University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE LIBRARIAN POPP.

At dinner I met Lackland, of course, and told
him of my visit in the morning, and my intentions
in the evening. He agreed to accompany me in
the evening to the Pommeranian Kneipe, and in
the meantime we strolled to the library. As we
had both of us matriculated ourselves at the university,
we possessed the right of using the books, as
well as of attending any course of lectures for which
we chose to pay a Frederick-d'or.

The library is a tolerably large, but wholly unpretending
building, in the heart of the town, and
is open at almost all hours. There are always one
or two sub-librarians in attendance, and many students
of the “camel denomination” are usually
found, immersed chin deep in their lucubrations.

The principle that has been adopted in the construction
and collection of the German libraries,
is a good one. They buy the cheapest editions
that are to be had of every thing; but they buy
every thing. Perhaps one of the main original
reasons was, the shabby style of printing and publishing,

universal in Germany; a necessary consequence
of the systematic and international piracy
practised by the different states upon each other.
The consequence is, that you find in all the university
towns and in all the capitals, libraries, varying
in number from 150,000 to 400,000 volumes, and it
is very difficult for a man of any science, or any
profession, to find himself in a situation, where he
has not within his reach all the assistance that a
library could afford him for his labours.

The principal-Librarian's-Sub-Librarian's-Deputy-Assistant's-Secretary's
clerk, attended us from alcove
to alcove. He was a fussy little man, very civil,
but very important. He was, moreover, very proud
of the library, and very well acquainted, with, at least,
the outside of the books.

He was an odd sort of individual in appearance,
but not unpleasing. His face was round, ruddy,
and wrinkled, like a roasted apple; and his snow-white
hair was parted on his forehead, and hung
decently down over his shoulders. He wore a very
light blue surtout, reaching nearly to his heels;
and below he was immersed to his hips in an
enormous pair of boots, with still more enormous
tassels. The alertness with which he clambered
up the library ladders in search of any work
we mentioned, in spite of his age and his leather
incumbrances, and the zeal with which he would
blow the dust from the leaves, and fervently kiss
the title page when it happened to be any of his
favourite authors, were truly edifying. Hearing
Lackland mention that I was an American, he

seemed excessively delighted, and flying down
the steps, upon whose top he was perched, at the
risk of his neck, he begged permission to embrace
me, and then toddled off in his boots to another alcove.
Presently afterwards he returned with a
couple of books.

“You have undoubtedly seen these famous productions
of the famous Professor Poodleberg?” said
he to me.

“Not I.”

He looked aghast for a moment. “However,” he
continued, “you are but recently arrived, I understand,
and have hardly had time to familiarize yourself
with the works of our great philologists. “This,
sir,” said he, opening the first book, “is a grammar
arranged on the principles, of what the professor
calls the comparative anatomy of philology, and is
intended to exhibit, in a single work, the genius,
the peculiarities of structure, with the international
resemblances, and differences of the Choctaw, Cherokee,
and other prominent North American dialects.”

“Potz sacrament!” I exclaimed, having nothing
else to say.

“You are, of course, familiar with all these
languages, being an American,” he continued;
“and it will be therefore interesting to you to criticise
and to admire the labours of our learned philologist.
Allow me to wrap it in brown paper, and to send it
with the other works you have selected, to your
lodgings.”

I was unwilling to destroy the pleasing illusions
which he was under, respecting my own philological
acquirements, and so assured him that nothing
could afford me more unmixed gratification than to
read that, and any other of Professor Poodleberg's
works.

“Perhaps you would find this treatise by Professor
Poodleberg, on the original inhabitants of America,
showing satisfactorily that they are descended from
the missing tribes of Israel, — to be also worthy of
your attention?”

“Certainly, have the kindness to send that also!”

“You will perhaps think it a little strange,” he
continued, “that I am so enthusiastic on the subject
of America. But you must know that I am on the
eve of a great journey. I have already my trunks
packed at home preparatory for my journey to Paris;
and after remaining a sufficient time there to
perfect myself in the languages, and enjoy my share
of the pleasures of that bewitching metropolis,” (and
here the little octagenarian gave me a nudge of the
elbow, and winked his eye wickedly,) “I shall proceed
to America, whither I shall take with me the
money I have been enabled to lay by in the course
of a librarian's life, buy a farm, and enjoy the rest
of my time in peace and quietness. By the way,
do you advise me to take out my cash in Frederickd'ors,
or Prussian dollars?”

I told him I must take time to reflect on this important
subject, before I presumed to advise him;
commended his plan, and begged him to lose no

time in making such a valuable addition to the transatlantic
colonists.

He then showed us other interesting works in different
parts of the library, and amused us particularly
by his chirping and vivacious commentaries upon
them.

“May I be allowed the favour of calling upon you
at your lodgings, and will you allow me the honour
of exchanging addresses with you?” said he,
as we were taking leave of him.

We gave him our addresses, and in return he
gave us a pompous looking card, on which was engraved:

“That's a very nice little man,” said Lackland,
as we passed from the door; but he labours under a
singular delusion. He has told you that he is on
the point of departing for Paris, and thence to America,
and so he has told all his acquaintances
every day for more than thirty-five years. The most
singular circumstance is, that his trunk is in reality,
as he tells you, already packed at home, and so it has
been during all those thirty-five years. He formed
the determination of emigrating when he was a comparatively
young man, and ever since he has found
some reason for deferring his journey from day to
day, although he has no intention of giving up his

plan. It in fact amounts now to a monomania, while
he remains perfectly sane on every other subject.

“But here we are at your rooms, and I see Rabenmark
looking out of the window.”