Fanny' or else `The Track of Blood' and have done with it. Not wishing
to hurt his feelings, I refuse these works on the plea that I have
read them. Whereon he, divining despite me that I am a superior
person, says `Here is a nice little handy edition of More's "Utopia"'
or `Carlyle's "French Revolution"' and again I make some excuse. What
pleasure could I get from trying to cope with a masterpiece printed in
diminutive grey-ish type on a semi-transparent little grey-ish page? I
relieve the bookstall of nothing but a newspaper or two.

The other day, however, my eye and fancy were caught by a book
entitled `How Shall I Word It?' and sub-entitled `A Complete Letter
Writer for Men and Women.' I had never read one of these manuals, but
had often heard that there was a great and constant `demand' for them.
So I demanded this one. It is no great fun in itself. The writer is no
fool. He has evidently a natural talent for writing letters. His style
is, for the most part, discreet and easy. If you were a young man
writing `to Father of Girl he wishes to Marry' or `thanking Fiance'e
for Present' or `reproaching Fiance'e for being a Flirt,' or if you
were a mother `asking Governess her Qualifications' or `replying to
Undesirable Invitation for her Child,' or indeed if you were in any
other one of the crises which this book is designed to alleviate, you
might copy out and post the specially-provided letter without making
yourself ridiculous in the eyes of its receiver--unless, of course, he
or she also possessed a copy of the book. But--well, can you conceive
any one copying out and posting one of these letters, or even taking
it as the basis for composition? You cannot. That shows how little you
know of your fellow-creatures. Not you nor I can plumb the abyss at
the bottom of which such humility is possible. Nevertheless, as we
know by that great and constant `demand,' there the abyss is, and
there multitudes are at the bottom of it. Let's peer down... No, all