the love affairs of a bibliomaniac-第13章

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reat　common　cause　of　bibliomania；　which　is　indeed　the　summum　bonum　of　human　life。

I　have　heard　many　decried　who　indulged　　their　fancy　for　bookplates；　as　if；　forsooth；　if　a　man　loved　his　books；　he　should　not　lavish　upon　them　testimonials　of　his　affection！　　Who　that　loves　his　wife　should　hesitate　to　buy　adornments　for　her　person？　　I　favor　everything　that　tends　to　prove　that　the　human　heart　is　swayed　by　the　tenderer　emotions。　　Gratitude　is　surely　one　of　the　noblest　emotions　of　which　humanity　is　capable；　and　he　is　indeed　unworthy　of　our　respect　who　would　forbid　humanity's　expressing　in　every　dignified　and　reverential　manner　its　gratitude　for　the　benefits　conferred　by　the　companionship　of　books。

As　for　myself；　I　urge　upon　all　lovers　of　books　to　provide　themselves　with　bookplates。　　Whenever　I　see　a　book　that　bears　its　owner's　plate　I　feel　myself　obligated　to　treat　that　book　with　special　consideration。　　It　carries　with　it　a　certificate　of　its　master's　love；　the　bookplate　gives　the　volume　a　certain　status　it　would　not　otherwise　have。　　Time　and　again　I　have　fished　musty　books　out　of　bins　in　front　of　bookstalls；　bought　them　and　borne　them　home　with　me　simply　because　they　had　upon　their　covers　the　　bookplates　of　their　former　owners。　　I　have　a　case　filled　with　these　aristocratic　estrays；　and　I　insist　that　they　shall　be　as　carefully　dusted　and　kept　as　my　other　books；　and　I　have　provided　in　my　will　for　their　perpetual　maintenance　after　my　decease。

If　I　were　a　rich　man　I　should　found　a　hospital　for　homeless　aristocratic　books；　an　institution　similar　in　all　essential　particulars　to　the　institution　which　is　now　operated　at　our　national　capital　under　the　bequest　of　the　late　Mr。　Cochrane。　　I　should　name　it　the　Home　for　Genteel　Volumes　in　Decayed　Circumstances。

I　was　a　young　man　when　I　adopted　the　bookplate　which　I　am　still　using；　and　which　will　be　found　in　all　my　books。　　I　drew　the　design　myself　and　had　it　executed　by　a　son　of　Anderson；　the　first　of　American　engravers。　　It　is　by　no　means　elaborate：　a　book　rests　upon　a　heart；　and　underneath　appear　the　lines：

　　　　　My　Book　and　Heart　　　　　　Must　never　part。

Ah；　little　Puritan　maid；　with　thy　dear　eyes　of　honest　blue　and　thy　fair　hair　in　proper　　plaits　adown　thy　back；　little　thought　we　that　springtime　long　ago　back　among　the　New　England　hills　that　the　tiny　book　we　read　together　should　follow　me　through　all　my　life！　　What　a　part　has　that　Primer　played！　　And　now　all　these　other　beloved　companions　bear　witness　to　the　love　I　bear　that　Primer　and　its　teachings；　for　each　wears　the　emblem　I　plucked　from　its　homely　pages。

That　was　in　the　springtime；　Captivity　Waite；　anon　came　summer；　with　all　its　exuberant　glory；　and　presently　the　cheery　autumn　stole　upon　me。　　And　now　it　is　the　winter…time；　and　under　the　snows　lies　buried　　many　a　sweet；　fair　thing　I　cherished　once。　　I　am　aweary　and　will　rest　a　little　while；　lie　thou　there；　my　pen；　for　a　dreama　pleasant　dreamcalleth　me　away。　　I　shall　see　those　distant　hills　again；　and　the　homestead　under　the　elms；　the　old　associations　and　the　old　influences　shall　be　round　about　me；　and　a　child　shall　lead　me　and　we　shall　go　together　through　green　pastures　and　by　still　waters。　　And；　O　my　pen；　it　will　be　the　springtime　again！




XIII

ON　THE　ODORS　WHICH　MY　BOOKS　EXHALE

Have　you　ever　come　out　of　the　thick；　smoky　atmosphere　of　the　town　into　the　fragrant；　gracious　atmosphere　of　a　library？　　If　you　have；　you　know　how　grateful　the　change　is；　and　you　will　agree　with　me　when　I　say　that　nothing　else　is　so　quieting　to　the　nerves；　so　conducive　to　physical　health；　and　so　quick　to　restore　a　lively　flow　of　the　spirits。

Lafcadio　Hearn　once　wrote　a　treatise　upon　perfumes；　an　ingenious　and　scholarly　performance；　he　limited　the　edition　to　fifty　copies　and　published　it　privatelyso　the　book　is　rarely　met　with。　　Curiously　enough；　however；　this　author　had　nothing　to　say　in　the　book　about　the　smells　of　books；　which　I　regard　as　a　most　unpardonable　error；　unless；　properly　estimating　the　subject　to　be　worthy　　of　a　separate　treatise；　he　has　postponed　its　consideration　and　treatment　to　a　time　when　he　can　devote　the　requisite　study　and　care　to　it。

We　have　it　upon　the　authority　of　William　Blades　that　books　breathe；　however；　the　testimony　of　experts　is　not　needed　upon　this　point；　for　if　anybody　be　sceptical；　all　he　has　to　do　to　convince　himself　is　to　open　a　door　of　a　bookcase　at　any　time　and　his　olfactories　will　be　greeted　by　an　outrush　of　odors　that　will　prove　to　him　beyond　all　doubt　that　books　do　actually　consume　air　and　exhale　perfumes。

Visitors　to　the　British　Museum　complain　not　unfrequently　that　they　are　overcome　by　the　closeness　of　the　atmosphere　in　that　place；　and　what　is　known　as　the　British　Museum　headache　has　come　to　be　recognized　by　the　medical　profession　in　London　as　a　specific　ailment　due　to　the　absence　of　oxygen　in　the　atmosphere；　which　condition　is　caused　by　the　multitude　of　books；　each　one　of　which；　by　that　breathing　process　peculiar　to　books；　consumes　several　thousand　cubic　feet　of　air　every　twenty…four　hours。　

Professor　Huxley　wondered　for　a　long　time　why　the　atmosphere　of　the　British　Museum　should　be　poisonous　while　other　libraries　were　free　from　the　poison；　a　series　of　experiments　convinced　him　that　the　presence　of　poison　in　the　atmosphere　was　due　to　the　number　of　profane　books　in　the　Museum。　　He　recommended　that　these　poison…engendering　volumes　be　treated　once　every　six　months　with　a　bath　of　cedria；　which；　as　I　understand；　is　a　solution　of　the　juices　of　the　cedar　tree；　this；　he　said；　would　purge　the　mischievous　volumes　temporarily　of　their　evil　propensities　and　abilities。

I　do　not　know　whether　this　remedy　is　effective；　but　I　remember　to　have　read　in　Pliny　that　cedria　was　used　by　the　ancients　to　render　their　manuscripts　imperishable。　　When　Cneius　Terentius　went　digging　in　his　estate　in　the　Janiculum　he　came　upon　a　coffer　which　contained　not　only　the　remains　of　Numa；　the　old　Roman　king；　but　also　the　manuscripts　of　the　famous　laws　which　Numa　compiled。　　The　king　was　in　some　such　condition　as　you　might　suppose　him　to　be　after　having　been　buried　several　centuries；　　but　the　manuscripts　were　as　fresh　as　new；　and　their　being　so　is　said　to　have　been　due　to　the　fact　that　before　their　burial　they　were　rubbed　with　citrus　leaves。

These　so…called　books　of　Numa　would　perhaps　have　been　preserved　unto　this　day　but　for　the　fanaticism　of　the　people　who　exhumed　and　read　them；　they　were　promptly　burned　by　Quintus　Petilius；　the　praetor；　because　（as　Cassius　Hemina　explains）　they　treated　of　philosophical　subjects；　or　because；　as　Livy　testifies；　their　doctrines　were　inimical　to　the　religion　then　existing。

As　I　have　had　little　to　do　with　profane　literature；　I　know　nothing　of　the　habits　of　such　books　as　Professor　Huxley　has　prescribed　an　antidote　against。　　Of　such　books　as　I　have　gathered　about　me　and　made　my　constant　companions　I　can　say　truthfully　that　a　more　delectable…flavored　lot　it　were　impossible　to　find。　　As　I　walk　amongst　them；　touching　first　this　one　and　then　that；　and　regarding　all　with　glances　of　affectionate　approval；　I　fancy　that　I　am　walking　in　a　splendid　garden；　full　of　charming　vistas；　wherein　parterre　after　parterre　of　beautiful　flowers　is　　unfolded　to　my　enraptured　vision；　and　surely　there　never　were　other　odors　so　delightful　as　the　odors　which　my　books　exhale！


　　My　garden　aboundeth　in　pleasant　nooks　　　　　　　And　fragrance　is　over　it　all；　　　For　sweet　is　the　smell　of　my　old；　old　books　　　　　　　In　their　places　against　the　wall。

　　Here　is　a　folio　that's　grim　with　age　　　　　　　And　yellow　and　green　with　mould；　　　There's　the　breath　of　the　sea　on　every　page　　　　　　　And　the　hint　of　a　stanch　ship's　hold。

　　And　here　is　a　treasure　from　France　la　belle　　　　　　　Exhaleth　a　faint　perfume　　　Of　wedded　lily　and　asphodel　　　　　　　In　a　garden　of　song　abloom。

　　And　this　wee　little　book　of　Puritan　mien　　　　　　　And　rude；　conspicuous　print　　　Hath　the　Yankee　flavor　of　wintergreen；　　　　　　　Or；　may　be；　of　peppermint。

　　In　Walton　the　brooks　a…babbling　tell　　　　　　　Where　the　cheery　daisy　grows；　　　And　where　in　meadow　or　woodland　dwell　　　　　　　The　buttercup　and　the　rose。　

　　But　best　beloved　of　books；　I　ween；　　　　　　　Are　those　which　one　perceives　　　Are　hallowed　by　ashes　dropped　between　　　　　　　The　yellow；　well…thumbed　leaves。

　　For　it's　here　a　laugh　and　it's　there　a　tear；　　　　　　　Till　the　treasured　book　is　read；　　　And　the　ashes　betwixt　the　pages　here　　　　　　　Tell　us　of　one　long　dead。

　　But　the　gracious　presence　reappears　　　　　　　As　we　read　the　book　again；　　　And　the　fragrance　of　precious；　distant　years　　　　　　　Filleth　the　hearts　of　men

　　Come；　pluck　with　me　in　my　garden　nooks　　　　　　　The　posies　that　bloom　for　all；　　　Oh；　sweet　is　the　smell　of　my　old；　old　books　　　　　　　In　their　places　against　the　wall！


Better　than　flowers　are　they；　these　books　of　mine！　　For　what　are　the　seasons　to　them？　　Neither　can　the　drought　of　summer　nor　the　asperity　of　winter　wither　or　change　them。　　At　all　times　and　under　all　circumstances　they　are　the　sameradiant；　fragrant；　hopeful；　helpful！　　There　is　no　charm　which　they　do　not　possess；　no　beauty　that　is　not　theirs。

What　wonder　is　it　that　from　time　immemorial　humanity　has　craved　the　boon　of　carrying　to　the　grave　some　book　particularly　beloved　in　life？　　Even　Numa　Pompilius　provided　that　his　books　should　share　his　tomb　with　him。　　Twenty…four　of　these　precious　volumes　were　consigned　with　him　to　the　grave。　　When　Gabriel　Rossetti's　wife　died；　the　poet　cast　into　her　open　grave　the　unfinished　volume　of　his　poems；　that　being　the　last　and　most　precious　tribute　he　could　pay　to　her　cherished　memory。

History　records　instance　after　instance　of　the　consolation　dying　men　have　received　from　the　perusal　of　books；　and　many　a　one　has　made　his　end　holding　in　his　hands　a　particularly　beloved　volume。　　The　reverence　which　even　unlearned　men　have　for　books　appeals　in　these　splendid　libraries　which　are　erected　now　and　again　with　funds　provided　by　the　wills　of　the　illiterate。　　How　dreadful　must　be　the　last　moments　of　that　person　who　has　steadfastly　refused　to　share　the　companionship　and　acknowledge　the　saving　grace　of　books！

Such；　indeed；　is　my　regard　for　these　friendships　that　it　is　with　misery　that　I　contemplate　　the　probability　of　separation　from　them　by　and　by。　　I　have　given　my　friends　to　understand　that　when　I　am　done　with　earth　certain　of　my　books　shall　be　buried　with　me。　　The　list　of　these　books　will　be　found　in　the　left…hand　upper　drawer　of　the　old　mahogany　secretary　in　the　front　spare　room。


　　　　　　　　　　When　I　am　done；　　　　　　　　　　　　I'd　have　no　son　　　Pounce　on　these　treasures　like　a　vulture；　　　　　　　　　　　　Nay；　give　them　half　　　　　　　　　　　　My　epitaph　　　And　let　them　share　in　my　sepulture。

　　　　　　　　　　Then　when　the　crack　　　　　　　　　　　　Of　doom　rolls　back　　　The　marble　and　the　earth　that　hide　me；　　　　　　　　　　　　I'll　smuggle　home　　　　　　　　　　　　Each　precious　tome　　　Without　a　fear　a　wife　shall　chide　me。


The　dread　of　being　separated　by　death　from　the　objects　of　one's　love　has　pursued　humanity　from　the　beginning。　　The　Hindoos　used　to　have　a　selfish　fashion　of　requiring　their　widows　to　be　entombed　alive　with　their　corpses。　　The　North　American　Indian　　insists　that　his　horse；　his　bow　and　arrows；　his　spear；　and　his　other　cherished　trinkets　shall　share　his　grave　with　him。

My　sister；　Miss　Susan；　has　provided　that　afte