g particles of learned dust.

[Footnote 198: Dr. Ferriar's _Bibliomania_, v. 12.]

"Here, in his ancestral abode, Atticus can happily exchange the
microscopic investigation of books for the charms and manly exercises
of a rural life; eclipsing, in this particular, the celebrity of Caesar
Antoninus; who had not universality of talent sufficient to unite the
love of hawking and hunting with the passion for book-collecting.[199]
The sky is no sooner dappled o'er with the first morning sun-beams,
than up starts our distinguished bibliomaniac, either to shoot or to
hunt; either to realize all the fine things which Pope has written
about 'lifting the tube, and levelling the eye;'[200] or to join the
jolly troop while they chant the hunting song of his poetical
friend.[201] Meanwhile, his house is not wanting in needful garniture
to render a country residence most congenial. His cellars below vie
with his library above. Besides 'the brown October'--'drawn from his
dark retreat of thirty years'--and the potent comforts of every
species of 'barley broth'--there are the ruddier and more sparkling
juices of the grape--'fresh of colour, and of look lovely, smiling to
the eyz of many'--as Master Laneham hath it in his celebrated
letter.[202] I shall leave you to finish the picture, which such a
sketch may suggest, by referring you to your favourite, Thomson."[203]

[Footnote 199: This anecdote is given on the authority of
Kesner's [Transcriber's Note: Gesner's] _Pandects_, fol. 29:
rect. '[Greek: Alloi men hippon] (says the grave Antoninus)
[Greek: alloi de orneon, alloi therion ebosin: emoi de
biblion kteseos ek paidoiriou deinos enteteke pothos].']

[Footnote 200: See Pope's _Windsor Forest_, ver. 110 to
134.]

[Footnote 201:

Waken lords and ladies gay;
On the mountain dawns the day.
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk and horse and hunting spear:
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling;
Merrily, merrily, mingle they.
"Waken lords and ladies gay."

Waken lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain grey.
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the lake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green:
Now we come to chaunt our lay,