Only those who _love_ books can understand the pang of losing them. A man who handles his book with firm yet tender touch, who delights to take down his pet volumes and smooth out the pages for sheer pleasure of the handling, is the genuine book-lover, and by force of his love he will surely be the man who will lend, and as surely lose. For it is the nature of this special attachment that the book-lover must share his enjoyment with others. Dearly as he loves the choice volumes ranged in neat order on his bookshelves, they are but half-used while they are not shared. The bookish man _may_ be selfish, but it is the exception only; the rule is that the true lover of books is “ready to lend.” And so it comes to pass that, at the close of a long, eager conversation on Robert Browning’s poems, or Froude’s “History,” or some quaint old treasure long “out of print,” the generous impulse prompts an offer of the volume discussed. It may be that the listener suggests that he would like to know more on the subject. “You ought to read such passages,” says the happy owner, and the borrower carries the book home, and forthwith it is mingled with his own and is merged and lost. Such a thing even as the _loan_ of a borrowed book is not unusual, though it ought to be regarded as a social crime. Who that prides himself on his books has not painful vacancies among them? Here it is the second volume of an otherwise complete edition of Tennyson—missing! And there a “horrible blank” tells of some unvirtuous borrower who has decapitated a valuable set by carrying off volume number one. These gaps in the bookcase are a standing grievance, and happy is he who can preserve his books intact. Of course a methodical person would keep a list of books lent, with the borrower’s name in line. But, alas! what generous soul is methodical—the ready tendency to lend a book is proof that a man is ready for all risks. Nor will a well-kept list make our borrowers honest. If a man steal your book, you _may_ recover it if you prove the theft; but what is to be done with him who always—yes, always—is _intending_ to return your precious volume? Your inquiries are met with ready promises of restoration; he will bring it back, but his wife is reading it, or he can not just lay his hand upon it, or some one has borrowed it without leave, and it will be sure to come back, and then you shall have it all right. All which things are tests of patience and good humor. Mrs. Stowe tells of an orderly Christian man who, recognizing the Scriptural injunction to “do good and lend,” was dismayed by the frequent application for loans of tools from his less thrifty neighbors. Gravely reflecting on the subject, he finally reconciled order and liberality by buying a complete duplicate set of tools, which he kept for the purpose of lending, and when any of these were lent he quietly told the next applicant that the ax or hoe was already out.