works which a man would not have an opportunity of purchasing once in his lifetime, in the ordinary course of affairs. The books are in excellent condition, and in fine bindings.

Nothing marks the growth of the public mind, and the increasing wealth of our times, more than the demand for books. Within ten years the sale of common books has increased probably two hundred per cent., and is daily increasing. But the sale of expensive works, and library editions in costly binding, is yet more noticeable. Ten years ago, and such a display of magnificent works as is to be found at the Appletons' would have been a precursor of bankruptcy. There was no demand for them. A few dozen, in one little show-case, was the prudent whole. Now, one whole side of an immense store is not only filled with most admirably bound library-books, but from some inexhaustible source the void continually made in the shelves is at once re-filled. A reserve of heroic books supply the places of those that fall. Alas! Where is human nature so weak as in a book-store! Speak of the appetite for drink; or a bonvivant's relish for dinner! What are these mere animal throes and ragings, to be compared with those fantasies of taste, of imagination, of intellect, which bewilder a student, in a great bookseller's temptation-hall?

How easily one may distinguish a genuine lover of books from the worldly man! With what subdued and yet glowing enthusiasm does he gaze upon the costly front of a thousand embattled volumes! How gently he draws down the volumes, as if they were little children; how tenderly he handles them! He peers at the title-page, at the text, or the notes, with the nicety of a bird examining a flower. He studies the

:

binding the leather,-Russia, English calf, morocco; the lettering, the gilding, the edging, the hinge of the cover! He opens it, and shuts it, he holds it off, and brings it nigh. It suffuses his whole body with book magnetism. He walks up and down, in a maze, at the mysterious allotments of Providence that gives so much money to men that spend it upon their appetites, and so little to men that would spend it in benevolence, or upon their refined tastes! It is astonishing, too, how one's necessities multiply in the presence of the supply. One never knows how many things it is impossible to do without, till he goes to Windle's or Smith's house-furnishing stores. One is surprised to perceive, at some bazaar, or fancy and variety store, how many conveniences he needs. He is satisfied that his life must have been utterly inconvenient aforetime. And thus, too, one is inwardly convicted at Appletons, of having lived for years without books, which he is now satisfied one cannot live without!

Then, too, the subtle process by which the man satisfies himself that he can afford to buy. Talk of Wall street and financiering! No subtle manager or broker ever saw through a maze of financial embarrassments half so quick as a poor bookbuyer sees his way clear to pay for what he must have. Why, he will economize; he will dispense with this and that; he will retrench here and there; he will save by various expedients hitherto untried; he will put spurs on both heels of his industry; and then, besides all this, he will somehow get along when the time for payment comes! Ah! this SOMEHOW! That word is as big as a whole world, and is stuffed with all the vagaries and fantasies that fancy ever bred on hope. And

yet, is there not some comfort in buying books, to be paid for? We have heard of a sot, who wished his neck as long as the worm of a still, that the draught might taste good so much longer. Thus, it is a prolonged excitement of purchase, if you feel for six months in a slight doubt whether the book is hon estly your own or not. Had you paid down, that would have been the end of it. There would have been no affectionate and beseeching look of your books at you, every time you saw them, saying, as plain as a book's eyes can say, "Do not let me be taken from you."

Moreover, buying books before you can pay for them, promotes caution. You dont feel quite at liberty to take them home. You are married. Your wife keeps an account-book. She knows to a penny what you can and what you cannot af ford. She has no "speculation" in her eyes. Plain figures make desperate work with airy "somehows." It is a matter of no small skill and and experience to get your books home, and in their places undiscovered. Perhaps the blundering express brings them to the door just at evening. "What is it, my dear?" she says to you. "Oh! nothing-a few books that I cannot do without." That smile! A true housewife, that loves her husband, can smile a whole arithmetic at him at one look! Of course she insists, in the kindest way, in sympathizing with you in your literary acquisition. She cuts the strings of the bundle, (and of your heart,) and out comes the whole story. You have bought a whole set of costly English books, full bound in calf, extra gilt, and admirably lettered.

Now, this must not happen frequently. The books must be smuggled home. Let them be sent to some near place. Then

66

when your wife has a headache, or is out making a call, or has lain down, run the books across the frontier and threshold, hastily undo them, stop only for one loving glance as you put them away in the closet, or behind other books on the shelf, or on the topmost shelf. Clear away the twine and wrappingpaper, and every suspicious circumstance. Be very careful not to be too kind. That often brings on detection. Only the other day, we heard it said somewhere, "Why, how good you have been lately. I am really afraid you have been carrying on mischief secretly." Our heart smote us. It was a fact. That very day we had bought a few books which we could not do without." After a while you can bring out one volume, accidentally, and leave it on the table. "Why, my dear, what a beautiful book! Where did you borrow it?" You glance over the newspaper, with the quietest tone you can command: "That! oh! that is mine. Have you not seen it before? It has been in the house this two months;" and you rush on with anecdote and incident, and point out the binding, and that peculiar trick of gilding, and everything else you can think of; but it all will not do; you cannot rub out that roPeople may talk about the equality of the sexes! They are not equal. The silent smile of a sensible, loving woman, will vanquish ten men. repent, and in time form a habit of repenting. But we must not forget our errand, which lovers of books who desire rare and curious works, should attend the sale of Mr. Welford's books; and they should remember with gratitude that he has removed all temptation from them to buy more than they have the money to pay for, by making the terms cash.

guish arithmetical smile.

Of course you

was, to say that

Of Mr. Beecher's personal history we have not much to say. He was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, was educated at Amherst college, Massachusetts, and spent a number of years in the west before accepting call to preach in Brooklyn, where he is at the present time. When a boy, he was full of the Beecher spirit and independence. We have heard a friend of the family tell a story of young Henry, which illustrates not only the lad's full flow of animal spirits, but the subtle knowledge of human nature possessed by his father. For some cause or other, while pursuing his studies, Henry one day informed his parents that he was going to sea. If he could not obtain the consent of his parents, he gave them very distinctly to understand that he could run away—at any rate, he was not going to endure any opposition. To the boy's profound surprise, his father made no objection to his resolution, but the next day coolly informed him, that a tailor should fit him out with a suit of sea-clothes, and that he had written to a maritime friend to make arrangements for his reception on board his ship. He wound up by saying, that he had indulged the thought that he (Henry) would go on successfully in his studies until prepared to enter college, and that he would hereafter live a life of honor and usefulness; but that he had decided without advice to adopt a sailor's profession, and he should not be opposed. The more the boy-student