ause must be antecedent to the effect, readers existed before
writers. Yet, on the other hand, if there were no writers there could
be no readers; so it would appear that writers must be antecedent to
readers."

It amazes me that a reasoner so shrewd, so clear, and so exacting as
Horace Smith did not pursue the proposition further; for without
booksellers there would have been no market for books--the author would
not have been able to sell, and the reader would not have been able to
buy.

The further we proceed with the investigation the more satisfied we
become that the original man was three of number, one of him being the
bookseller, who established friendly relations between the other two of
him, saying: "I will serve you both by inciting both a demand and a
supply." So then the author did his part, and the reader his, which I
take to be a much more dignified scheme than that suggested by Darwin
and his school of investigators.

By the very nature of their occupation booksellers are broad-minded;
their association with every class of humanity and their constant
companionship with books give them a liberality that enables them to
view with singular clearness and dispassionateness every phase of life
and every dispensation of Providence. They are not always practical,
for the development of the spiritual and intellectual natures in man
does not at the same time promote dexterity in the use of the baser
organs of the body, I have known philosophers who could not harness a
horse or even shoo chickens.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once consumed several hours' time trying to
determine whether he should trundle a wheelbarrow by pushing it or by
pulling it. A. Bronson Alcott once tried to construct a chicken coop,
and he had boarded himself up inside the structure before he discovered
that he had not provided for a door or for windows. We have all heard
the story of Isaac Newton--how he cut two holes in his study-door, a
large one for his cat to enter by, and a small one for the kitten.

This unworldliness--this impossibility, if you please--is
characteristic of intellectual progression. Judge Methuen's second
son is named Grolier; and the fact that he doesn't know enough to come
in out of the rain has inspired both the Judge and myself with the
conviction that in due time Grolier will become a great philosopher.

The mention of this revered name reminds me that my bookseller told me
the other day that just before I