Greek； it would be abundantly worth while to learn the language in order to read it。 The Anabasis is an admirable bination of concise and rapid narrative with colour and picturesqueness。 Herodotus wrote a prose epic； in which the author's personality is ever before us。 Xenophon； with curiosity and love of adventure which mark him of the same race； but self… forgetful in the pursuit of a new artistic virtue； created the historical romance。 What a world of wonders in this little book； all aglow with ambitions and conflicts； with marvels of strange lands； full of perils and rescues； fresh with the air of mountain and of sea！ Think of it for a moment by the side of Caesar's mentaries； not to pare things inparable； but in order to appreciate the perfect art which shines through Xenophon's mastery of language； his brevity achieving a result so different from that of the like characteristic in the Roman writer。 Caesar's conciseness es of strength and pride； Xenophon's； of a vivid imagination。 Many a single line of the Anabasis presents a picture which deeply stirs the emotions。 A good instance occurs in the fourth book； where a delightful passage of unsurpassable narrative tells how the Greeks rewarded and dismissed a guide who had led them through dangerous country。 The man himself was in peril of his life； laden with valuable things which the soldiers had given him in their gratitude； he turned to make his way through the hostile region。 ＇Greek text which cannot be reproduced＇。 〃When evening came he took leave of us； and went his way by night。〃 To my mind； words of wonderful suggestiveness。 You see the wild； eastern landscape； upon which the sun has set。 There are the Hellenes； safe for the moment on their long march； and there the mountain tribesman； the serviceable barbarian； going away； alone； with his tempting guerdon； into the hazards of the darkness。
Also in the fourth book； another picture moves one in another way。 Among the Carduchian Hills two men were seized； and information was sought from them about the track to be followed。 〃One of them would say nothing； and kept silence in spite of every threat； so； in the presence of his panion； he was slain。 Thereupon that other made known the man's reason for refusing to point out the way； in the direction the Greeks must take there dwelt a daughter of his； who was married。〃
It would not be easy to express more pathos than is conveyed in these few words。 Xenophon himself； one may be sure； did not feel it quite as we do； but he preserved the incident for its own sake； and there； in a line or two； shines something of human love and sacrifice； significant for all time。
X
I sometimes think I will go and spend the sunny half of a twelvemonth in wandering about the British Isles。 There is so much of beauty and interest that I have not seen； and I grudge to close my eyes on this beloved home of ours； leaving any corner of it unvisited。 Often I wander in fancy over all the parts I know； and grow restless with desire at familiar names which bring no picture to memory。 My array of county guide…books （they have always been irresistible to me on the stalls） sets me roaming； the only dull pages in them are those that treat of manufacturing towns。 Yet I shall never start on that pilgrimage。 I am too old； too fixed in habits。 I dislike the railway； I dislike hotels。 I should grow homesick for my library； my garden； the view from my windows。 And then……I have such a fear of dying anywhere but under my own roof。
As a rule； it is better to re…visit only in imagination the places which have greatly charmed us； or which； in the retrospect； seem to have done so。 Seem to have charmed us； I say； for the memory we form； after a certain lapse of time； of places where we lingered； often bears but a faint resemblance to the impression received at the time； what in truth may have been very moderate enjoyment； or enjoyment greatly disturbed by inner or outer circumstances； shows in the distance as a keen delight； or as deep； still happiness。 On the other hand； if memory creates no illusion； and the name of a certain place is associated with one of the golden moments of life； it were rash to hope that another visit would repeat the experience of a by…gone day。 For it was not merely the sights that one beheld which were the cause of joy and peace； however lovely the spot； however gracious the sky； these things external would not have availed； but for contributory movements of mind and heart and blood； the essentials of the man as then he was。
Whilst I was reading this afternoon my thoughts strayed； and I found myself recalling a hillside in Suffolk； where； after a long walk I rested drowsily one midsummer day twenty years ago。 A great longing seized me； I was tempted to set off at once； and find again that spot under the high elm trees； where； as I smoked a delicious pipe； I heard about me the crack； crack； crack of broom…pods bursting in the glorious heat of the noontide sun。 Had I acted upon the impulse； what chance was there of my enjoying such another hour as that which my memory cherished？ No； no； it is not the PLACE that I remember； it is the time of life； the circumstances； the mood； which at that moment fell so happily together。 Can I dream that a pipe smoked on that same hillside； under the same glowing sky； would taste as it then did； or bring me the same solace？ Would the turf be so soft beneath me？ Would the great elm…branches temper so delightfully the noontide rays beating upon them？ And； when the hour of rest was over； should I spring to my feet as then I did； eager to put forth my strength again？ No； no； what I remember is just one moment of my earlier life； linked by accident with that picture of the Suffolk landscape。 The place no longer exists； it never existed save for me。 For it is the mind which creates the world about us； and； even though we stand side by side in the same meadow； my eyes will never see what is beheld by yours； my heart will never stir to the emotions with which yours is touched。
XI
I awoke a little after four o'clock。 There was sunlight upon the blind； that pure gold of the earliest beam which always makes me think of Dante's angels。 I had slept unusually well； without a dream； and felt the blessing of rest through all my frame； my head was clear； my pulse beat temperately。 And； when I had lain thus for a few minutes； asking myself what book I should reach from the shelf that hangs near my pillow； there came upon me a desire to rise and go forth into the early morning。 On the moment I bestirred myself。 The drawing up of the blind； the opening of the window； only increased my zeal； and I was soon in the garden； then out in the road； walking light…heartedly I cared not whither。
How long is it since I went forth at the hour of summer sunrise？ It is one of the greatest pleasures； physical and mental； that any man in moderate health can grant himself； yet hardly once in a year do mood and circumstance bine to put it within one's reach。 The habit of lying in bed hours after broad daylight is strange enough； if one thinks of it； a habit entirely evil； one of the most foolish changes made by modern system in the healthier life of the old time。 But that my energies are not equal to such great innovation； I would begin going to bed at sunset and rising with the beam of day； ten to one； it would vastly improve my health； and undoubtedly it would add to the pleasures of my existence。
When travelling； I have now and then watched the sunrise； and always with an exultation unlike anything produced in me by other aspects of nature。 I remember daybreak on the Mediterranean； the shapes of islands growing in hue after hue of tenderest light； until they floated amid a sea of glory。 And among the mountains……that crowning height； one moment a cold pallor； the next soft…glowing under the touch of the rosy…fingered goddess。 These are the things I shall never see again； things； indeed； so perfect in memory that I should dread to blur them by a newer experience。 My senses are so much duller； they do not show me what once they did。
How far away is that school…boy time； when I found a pleasure in getting up and escaping from the dormitory whilst all the others were still asleep。 My purpose was innocent enough； I got up early only to do my lessons。 I can see the long school…room； lighted by the early sun； I can smell the school…room odour……a blend of books and slates and wall…maps and I know not what。 It was a mental peculiarity of mine that at five o'clock in the morning I could apply myself with gusto to mathematics； a subject loathsome to me at any other time of the day。 Opening the book at some section which was wont to scare me； I used to say to myself： 〃e now； I'm going to tackle this this morning！ If other boys can understand it； why shouldn't I？〃 And in a measure I succeeded。 In a measure only； there was always a limit a