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upward。 On the table； folded and sealed； were the memoirs of the old
man upon whom the sentence of death had been pronounced。 On the bed
in the corner of the room； with one arm thrown over his breast； and the
smile of peace 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。
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
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
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
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
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
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
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
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