Confessions of a Book-Lover by E. Walter Walters

YOU have often heard the cry, and know full well its meaning, ‘My books are priceless. ' What wonder, then, if you and I -- lovers of books -- take lively interest in what an ingenuous man of business has called ‘_The Cult of the Bookplate_. ' ‘The mission of the bookplate,' he advises us, ‘has always been, and must always be, primarily to indicate ownership of the books in which they are placed. They may be ornate or simple, as the taste or means of the owner may indicate; they may incorporate crests, arms, motto, or other family attribute; or, again, they may reflect the personal interests or occupations of the owner; but the real aim of the bookplate remains ever the same -- a reminder to those who borrow.'

Pretty ground this for contemplation -- for doubts, counsels, hopes, fears, regrets; aye, and for _rejoicing_! How my mind leaps, first this way, then that, when I meditate upon that rich circle of friendship in which I may borrow from a fellow book-lover's treasured volumes, and, of course, lend of my own! Yet by what unspeakable regrets am I possessed when I think of certain treasured volumes lent in wildly generous moments to good but ‘short-minded' friends! I have in mind a little volume of essays -- a first and only edition -- by an unknown but charming writer, which is now in the possession of that restless fellow K -- . May he see these words and repent! And what of that treasured edition -- once mine, but, alas! mine no more -- of certain writings of Dr. Johnson? Oh, that I could send the good doctor in quest of the volume! What blushes of shame he would bring to the cheeks of the heartless borrower! ‘Sir! ' he would cry. And what words would follow! Very speedily should I be in a position to fill the gap in my shelves.