The gentle Addison, in “The Spectator,” thus described a woman’s library: “The very sound of a lady’s library gave me a great curiosity to see it; and as it was some time before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the folios (which were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of china placed one above another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quartos were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid
The octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colors, and sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden frame that they looked like one continued pillar indented with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained with the greatest variety of dyes. That part of the library which was designed for the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was inclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest grotesque works that I ever saw, and made up of scaramouches, lions, mandarins, monkeys, trees, shells, and a thousand other odd figures in china ware. In the midst of the room was a little Japan table with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver snuff-box made in shape of a little book. I found there were several other counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were carved in wood, and served only to fill up the number, like fagots in the muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased with such a mixed kind of furniture as seemed very suitable both to the lady and the scholar, and did not know at first whether I should fancy myself in a grotto or in a library”
If so great a favorite with the fair sex could say such satirical things of them, I may be permitted to have my own idea of
A WOMAN’S IDEA OF A LIBRARY.
do not care so much for books,
But Libraries are all the style,
With fine “editions de luxe”
One’s formal callers to beguile;
With neat dwarf cases round the walls,
And china teapots on the top,
The empty shelves concealed by falls
Of India silk that graceful drop.
A few rare etchings greet the view,
Like “Harmony” and “Harvest Moon;”
An artist’s proof on satin too
By what’s-his-name is quite a boon.
My print called “Jupiter and Jo”
Is very rarely seen, but then
Another copy I can show
Inscribed with “Jupiter and 10.”
A fisher boy in marble stoops
On pedestal in window placed,
And one of Rogers’ lovely groups
Is through the long lace curtains traced.
And then I make a painting lean
Upon a white and gilded easel,
Illustrating that famous scene
Of Joseph Andrews and Lady Teazle.
Of course my shelves the works reveal
Of Plutarch, Rollin, and of Tupper,
While Bowdler’s Shakespeare and “Lucille”
Quite soothe one’s spirits after supper.
And when I visited dear Rome
I bought a lot of photographs,
And had them mounted here at home,
And though my dreadful husband laughs,
I’ve put them in “The Marble Faun,”
And envious women vainly seek
At Scribner’s shop, from early dawn,
To find a volume so unique.
And monthly here, in deep surmise,
Minerva’s bust above us frowning,
A club of women analyze
The works of Ibsen and of Browning.
n the charming romance, “Realmah,” the noble African prince prescribes monogamy to his subjects, but he allows himself three wives; one is a State wife, to sit by his side on the throne, help him receive embassadors, and preside at court dinners; another a household wife, to rule the kitchen and the homely affairs of the palace; the third is a love-wife, to be cherished in his heart and bear him children. Why would it not be fair to the Book-Worm to concede him a Book-wife, who should understand and sympathize with him in his eccentricity, and who should care more for rare and beautiful books than for diamonds, laces, Easter bonnets and ten-button gloves?