that "the title to property in a book ... is in exact ratio to the
claimant's powers of understanding and appreciating the same." "Should
he go on acting upon this theory," adds Elia, "which of our shelves is
safe?"

"New Year's Eve" suggests a train of reflections--not, in the
platitudinous manner of looking back over the errors of the past year
and making good resolutions for the coming one--but on mortality
generally, and on the passing of time and the passing of life:

I am not content to pass away like a weaver's shuttle! These
metaphors solace me not, nor sweeten the unpalatable draught
of mortality. I care not to be carried with the tide, that
smoothly bears human life to eternity; and reluct at the
inevitable course of destiny. I am in love with this green
earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable rural
solitude, and the sweet security of streets. I would set up
my tabernacle here. I am content to stand still at the age
to which I am arrived; I and my friends; to be no younger,
no richer, no handsomer. I do not want to be weaned by age;
or drop like mellow fruit, as they say, into the grave.

Next comes the immortal "Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist,"--Mrs.
Battle, whose wish for "a clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour
of the game" has become almost proverbial so commonly is it repeated,
whose heart-whole devotion to her game will make true Elians whist
players when bridge is forgotten. In "A Chapter on Ears," Elia
expatiates upon his insensibility to music; in "All Fool's Day" he
puts wisdom under motley in a truly Shakespearian fashion, with the
fine conclusion, "and take my word for this, reader, and say a fool