y must have delighted Dibdin; and as he was at one
time librarian at Althorpe, he doubtless was the medium of bestowing
this charm upon the binding of his own work for his friend.

The invisible in libraries has ever seemed to us linked with those who
have written or read the books. If souls are allowed to return to their
earthly haunts, a library would surely be the place to meet them. For
this reason we have cherished a firm belief in the apparition which the
distinguished librarian of the Astor Library beheld, and never desire to
hear any commonplace explanations concerning it; and on visiting the
Astor collection, we were more desirous to see the spot where the
reading phantom appeared than all the rest of the building. Who shall
say that authors and students do not come back to the books which
contain their invisible souls, or spirits like themselves? Without
venturing to invoke the sceptred sovereigns of literature, or to call up
the shades of the prophets and sibyls of elder time, yet at midnight
what a circle might come forth and visit the library! Scott and Burns
and Byron, Burke and Fox and Sheridan, all in one evening; clever,
pretty Mrs. Thrale comes bringing Fanny Burney to meet Jane Austen and
Maria Edgeworth; Horace Walpole, patronizing Gray, Rogers, Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Keats, and Charles Lamb,--what a social club that would be!
Ah, the librarian of the Astor is more fortunate than we; these spirits
are all invisible, and we catch not even at midnight the rustle of the
leaf they turn or the passing murmur of their voices. Yet within the
library, ever ready to meet us, their souls still linger; and when we
open the visible book which enshrines it, we find the hidden spirit.

A number of gentlemen once went together to a friend's house. While they
awaited his entrance, one of the party, being a lover of books,
naturally turned to the shelves of the library. Without any particular
attraction to the title, he chanced to take down one of the volumes. As
he opened it, a sealed letter fell from between the leaves on the floor.
He took it up, and, to his no small astonishment, perceived that it was
addressed to himself.

He called the attention of his companions to this strange circumstance.
As it could be no breach of decorum to break the seal of a letter
addressed to one's self, he did so. The surprise was increased by
finding a bank-note within. The letter came from a well-known gentleman,
and bore the da