ANTICIPATIONS
bookshop, and to recall an English one, to realise the as yet unattainable standing of French. The serried ranks of lemon-coloured volumes in the former have the whole range of human thought and interest; there are no taboos and no limits, you have everything up and down the scale, from frank indecency to stark wisdom. It is a shop for men. I remember my amazement in discovering three copies of a translation of that most wonderful book, "The Principles of Psychology" of Professor William James, in a shop in the Avenue de l'Opéra—three copies of a book that I have never seen anywhere in England outside my own house,—and I am an attentive student of bookshop windows! And the French books are all so pleasant in the page, and so cheap—they are for a people that buys to read. One thinks of the English bookshop, with its gaudy reach-me-downs of gilded and embossed cover, its horribly printed novels still more horribly "illustrated," the exasperating pointless variety in the size and thickness of its books. The general effect of the English book is that it is something sold by a dealer in bric-à-brac, honestly sorry the thing is a book, but who has done his best to remedy it, anyhow! And all the English shopful is either brand new fiction or illustrated travel (of "Buns with the Grand Lama" type), or gilded versions of the classics of past times done up to give away. While the French bookshop reeks of contemporary intellectual life!
These things count for French as against English now, and they will count for infinitely more in the
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