When Providence throws a good book in my way, I bow to its decree and
purchase it as an act of piety, if it is reasonably or unreasonably
cheap. I _adopt_ a certain number of books every year, out of a love for
the foundlings and stray children of other people's brains that nobody
seems to care for. Look here.
He took down a Greek Lexicon finely bound in calf, and spread it open.
Do you see that Hedericus? I had Greek dictionaries enough and to spare,
but I saw that noble quarto lying in the midst of an ignoble crowd of
cheap books, and marked with a price which I felt to be an insult to
scholarship, to the memory of Homer, sir, and the awful shade of
Aeschylus, I paid the mean price asked for it, and I wanted to double
it, but I suppose it would have been a foolish sacrifice of coin to
sentiment. I love that book for its looks and behaviour. None of your
'half-calf' economies in that volume, sir! And see how it lies open
anywhere! There isn't a book in my library that has such a generous way
of laying its treasures before you. From Alpha to Omega, calm, assured
rest at any page that your choice or accident may light on. No lifting
of a rebellious leaf like an upstart servant that does not know his
place and can never be taught manners, but tranquil, well-bred repose. A
book may be a perfect gentleman in its aspect and demeanour, and this
book would be good company for personages like Roger Ascham and his
pupils the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey.--O. W. HOLMES. _The
Poet at the Breakfast-Table._