g these only the most ordinary works?"
The librarian shrugged his shoulders. "As from the beginning," he
replied, "you paid me my salary in books, I was forced to take those
which found the readiest purchasers; nor am I a sufficient judge of
curiosities, and probably did not set a sufficient value on these;
besides books, particularly rarities, vary in their value at different
times; and if the seller is hard prest to raise a sum, he must take
almost whatever is offered to him."

"At this rate then," said Edward, half in sadness, half with laughter,
"I should certainly have done better to engage no librarian at all, or
have sold the collection at first; I should then have had money in lieu
of it, or have kept the books. And what a collection! With what
affection my father cherished It! What a joy it was to him, when he
obtained the rare Petrarch, the first edition of Dante and Boccacio.
How could I forget that in most of these books there are notes from his
hand! How would I prize these works, if I still possessed them!
However, as I have no longer a library, you will suppose, as indeed I
lately gave you notice, that I have no farther occasion for a
librarian. In the mean while, we will spend one more merry day
together."

Now came in the man who had often taken part in these wild bouts, and
whom, on account of his turn of character, they never called by any
other name but that of the Puritan. This name they had given him,
because he never chimed in with the cheerful mirth or frolicsome
extravagance of the rest, but amidst mutterings and moral reflections
consumed his share of the feast. "Now we only want the Crocodile,"
cried Eulenboeck, "and we are all met." This was a little hypochondriac
bookseller, pale and shrivelled, but one of the hardest drinkers. They
had given him this singular name, because as soon as the slightest
fumes of the liquor mounted into his brain he burst into tears, and
continued to shed them in the greater abundance, the longer the carouse
lasted, and the more extravagant the gaiety of the rest. The door
opened, and the rueful figure completed the odd circle of the guests.

The table was covered with Perigord pies, oysters, and other savory
viands; the company took their seats, and Eulenboeck, whose purple face
between the tapers cast a reverend sheen, thus solemnly began: "My
assembled friends, a stranger who should suddenly step into this room
might be induced, by these arrangements, which