in the shape of cheap lots or donations, and the result is a heterogeneous mass of books to which the title of library is wrongly applied.
Philosophers in various ages have informed us that a man may be recognized as regards his idiosyncrasies and habits by the company he keeps, the clothes he wears, the food he eats, and so on; but for the particular purpose of this work it is best that he be measured and judged by the books he stocks. It is very surprising, considering the vast number of books produced, how little real influence literature has on the life and concerns of the ordinary man. If journalistic literature be excluded, it is doubtful if books are used by more than one man in ten as they are intended to be used, namely, as machines or tools designed to simplify the multifarious details of every-day life. Take, for example, the case of the prosperous publican—or more politely, the Licensed Victualler—who is best equipped with the material means required for library formation. His library, as a general rule, is quite childlike and elementary in appearance, and resembles the ordinary nursery library in being composed of unbound journals or literature in pamphlet form. Indeed, the vast majority of private libraries have a more or less strongly marked resemblance to the library of the child in being an unkempt and ragged assemblage of unbound ephemera. So with the licensed victualler. He relies entirely on the daily newspapers for his literary food, with perhaps some more serious matter from a weekly
