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bought them along with a twelve-volume edition of
Doctor Johnson's Works (in contemporary sprinkled
calf), and had even read a few of the shorter Lives of
the Poets (such as Garth, Broome, Mallet, and Sprat).
I had also made a short-winded effort to read
Rasselas. . . .

And now (disentangling the cord and rending the

brown paper wrappings) Pope's Homer had actually

arrived.    Six folio volumes, first edition, and they

had only cost fifteen hob plus the postage.  When I

wrote for them (to a philanthropist named Cowler, at

Reading) 1 made, sure that someone else would have

snapped them up.   But no; here they were; in quite

good1 condition, too.   And how splendid, to be able

to read both Pope and Homer at once! Homer had

been impossible to enjoy in the fifth form at Ballboro5,

but he would seem ever so much easier now.    I

resolved to read exactly a hundred lines every day

until 1 waded through the whole six volumes.  And

when I'd marshalled them on the top shelf—for they

were too tall to fk into any other—between the quarto

sets of Smollet\s  History of England and Tickell's

Addison, 1 solemnly abstracted the first volume of the

Iliad and nuulc a start

The wrath ofPekitf son and that dire spring
Qfwow unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing.. . .


TO THOSE who are expecting to see me in the
saddle iifruin it may seem that 1 have delayed
over-long in acquiring my first hunter. But I take this
opportunity of reminding my invisible audience that