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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
36
I
know
men
who
say
they
had
as
lief
read
any
book
in
a
library
copy
as
in
one
from
their
own
shelf.
To
me
that
is
unintelligible.
For
one
thing,
I
know
every
book
of
mine
by
its
scent,
and
I
have
but
to
put
my
nose
between
the
pages
to
be
reminded
of
all
sorts
of
things.
My
Gibbon,
for
example,
my
well-bound
eight-volume
Milman
edition,
which
I
have
read
and
read
and
read
again
for
more
than
thirty
years--never
do
I
open
it
but
the
scent
of
the
noble
page
restores
to
me
all
the
exultant
happiness
of
that
moment
when
I
received
it
as
a
prize.
Or
my
Shakespeare,
the
great
Cambridge
Shakespeare--it
has
an
odour
which
carries
me
yet
further
back
in
life;
for
these
volumes
belonged
to
my
father,
and
before
I
was
old
enough
to
read
them
with
understanding,
it
was
often
permitted
me,
as
a
treat,
to
take
down
one
of
them
from
the
bookcase,
and
reverently
to
turn
the
leaves.
The
volumes
smell
exactly
as
they
did
in
that
old
time,
and
what
a
strange
tenderness
comes
upon
me
when
I
hold
one
of
them
in
hand.
For
that
reason
I
do
not
often
read
Shakespeare
in
this
edition.
My
eyes
being
good
as
ever,
I
take
the
Globe
volume,
which
I
bought
in
days
when
such
a
purchase
was
something
more
than
an
extravagance;
wherefore
I
regard
the
book
with
that
peculiar
affection
which
results
from
sacrifice.
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