sire to accumulate a
library round him in his Tusculum. Writing to his familiar Terry, he
says, "The worst of all is, that while my trees grow and my fountain
fills, my purse, in an inverse ratio, sinks to zero. This last
circumstance will, I fear, make me a very poor guest at the literary
entertainment your researches hold out for me. I should, however, like
much to have the treatise on Dreams by the author of the New Jerusalem,
which, as John Cuthbertson, the smith, said of the minister's sermon,
'must be neat wark.' The loyal poems by N.T. are probably by poor Nahum
Tate, who was associated with Brady in versifying the Psalms, and more
honourably with Dryden in the second part of Absalom and Achitophel. I
never saw them, however, but would give a guinea or thirty shillings for
the collection."

One of the reasons why Dibdin's expatiations among rare and valuable
volumes are, after all, so devoid of interest, is, that he occupied
himself in a great measure in catering for men with measureless purses.
Hence there is throughout too exact an estimate of everything by what it
is worth in sterling cash, with a contempt for small things, which has
an unpleasant odour of plush and shoulder-knot about it. Compared with
dear old Monkbarns and his prowlings among the stalls, the narratives of
the Boccaccio of the book-trade are like the account of a journey that
might be written from the rumble of the travelling chariot, when
compared with the adventurous narrative of the pedestrian or of the
wanderer in the far East. Everything is too comfortable, luxurious,
and easy--russia, morocco, embossing, marbling, gilding--all crowding
on one another, till one feels suffocated with riches. There is a
feeling, at the same time, of the utter useless pomp of the whole thing.
Volumes, in the condition in which he generally describes them, are no
more fitted for use and consultation than white kid gloves and silk
stockings are for hard work. Books should be used decently and
respectfully--reverently, if you will; but let there be no toleration
for the doctrine that there are volumes too splendid for use, too fine
almost to be looked at, as Brummel said of some of his Dresden china.
That there should be little interest in the record of rich men buying
costly books which they know nothing about and never become acquainted
with, is an illustration of a wholesome truth, pervading all human
endeavours after happiness. It is this, that the active