hough a
grocer had mixed them. The children who thought it would be grand sport to
move are satiated, and one-half the city of New York at the close of
May-day go to bed worn out, sick and disgusted. It is a social earthquake
that annually shakes the city.

It may be that very soon some of our rich relatives will, at their demise,
"will" us each one a house, so that we shall be permanently fixed. We
should be sorry to have them quit the world under any circumstances; but
if, determined to go anyhow, they should leave us a house, the void would
not be so large, especially if it were a house, well furnished and having
all the modern improvements. We would be thankful for any good advice they
might leave us, but should more highly appreciate a house.

May all the victims of moving-day find their new home attractive! If they
have gone into a smaller house, let them congratulate themselves at the
thought that it takes less time to keep a small house clean than a big one.
May they have plenty of Spaulding's glue with which to repair breakages!
May the carpets fit better than they expected, and the family that moved
out have taken all their cockroaches and bedbugs with them!

And, better than all--and this time in sober earnest--by the time that
moving-day comes again, may they have made enough money to buy a house from
which they will never have to move until the House of many mansions be
ready to receive them!

CHAPTER XLVII.

ADVANTAGE OF SMALL LIBRARIES.

We never see a valuable book without wanting it. The most of us have been
struck through with a passion for books. Town, city and state libraries to
us are an enchantment. We hear of a private library of ten thousand
volumes, and think what a heaven the owner must be living in. But the
probability is that the man who has five hundred volumes is better off than
the man who has five thousand. The large private libraries in uniform
editions, and unbroken sets, and Russia covers, are, for the most part, the
idlers of the day; while the small libraries, with broken-backed books, and
turned-down leaves, and lead-pencil scribbles in the margin, are doing the
chief work for the world and the Church.

For the most part, the owners of large collections have their chief anxiety
about the binding and the type. Take down the whole set of Walter Scott's
novels, and find that only one of them has been read through. There are
Motley's histories on that shelf; but get into