awoke, and I confessed that this matter was too high for me; but even
then, casting a glance of deprecation in its direction, I noticed
THAT was almost filled by a single work, and I wondered what it could
be. "Cost 80 pounds if it cost a penny, and I bought it second-hand
in perfect condition for 17 pounds, 5s., with the books thrown in--
All the Year Round from the beginning in half calf;" and then we
returned in procession to the drawing-room, where my patron
apologised for our absence, and explained that when two bookmen got
together over books it was difficult to tear them away. He was an
admirable chairman, for he occupied no time with a review of
literature in his address, and he slept without being noticed through
mine (which is all I ask of a chairman), and so it may seem
ungrateful, but in spite of "THAT" and any books, even Spenser and
Chaucer, which THAT might have contained, this Maecenas of an evening
was not a bookman.

It is said, and now I am going to turn the application of a pleasant
anecdote upside down, that a Colonial squatter having made his pile
and bethinking himself of his soul, wrote home to an old friend to
send him out some chests of books, as many as he thought fit, and the
best that he could find. His friend was so touched by this sign of
grace that he spent a month of love over the commission, and was
vastly pleased when he sent off, in the best editions and in pleasant
binding, the very essence of English literature. It was a
disappointment that the only acknowledgment of his trouble came on a
postcard, to say that the consignment had arrived in good condition.
A year afterwards, so runs the story, he received a letter which was
brief and to the point. "Have been working over the books, and if
anything new has been written by William Shakespeare or John Milton,
please send it out." I believe this is mentioned as an instance of