Suffice it to say that,
including this charming book, my purchases did not amount to L13,
and I had pretty well a cart-load of books for my money--more than
I wanted much! Having brought them home, I `weeded them out,'
and the `weeding' realised four times what I gave for the whole,
leaving me with some real book treasures.
"Some weeks afterwards I heard that the remainder of the books were
literally treated as waste lumber, and carted off to the neighbouring town,
and were to be had, any one of them, for sixpence, from a cobbler
who had allowed his shop to be used as a store house for them.
The news of their being there reached the ears of an old bookseller
in one of the large towns, and he, I think, cleared out the lot.
So curious an instance of the most total ignorance on the part of
the sellers, and I may add on the part of the possible buyers also,
I think is worth noting."
How would the reader in this Year of Grace, 1887, like such
an experience as that?
CONCLUSION.
IT is a great pity that there should be so many distinct
enemies at work for the destruction of literature, and that
they should so often be allowed to work out their sad end.
Looked at rightly, the possession of any old book is a sacred trust,
which a conscientious owner or guardian would as soon think
of ignoring as a parent would of neglecting his child.
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