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and rest on his tranquil face； the poet lay。 All around him； on the shelves and in the cases； were the books he loved so well。 Ah； who shall say that on that morning his fancy was not verified； and that as the gray light came reverently through the window； those cherished volumes did not bestir themselves； awaiting the cheery voice： ‘‘Good day to you； my sweet friends。 How lovingly they beam upon me； and how glad they are that my rest has been unbroken。''
Could they beam upon you less lovingly； great heart； in the chamber warmed by your affection and now sanctified by death？ Were they less glad to know that the repose would be unbroken forevermore； since it came the glorious reward； my brother； of the friend who went gladly to it through his faith； having striven for it through his works？
ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD Buena Park； December； 1895。
The Chapters in this Book
MY FIRST LOVE THE BIRTH OF A NEW PASSION THE LUXURY OF READING IN BED THE MANIA OF COLLECTING SEIZES ME BALDNESS AND INTELLECTUALITY MY ROMANCE WITH FIAMMETTA THE DELIGHTS OF FENDER…FISHING BALLADS AND THEIR MAKERS BOOKSELLERS AND PRINTERS； OLD AND NEW WHEN FANCHONETTE BEWITCHED ME DIAGNOSIS OF THE BACILLUS LIBRORUM THE PLEASURES OF EXTRA…ILLUSTRATION ON THE ODORS WHICH MY BOOKS EXHALE ELZEVIRS AND DIVERS OTHER MATTERS A BOOK THAT BRINGS SOLACE AND CHEER THE MALADY CALLED CATALOGITIS THE NAPOLEONIC RENAISSANCE MY WORKSHOP AND OTHERS OUR DEBT TO MONKISH MEN
I
MY FIRST LOVE
At this moment； when I am about to begin the most important undertaking of my life； I recall the sense of abhorrence with which I have at different times read the confessions of men famed for their prowess in the realm of love。 These boastings have always shocked me； for I reverence love as the noblest of the passions； and it is impossible for me to conceive how one who has truly fallen victim to its benign influence can ever thereafter speak flippantly of it。
Yet there have been； and there still are； many who take a seeming delight in telling you how many conquests they have made； and they not infrequently have the bad taste to explain with wearisome prolixity the ways and the means whereby those conquests were wrought； as； forsooth； an unfeeling huntsman is forever boasting of the game he has slaughtered and is forever dilating upon the repulsive details of his butcheries。
I have always contended that one who is in love （and having once been in love is to be always in love） has； actually； no confession to make。 Love is so guileless； so proper； so pure a passion as to involve none of those things which require or which admit of confession。 He； therefore； who surmises that in this exposition of my affaires du coeur there is to be any betrayal of confidences； or any discussion； suggestion； or hint likely either to shame love or its votaries or to bring a blush to the cheek of the fastidioushe is grievously in error。
Nor am I going to boast； for I have made no conquests。 I am in no sense a hero。 For many； very many years I have walked in a pleasant garden； enjoying sweet odors and soothing spectacles； no predetermined itinerary has controlled my course； I have wandered whither I pleased； and very many times I have strayed so far into the tangle… wood and thickets as almost to have lost my way。 And now it is my purpose to walk that pleasant garden once more； inviting you to bear me company and to share with me what satisfaction may accrue from an old man's return to old…time places and old…time loves。
As a child I was serious…minded。 I cared little for those sports which usually excite the ardor of youth。 To out…of…door games and exercises I had particular aversion。 I was born in a southern latitude； but at the age of six years I went to live with my grandmother in New Hampshire； both my parents having fallen victims to the cholera。 This change from the balmy temperature of the South to the rigors of the North was not agreeable to me； and I have always held it responsible for that delicate health which has attended me through life。
My grandmother encouraged my disinclination to play； she recognized in me that certain seriousness of mind which I remember to have heard her say I inherited from her； and she determined to make of me what she had failed to make of any of her own sonsa professional expounder of the only true faith of Congregationalism。 For this reason； and for the further reason that at the tender age of seven years I publicly avowed my desire to become a clergyman； an ambition wholly sincere at that time for these reasons was I duly installed as prime favorite in my grandmother's affections。
As distinctly as though it were but yesterday do I recall the time when I met my first love。 It was in the front room of the old homestead； and the day was a day in spring。 The front room answered those purposes which are served by the so…called parlor of the present time。 I remember the low ceiling； the big fireplace； the long； broad mantelpiece； the andirons and fender of brass； the tall clock with its jocund and roseate moon； the bellows that was always wheezy； the wax flowers under a glass globe in the corner； an allegorical picture of Solomon's temple； another picture of little Samuel at prayer； the high； stiff…back chairs； the foot…stool with its gayly embroidered top； the mirror in its gilt…and…black frameall these things I remember well； and with feelings of tender reverence； and yet that day I now recall was well…nigh threescore and ten years ago！
Best of all I remember the case in which my grandmother kept her books； a mahogany structure； massive and dark； with doors composed of diamond…shaped figures of glass cunningly set in a framework of lead。 I was in my seventh year then； and I had learned to read I know not when。 The back and current numbers of the ‘‘Well… Spring'' had fallen prey to my insatiable appetite for literature。 With the story of the small boy who stole a pin； repented of and confessed that crime； and then became a good and great man； I was as familiar as if I myself had invented that ingenious and instructive tale； I could lisp the moral numbers of Watts and the didactic hymns of Wesley； and the annual reports of the American Tract Society had already revealed to me the sphere of usefulness in which my grandmother hoped I would ultimately figure with discretion and zeal。 And yet my heart was free； wholly untouched of that gentle yet deathless passion which was to become my delight； my inspiration； and my solace； it awaited the coming of its first love。
Upon one of those shelves yonderit is the third shelf from the top； fourth compartment to the rightis that old copy of the ‘‘New England Primer；'' a curious little； thin； square book in faded blue board covers。 A good many times I have wondered whether I ought not to have the precious little thing sumptuously attired in the finest style known to my binder； indeed； I have often been tempted to exchange the homely blue board covers for flexible levant； for it occurred to me that in this way I could testify to my regard for the treasured volume。 I spoke of this one day to my friend J