erance granted to things of long standing, and
were forgiven in view of his devotion to the best interests of the
library, which took the place of a family to him.

As for the expenses of cataloguing, no one ever thought of such a thing.
Catalogue the books? Why, as soon hang up a list of the family so that you
wouldn't forget how many children you had; as soon draw a plan of the
village so that people should not lose their way about. Everybody knew
what and where the books were, as well as they knew what and where the
fields on their farms were, or where the dishes were on the pantry
shelves. The money from the entertainment was in hand by the middle of
February; by April the new books, usually about a hundred in number, had
arrived; and by June any wide-awake, intelligent resident of Hillsboro
would have been ashamed to confess that he did not know the location of
every one.

The system of placing on the shelves was simplicity itself. Each year's
new acquisitions were kept together, regardless of subject, and located by
the name of the entertainment which had bought them. Thus, if you wished
to consult a certain book on geology, in which subject the library was
rich, owing to the scientific tastes of Squire Pritchett, you were told by
the librarian for the day, as she looked up from her darning with a
friendly smile, that it was in the "Uncle Tom's Cabin section." The
Shakespeare set, honorably worn and dog's-eared, dated back to the unnamed
mass coming from early days before things were so well systematized, and
was said to be in the "Old Times section"; whereas Ibsen (for some of
Hillsboro young people go away to college) was bright and fresh in the
"East Lynne section."

The books were a visible and sincere symbol of Hillsboro's past and
present. The honest, unpretending people had bought the books they wished
to read, and everyone's taste was represented, even a few French legends
and pious tales being present as a concession to the Roman Catholic
element among the French Canadians. There was a great deal of E.P. Roe,
there was all of Mrs. Southworth--is it possible that anywhere else in the
world there is a complete collection of that lady's voluminous
productions?--but beside them stood the Elizabethan dramatists and a
translation of Dante. The men of the town, who after they were grown up
did not care much for fiction, cast their votes for scientific treatises
on agriculture, forestry, and the like; and there