But in the Reader we are still under guides. What a boy turns out
for himself, as he rummages the bookshelves, is the real test and
pleasure. My father's library was a spot of some austerity; the
proceedings of learned societies, some Latin divinity, cyclopaedias,
physical science, and, above all, optics, held the chief place upon
the shelves, and it was only in holes and corners that anything
really legible existed as by accident. The PARENT'S ASSISTANT, ROB
ROY, WAVERLEY, and GUY MANNERING, the VOYAGES OF CAPTAIN WOODS
ROGERS, Fuller's and Bunyan's HOLY WARS, THE REFLECTIONS OF ROBINSON
CRUSOE, THE FEMALE BLUEBEARD, G. Sand's MARE AU DIABLE - (how came it
in that grave assembly!), Ainsworth's TOWER OF LONDON, and four old
volumes of Punch - these were the chief exceptions. In these latter,
which made for years the chief of my diet, I very early fell in love
(almost as soon as I could spell) with the Snob Papers. I knew them
almost by heart, particularly the visit to the Pontos; and I remember
my surprise when I found, long afterwards, that they were famous, and
signed with a famous name; to me, as I read and admired them, they
were the works of Mr.
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