The Sun.
London, England, 1840-08-11 00:00:00

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LONDON, TUEsDAY, AUGUST 11, 1t340.

BRITISH AUXILIARY LEGION.
OFFICERS who have PARTED with their CER-
TIFICATES will hear of something considerably to their ad-
vantage on application to
Messrs. MOSS and HUMPHREYS, Solicitors,
4, Queen-street, Cheapside.

visited with an abrupt and cavalier summons. 'lt is a
little man with rising mustachios, a pale complexion,
hollow eyes, hanging and ill-combed hair ; the youth
stands as straight as lie can, casts a disdainful look at
the librarian, whom he considers the public's humble
servant, and does not even honour him with a nod ; his
hat remains immoveable on his head ; his hands are
plunged into his tattered pockets, when they do not ca-
ress his chin on the filthy margin of a black satin stock,
above which a clean shit t never peeped.
" Sir, I wish to consult a work upon the Wandering
Jew." " Sir, what work is it ?" " Why ! you must
know, since you are the librarian.' " But, Sir "
replies with politeness the functionary,, who is thus bit-
terly made to feel. that, he belongs to the public, and
even to the ill-bred public. " What ! you don% know
the work I want ! 'tis pitiful, 'tis disgustingt
'Tis true, Sir, that I do not know the work ; but if
you will name the author we shall look into the cata-
logue." " The author ! How should I know him ?
I want materials to write the biography of the Wander-
ing Jew, and, if I can't get them- at the King's library,
where the devil am Ito get them ?" " You say that
there is a work on that subject ?" " There must cer-
tainly be one, and I beg you will hand it me forthwith,
for.tbe newspaper is waiting for nay fertilletorz." " With
all my willingness to satisfy you, Sir, I regret, it is not
in my power, for your information is so vague •
besides, I do not believe the book exists, even in Ger-
man." " I don't understand German, and must have
the hock. iL Preach." " But if. we have it not ?" " You
must have it." " But if there is no such book ?"
" Pooh ! that's no reason ; it's because you won't
take-the trouble to look for "On the contrary,
Sir, it would give me pleasure
.to assist yet; in your
biography, but we have no catalogue divided into
subjects." " So I suspected, you have let the cat out
of the bag. No catalogue ! no catalogue at the King's
library had been, told so, and could scarcely be-
lieve it, upon my honour !" "We have several cata-
logues, Sir, as you can yourself Pow asceitain.", No,
there is no' batatogue,—yeu
have yourself.just.srod so,
and I'll report it in • the newspapers. —I shall let the
world know that the. books one wants cannot be pro-
e
pay .
•
incuorneedy,whrearegigbfereoainusteheththex-ers, require to be sent to
school to learn their duty." .librarians, 'whe devour .the
After this furious sortie, delivered in the style of a
tragic tirade, the biographer of the Wandering Jew
turns his heels about, twists his mustachios; and hastens
to vent his ire in a dramatic journal,. his thunder
commencing thus :---" Of what use, are public libra-
ries and librarians ?" Scarcely has the innocent cause
of the arrogant youth's anger resumed his pen, silently
indignant at the.affronts heitas often to endure from the
first corner, when a new personage familiarly bends
over the raili' g surrounding the librarian's bureau-
-2720 avulso nen deficit alter. This one, at least, takes
his hat ofrand bows with the look of an old'acquaint-
ance. He has not the arrogant deportment of a jour-
nalist, nor the indolent manners of a louner, He is
sans faeon both in mind and person, and is not in the
slightest degree intimidated by the rigid and cold coun-
tenance of the librarian, who looks at him without see-
ing him, and listens to him only with one ear.
" Good, sir," says he freely, "it is I !" " And what is
there foryour service ?" replies the librarian, who does
not recognise him among the dark,, white, yellow, red,
ugly, hideous, handsome, old and young faces that daily
pass and vanish before him. "It is I!" reiterates the
unknown, who cannot conceive how lie can be forgot-
ten when he has once been seen. " I come for lc
manach des Adresses." " The regulations, Sir, pro-
hibit .the lending out of that. sort of works, for the
King's libraryiis not 'a
branch office of the Post Office."
" You are indeed, quite right, not to lend your Alma-
nach 'Adresses' to all people, for .you could never
.supply enough,; but it is
.1. I have come for fifteen
years past to the,library to copy the 'addresses I want,
and fora Zabifue such as I you 'well'ovellook the-regu-
lations ; surely 'yeu won't refuse to-day. what- you have
granted me for ,ten years past."
" Sir," timidly says a child rising on tiptoe to give
a himself more imposing tournure; " please to give me,
Sir, a translation of Horace." " Which r-replies the'
librarian, who notices neither the years nor the size of •
the schoolboy." I don't care which, provided the trans-
lation be not expurgata, like the Horace we are given at
schools." "Give the gentleman a complete translation
of Horace," says the librarian to an employe, whom the
lad follows with proud importance. " Sir," adds this ,
hopeful pupil, who beforehand enjoys the pleasure of
becoming acquainted with the parts of Horace which the
University conceals beneath a chaste veil ; " Sir, would
you also be good. enough to lend me a, translation of
Demosthenes' Philippics, for I shall then get through
tomorrow's task.

meraries, continually travel over this labyrinth of the
hu:nas mind. At the King's library the heads of the
librarians could be more easily dispensed with than the
legs of those unfortunate bipeds.

THE DIAMOND TEST AND DETEC-
TOR.—The Nobility, Gentry, Diamond dealers, Lapi-
daries and Jewellers are respectfully informed that an INSTR 11-
MEN 'l' of the simplest construction has been invented that the
most inexperienced may defy the chance of imposition in the
purchase of Diamonds.
Sold wholesale and retail by the Inventor and Manufacturer,
Mr. J. ROMER, 22, Felix-place, Liverpool. road, Islington,
price 10s. All letters to be post paid.

" Sir," says, with a subdued voice, agfitunali wiles
between two ages, wrapped in a tarttn; ana her
and neck muffled up in a threefold veil, which permits
one to suspect a pair of pretty 'oyes. -"What's Year
pleasure, Sir ?3' replies the librarian, who is accustomed
to to speak to the male gender, because the King's library
receives but few literary females. "I am the aunt of
your landlord, and my nephew gave me reason to hope
that you would have the extreme kindness to lend me
some. books,. some novels. " But, Sir, ; I have no,;
right to lend books, Madam, and the conservatoire
alone grants such permissions.; it does not lavish them,
and I can only promise to back your. application."
" It would be. very pleasant to have books, I mean
novels, a disciTtion, especially in the long:winter even-
ings, and my nephew would be greatly obliged to you.
" " That" does not depend on me, Madam ; for-
ward your application ; but I warn you that the regu.
lations forbid the lending of novels." " And, pray, Sir,
what in the world would you have us women read,
then ?" .

Sir, the Journal des Modes of la
another fair reader, whoie demand
her
pro-
fession is more connected with industry than literature.
Yes, Madam," replies the librarian, who is assailed
VS ith a crossrfire of twenty deniands. "'Tie strange
enough," mutters the landlord's aunt, as she retreats
with the revengeful design of making her nephew give
warning to:his tenant, the librarian ; " 'tis strange enough
that whilst the Journal des Modes'is lent to modists and
sempstresses, novels should be deiiied to women of my
station ! I must, then, subscribe to a circulating
library, mice there is so little gallantry to be found at
the King's library. The brutes I"
" Sir, do you know whether the work which was out
last week has been returned ?" says a polite man, hand-
ing a note to the librarian, who takes and by oversight
tears it up. " Excuse me, Sir," exclaims the librarian,
perceiving his mistake, " I am unfortunately subject to
absentia of mind, and fancied the paper of no use." " It
is the name of a work I have been two years waiting for,
and once or twice a month applying for it was bor-
rowed by M. of the Acaderhy, and, as a second
copy could not be had in Paris, I have the utmost desire
to see that of the library." " I am extremely sorry, Sir,
but we shall never see it again if it be in the possession
of M. --,`who never returns anything ; perhaps at
the sale after- his death—" 4, But, Sir, his health is
excellent ; he is doing much better than I, who labour
much harder than ho ; I fear that volume, so long wished
for, Will never reach my hands."
" Sir, I had asked you for Dante," save a poet with
the dullest face, despite of his goat's beard, ; " you have
probably committed a mistake." " No, Sir,"
replies
the librarian, opening the volume returned to him
" La Divina Conzedia, with the notes of the commen!
tator, Milan." Very well, Sir, that is not L'Enfer of
Dante." " L'Enfer is the first part of the Divine
Conredie." Are you quite sure . •-> I should be de-
lighted to make certain of it ; have you Dante or the
Divine Comedic, in French ?"
The librarian claps his hands on his forehead to col-
lect his ideas for a moment, and make out the chaos of
numbers and titles of books in which his intellects are
plunged. His ears are stunned—he hears nothing ;
his eyes twinkle, and are covered with a cloud;
he no longer distinguishes objects, but mistakes a reader
for a book, and a book for t! reader. Faces and figures
are renewed before him without end—voices
change,
and applications cross one another. What applications !
Some unintelligible, others
absurd ; some bristling with
Greek, Latin, Gains!), English, or even Russian
others accompanied with tiresome comments.
The poor man, who sometimes has merited the heavy
cross of librarian only by excellent contribUtions to history,
science; or literature,
thinks at every sitting that he is on
the brink of death, or at least of idiotism or madness.
Every day, after sustaining his terrible intellectual trial of
he walks and •
five hours' duration, talks like a sleep-
walker,
aafirtEeropeti air, silence, and rest have dispelled
the storm of series. and numbers Which agitates his
brain. At night he.dreams,,o fbirs stunning profession,
and' in his sleep roars out, L J,696 a-:LB B 880—
A 70—K 1,629 b b—Z 4—No. 7,969 vis absent !
.Tho work you wish for, Sir, .s -
absent” ; look into the
reserve ; look above; look .
Then, oppressed
by the awful nightmare that revives
in his slumbers the tortures of his place, he rises per-
spiring, and praying that another Erostrates may make
a bonfire of all public libraries. Next day Sysiphus be-
gins again to roll his rcek._
The victim's sufferings do not even cease when a
learned man or friend comes provided with an awful
list of works to solicit the complaisance of the librarian,
who rushes headlong into the abyss of catalogues, un-
able to bring up any of tliFf works 'he searches for..
The first is missing. Where is it ? The Lord alone
knows : -the second never found. its way to the library,
the third
,never will return to it, and the fourth is ab-
sent, and its name only is to be found as a farewell
card, P P C. ; the fifth, sixth, and the- rest, are not in
their places, say, in their technical language, the mar
chines of:the cstablislunent-7those imiecatigable runners
who, under the fictitious titles of employes or supernu-