The fortunate people in the world-the only really fortunate people in the world,in my mind-are those whose work is also their pleasure.The class is not a large one, not nearly so large as it is often represented to be ;and authors are perhaps one of the most important elements in its composition.They enjoy in this respect at least a real harmony of life.To my mind,to be able to make your work your pleasure is the one class disction in the world worth striving for;and I don't wonder that others are inclined to envy those happy human beings who find their livelihood in the gay effusions of their fancy,to whom every hour of labour is an hour of enjoyment,to whom repose-however necessary-is a tiresome interlude,and even a holiday is almost deprivation.Whether a man writes well or ill,has much to say or little,if he cares about writing at all,he will appreciate the pleasures of composition.To sit at one's table on a sunny morning,with four clear hours of uninterruptible security,plenty of nice white paper,and a Squeezer pen -that is true happiness.The complete absorption of the mind upon an agreeble occupation-what more is there than that to desire? what does it matter what happens outside?The House of commons  may do what it likes,and so may the House of lords.The heathen may rage furiously in every part of globe.The bottom may be knocked clean out of the American market.Consols may fall and suffragettes may rise.Never mind,for four hours,at any rate,we will withdraw ourselves from a common ,ill governed,and disorderly world, and with key of fancy unlock that cupboard where all the good things of the infinite are put away.
   I often fortify myself amid the uncertainties and vexations of political life by believing that I possess a line of retreat into a peaceful and fertile country where no rascal can pursue and where one need never be dull or idle or even wholly without power.It is then ,indeed,that I feel devoutly thankful to have been born fond of writing.It is then ,indeed,that I feel gratefull to all the brave and generous spirits who,in every age and in every land,have fought to establish the now unquestioned freedom of the pen.
    And  what a noble medium the English language is.It is not possible to write a page without experiencing positive pleasure at the richness and variety,the flexibility and the profoundness of our mother tongue.If an English writer can not say what he has to say in English,and in simple English,depend upon it it is probably not worth saying.What a pity it is that English is not more
generally studied.
   Now I am a great admirer of the Greeks,although,of course,I have to depend upon what others telle me about them,and I would like to see our educationists  imitate in one repsect,at least ,the Greek example.How is it what the Greeks made their language the most grateful and compendious mode of expression ever known among men?Did they spend all their time studying the language which had preceded theirs?did they explore with tireless persistency the ancient root dialects of the vanished world?Not at all,They studied Greek.They studied their own
language.They loved it ,they cherished it,They adorned it,They expanded it, and that is why it surivives a model and delight to all posterity.Surely we, whose mother tongue has already won for itself such an unequalled empire over the mordern world,can learn this lesson at least from the acient Greeks and bestow a little care and some proportion of the years of education to the study of a language which is  perhaps to play a predominant part in the future progress of man kind.

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But the format of this article is so bad to read!
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