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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
182
Among
the
latter
those
lying
on
my
table
at
this
moment
are--
Plays
of
M.
Brieux.
Joseph
Vance.
The
Sequel
to
Pragmatism:
The
Meaning
of
Truth,
by
Wiliam
James.
Beyond
Good
and
Evil.
Dostoievsky's
The
Possessed.
Marie
Bashkirtseff's
Journal.
I
have
found
time
to
read
only
the
first
chapter
of
this
last
and
am
almost
afraid
to
go
on.
It
would
be
so
humiliating
to
find
I
was
only
her
duplicate.
On
my
mantelpiece
stands
a
photograph
of
Huxley--the
hero
of
my
youth--which
old
B----
has
always
taken
to
be
that
of
my
grandpapa!
A
plaster-cast
mask
of
Voltaire
when
first
hung
up
made
him
chuckle
with
indecent
laughter.
"A
regular
all-nighter.
Who
is
it?"
he
said.
December
15.
Petticoat
Lane
This
morning,
being
Sunday,
went
to
Petticoat
Lane
and
enjoyed
myself.
On
turning
the
corner
to
go
into
Middlesex
Street,
as
it
it
now
called,
the
first
thing
I
saw
was
a
little
girl--a
Jewess--being
tackled
for
selling
Belgian
button-hole
flags
by
two
policemen
who
ultimately
marched
her
off
to
the
police
station.
In
the
Lane,
first
of
all,
was
a
"Royal
Ascot
Jockey
Scales"
made
of
brass
and
upholstered
in
gaudy
red
velvet--a
penny
a
time.
A
very
fat
man
was
being
weighed
and
looked
a
little
distressed
on
being
given
his
ticket.
"Another
stone,"
he
told
the
crowd
mournfully.
"You'll
have
to
eat
less
pork,"
some
one
volunteered
and
we
all
laughed.
Next
door
to
the
Scales
was
a
man
selling
gyroscopes.
"Something
scientific,
amusing
as
well
as
instructive,
illustrating
the
principles
of
gravity
and
stability.
What
I
show
you
is
what
I
sell--price
one
shilling.
Who?"
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