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The Evening Walk.

ON THE RIGHT USES OF LITERATURE.

T was on a fine autumnal evening, when the sun was setting serenely behind a thick copse upon a distant hill, and his warm tints were lighting up a magnificent and widely-extended landscape, that, sauntering 'midst the fields, I was meditating upon the various methods of honourably filling up the measure of our existence; when I discovered, towards my left, a messenger running at full speed towards me. The abruptness of his appearance, and the velocity of his step, somewhat disconcerted me; but on his near approach my apprehensions were dissipated.

I knew him to be the servant of my old college friend, whom I chuse here to denominate Lysander. He came to inform me, in his blunt and honest manner, that his master had just arrived with Philemon, our common friend; and that, as they were too fatigued with their journey to come out to me, they begged I would quickly enter the house, and, as usual, make them welcome. This intelligence afforded me the liveliest satisfaction. In fifteen minutes, after a hearty shaking of hands, I was seated with them in the parlour; all of us admiring the unusual splendour of the evening sky, and, in consequence, partaking of the common topics of conversation with a greater flow of spirits.

"You are come, my friends," said I (in the course of conversation), "to make some stay with me—indeed, I cannot suffer you to depart without keeping you at least a week; in order, amongst other things, to view the beauty of our neighbour Lorenzo's grounds, the general splendour of his house, and the magnificence of his Library." "In regard to grounds and furniture," replied Lysander, "there is very little in the most beautiful and costly which can long excite my attention—but the Library—" "Here," exclaimed Philemon, "here you have him in the toils." "I will frankly confess," rejoined Lysander, "that I am an arrant Bibliomaniac—that I love books dearly—that the very sight, touch, and, more, the perusal—" "Hold, my friend," again exclaimed Philemon, "you have renounced your profession—you talk of reading books—do Bibliomaniacs ever read books?" "Nay," quoth Lysander, "you shall not banter thus with impunity. We will, if it please you," said he, turning round to me, "make our abode with you for a few days—and, after seeing the library of your neighbour, I will throw down the gauntlet to Philemon, challenging him to answer certain questions which you may put to us, respecting the number, rarity, beauty, or utility of those works which relate to the literature and antiquities of our own country. We shall then see who is able to return the readiest answer." "Forgive," rejoined Philemon, "my bantering strain. I revoke my speech. You know that, with yourself, I heartily love books; more from their contents than their appearance." Lysander returned a gracious smile; and the hectic of irritability on his cheek was dissipated in an instant.