So, a single flower in the hand is a key to Summer, a floating perfume the key to the hidden gardens of remembrance.

The wrong book in the hand, whether opened or not, is as distracting a presence as an irrelevant person; and therefore it was with great care that I chose my knapsack library.

It consisted of these nine books: Mackail's "Georgics." Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales.
Shakespeare's Sonnets.
Locke's "Beloved Vagabond." Selections from R.L.S.
Pater's "Marius the Epicurean." Alfred de Musset's "Premieres Poesies." Baedeker's "United States." Road Map of New York State.
And, though my knapsack already weighed eighteen pounds, I could not resist the call of a cheap edition of Wordsworth in a drug-store at Warsaw, a charming little town embosomed among hills and orchards, where we arrived, dreamy with country air, at the end of the day..