te an experience of my own, of some
twenty years ago:

"Late one evening, at my father's house, I saw a catalogue of a sale of
furniture, farm implements and books, which was announced to take place
on the following morning at a country rectory in Derbyshire, some four
miles from the nearest railway station.

"It was summer time--the country at its best--and with the attraction
of an old book, I decided on a day's holiday, and eight o'clock the next
morning found me in the train for C----, and after a variation in
my programme, caused by my having walked three miles west before I
discovered that my destination was three miles east of the railway
station, I arrived at the rectory at noon, and found assembled some
thirty or forty of the neighbouring farmers, their wives, men-servants
and maid-servants, all seemingly bent on a day's idling, rather than
business. The sale was announced for noon, but it was an hour later
before the auctioneer put in an appearance, and the first operation in
which he took part, and in which he invited my assistance, was to make
a hearty meal of bread and cheese and beer in the rectory kitchen. This
over, the business of the day began by a sundry collection of pots,
pans, and kettles being brought to the competition of the public,
followed by some lots of bedding, etc. The catalogue gave books as the
first part of the sale, and, as three o'clock was reached, my patience
was gone, and I protested to the auctioneer against his not selling in
accordance with his catalogue. To this he replied that there was not
time enough, and that he would sell the books to-morrow! This was too
much for me, and I suggested that he had broken faith with the buyers,
and had brought me to C---- on a false pretence. This, however, did not
seem to disturb his good humour, or to make him unhappy, and his answer
was to call 'Bill,' who was acting as porter, and to tell him to give
the gentleman the key of the 'book room,' and to bring down any of the
books he might pick out, and he 'would sell 'em.' I followed 'Bill,' and
soon found myself in a charming nook of a library, full of books,
mostly old divinity, but with a large number of the best miscellaneous
literature of the sixteenth century, English and foreign. A very short
look over the shelves produced some thirty Black Letter books, three or
four illuminated missals, and some book rarities of a more recent date.
'Bill' took them downstairs, and I wondered what wo