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A
STORY is told of a West of Scotland M.P. and
millionaire, whose literary education had been neglected, and whose
stock of scientific knowledge was
altogether of a practical character, whom it would be invidious to name,
but whose name, nevertheless, will be pretty well known in connection with
the following incident to most readers belonging to Glasgow or the West of
Scotland. It had dawned upon him, or had been suggested to him, that a
library would be a right and proper thing for him to have to complete
the outfit of his mansion, and, as it may be supposed, rather for show
than use.
Be that as it may, a substantial and
somewhat wholesale order is said to have been given to the Glasgow
bookseller favoured with his patronage, in a way which showed that however
great and profitable his knowledge of pig-iron might be, his knowledge of
poetry and polite literature generally was all but nil. He is
stated to have entered and said:
"I want a lot o’ potry: there’s a
chap ca’ed Tennyson, and anither ca’ed Longfelly—gi’e me plenty o’ them!
I’ll tak’ sax dizzen o’ them, and ony ithers like them. Ye’ll ken best
yoursel’ what to pit in!" History, fiction, etc., having been similarly
dealt with, the bookseller inquired, with reference to the binding,
whether he would like the volumes bound in russia or morocco?"
"To blazes wi’ Rooshie and Morokay
baith! I want them bund in Gleskae, and as weel as ye are able to dae them
!"
It is needless to add that the order was gladly and
promptly attended to, and that the volumes would in due time be displayed
like articles of furniture, similar to those in the library of a titled
dunce, whom the inspired excise-man, Robert Burns, called for, and in a
volume of whose handsome and elegantly bound Shakespeare he left the
following lines :—
"Through and through the inspired leaves
Ye maggots, mak’ your windings;
But, oh! respect his lordship’s taste,
And spare the golden bindings!"
THE END |
