Sold in the shops of
Stupidity Street.
I saw in vision
The worm in the wheat
And in the shops nothing
For people to eat,
Nothing for sale in
Stupidity Street.
I was glad that I had taken Pelican Island with me as my only book; for if I had not I might very likely never have read it. Yet it might have escaped me even though it was in my pocket. Unless a man always carries a book with him, when he does take one it is often a little too well chosen, or rather chosen too deliberately, because it is a very good one, or is just the right one, or is one that ought to be read. But walking is apt to relieve him of the kind of conscience that obeys such choices. At best he opens the book and yawns and shuts it. He may look about him for any distraction rather than this book. He reads through a country newspaper, beginning and ending with the advertisements. He looks at every picture in an illustrated magazine. He looks out of the window for some temptation. He takes down The Lamplighter or Mrs. Humphry Ward’s East Lynne from the landlord’s shelves. He looks through the magazine again. If he opens the choice book he finds in it an irresistible command to go to bed at nine o’clock. The same book may be taken out thus a score of times, and acquire a friendly and well-read appearance.