This weak reminiscence has obstructed, however, something more to the
purpose, the retained impression of those choicest of our loiterings
that took place, still far down-town, at the Bookstore, home of delights
and haunt of fancy. It was at the Bookstore we had called on the day of
The Initials and the Boon Children--and it was thence we were returning
with our spoil, of which the charming novel must have been but a
fragment. My impression composed itself of many pieces; a great and
various practice of burying my nose in the half-open book for the strong
smell of paper and printer's ink, known to us as the English smell, was
needed to account for it. _That_ was the exercise of the finest sense
that hung about us, my brother and me--or of one at least but little
less fine than the sense for the satisfaction of which we resorted to
Thompson's and to Taylor's: it bore me company during all our returns
from forages and left me persuaded that I had only to snuff up hard
enough, fresh uncut volume in hand, to taste of the very substance of
London. All our books in that age were English, at least all our
down-town ones--I personally recall scarce any that were not; and I take
the perception of that quality in them to have associated itself with
more fond dreams and glimmering pictures than any other one principle of
growth. It was all a result of the deeply _infected_ state: I had been
prematurely poisoned--as I shall presently explain. The Bookstore,
fondest of my father's resorts, though I remember no more of its public
identity than that it further enriched the brave depth of Broadway, was
overwhelmingly and irresistibly English, as not less tonically English
was our principal host there, with whom we had moreover, my father and
I, thanks to his office, such personal and genial relations that I
recall seeing him grace our board at home, in company with his wife,
whose vocal strain and complexion and coiffure and flounces I found none
the less informing, none the less "racial," for my not being then versed
in the language of analysis.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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