Librarians and the custodians of public records bear witness to this great movement. The libraries have become wonderfully popular, thronged by multitudes who have enrolled themselves in the army of amateur genealogists. So onerous has become the work of handing out historical and genealogical books that in some large libraries such works have been gathered into alcoves which are thrown open to the public, where the ancestry-hunter may help himself. Formerly such public records as deeds and wills constituted the special preserve of the lawyer. But his monopoly is a thing of the past. The genealogist has invaded this domain and established equal rights. He still leaves to the lawyer the dry searching of titles to property, choosing for himself the pleasanter task of sifting out important data for the biography of an ancestor, or for the proofs of a line of descent. Old church record books, with their marriage and baptismal registers, have acquired an extraordinary value. In many cases these volumes have been rescued out of dark corners and from beneath accumulations of dust and débris where they had been tossed as ecclesiastical junk. But the pastors and church secretaries who unearthed them, at the instance of inquiring genealogists, have now discovered a profitable occupation for their leisure in transcribing items for correspondents. Indeed, a number of societies are now engaged in collecting these old registers, or in making transcripts for their archives. What is the subtle attraction which draws these multitudes--the fascination which lures so many into genealogical research? We have hinted that the pursuit of ancestry yields the exhilaration both of the chase and the stillhunt, kindling the suspense of expectation into sudden thrills of discovery, as keen as those when the wary canvas-back flies low over the blind, or a pair of antlers comes crashing through the brush. But while genealogical research affords all the excitement of the chase, it is followed by no reproach for having taken life, but by the permanent satisfaction peculiar to the benefactor of mankind. The ancestry-hunter does not kill, but brings to life. He revives the memories of the dead, and benefits the world with an honorable contribution to the science of history. For a trophy he does not show a string of fish, nor a few birds and skins to distribute among friends, but a genuine historical work of ever-increasing value, which hands down his name to an appreciative posterity.