monasteries, on parchment or vellum.

In the quaint, drowsy, picturesque town of Haarlem, in Holland,
with its narrow, irregular, grass-grown streets and many-gabled
houses, the projecting upper stories of which almost meet, one
particular house, which seems even older than any of the others,
is pointed out to visitors as one of the most interesting sights
of the ancient place. It was in this house that Laurence Coster,
the father of the art of printing, the man--at least so runs the
legend--who made it possible for the poorest and humblest to enjoy
the inestimable luxury of books and reading, lived and loved and
dreamed more than five hundred years ago.

Coster was warden of the little church which stood near his home,
and his days flowed peacefully on, in a quiet, uneventful way,
occupied with the duties of his office, and reading and study, for
he was one of those who had mastered the art of reading. A
diligent student, he had conned over and over, until he knew them
by heart, the few manuscript volumes owned by the little church of
which he was warden.

A lover of solitude, as well as student and dreamer, the church
warden's favorite resort, when his duties left him at leisure, was
a dense grove not far from the town. Thither he went when he
wished to be free from all distraction, to think and dream over
many things which would appear nonsensical to his sober,
practical-minded neighbors. There he indulged in day dreams and
poetic fancies; and once, when in a sentimental mood, he carved
the initials of the lady of his love on one of the trees.