As has been indicated in an earlier chapter, Field began to frequent the southwest corner of McClurg's book-store shortly after he came to Chicago. That section of this "emporium of literature" was presided over by George M. Millard, and contained as fine and, truth to tell, as expensive an assortment of rare and choice books as was to be found outside of the great collections of the land. Mr. Millard made annual or biennial pilgrimages to London in the interests of his house; and when he did not go, General McClurg, who was himself a book fancier of rare good taste and eke business judgment, devoted part of his European vacations to the bookshelves, book-shops, and binderies of Field's "dear old London." On the occasion of the former's return from one of his book-buying excursions, with the spoils of Europe for the spoliation of Chicago's book-maniacs, Field announced the fact in the following somewhat equivocal but wholly clever lines: _GEORGE MILLARD IS HOME! Come, ye maniacs, as of yore From your musty, dusty hidings, And in answer to the tidings Crowd the corner full once more, Lo, from distant England's shore, Laden down with spoil galore Such as bibliopoles adore-- Books and prints in endless store, Treasures singly or in set (Labelled "j.k.t." and "net"), All who have the means to buy Things that glad the heart and eye. Ye who seek some rare old tome-- Maniacs shrewd or imbecilic, Urban, pastoral, or idyllic, Richly clad or dishabillic, Heed the summons bibliophilic-- "George Millard is home!"_