es it
not instantly conjure up a vision of happy solitude, a peaceful seclusion
where we may lie hidden from our fellow-creatures, an absence of idle
chatter to distract our thoughts, and countless books about us on either
hand? No man with any pretensions to learning can possibly fail to be
impressed when he enters an ancient library, older perhaps by generations
than the art of printing itself.

'With awe, around these silent walks I tread,
These are the lasting mansions of the dead:
"The dead!" methinks a thousand tongues reply,
"These are the tombs of such as cannot die!"
Crowned with eternal fame, they sit sublime,
And laugh at all the little strife of time.'

They are delicious retreats, abodes of seasoned thought and peaceful
meditation, these ancient homes of books. 'I no sooner come into the
library,' wrote Heinz, that great literary counsellor of the Elzeviers,
'than I bolt the door, excluding Lust, Ambition, Avarice, and all such
vices, whose nurse is Idleness, the mother of Ignorance and Melancholy.
In the very lap of Eternity, among so many divine souls, I take my seat
with so lofty a spirit and sweet content, that I pity all great men and
rich to whom this happiness is unknown.'

Happy indeed are those days when the book-lover has been accorded the
freedom of some ancient library. A delicious feeling of tranquillity
pervades him as he selects some nook and settles himself to read.
Presently the mood takes him to explore, and he wanders about from case
to case, now taking down some plump folio and glancing at the title-page
and type, now counting the engravings of another and collating it in his
mind, now comparing the condition of a third with the copy which he has
at home, now searching through the text of some small duodecimo to see
whether it contains the usual blanks or colophon. But presently he will
chance upon some tome whose appeal is irresistible. So he retires with it
to his nook, and is soon absorbed once more with that tranquillity which
is better than great riches.

Dearly, however, though we may treasure the benefits and conveniences
which these libraries of ancient foundation afford, for most of us there
is another library that is nearer to our hearts; that cosy chamber with
which we are accustomed to associate warmth, comfort, soft chairs and
footrests, a wide writing-table that we may pile high with books, with
scribbling-paper, foolscap and marking-slips