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    The Haunted Bookshop
    The Haunted Bookshop
    The Haunted Bookshop
    Ebook246 pages4 hours

    The Haunted Bookshop

    By Christopher Morley

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Mysterious things begin happening to a young advertising man after visiting The Haunted Bookshop.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilder Publications, Inc.
    Release dateJun 10, 2015
    ISBN9781633841130
    Author

    Christopher Morley

    Christopher Morley (5 May 1890 – 28 March 1957) was an American journalist, novelist, essayist and poet. He also produced stage productions for a few years and gave college lectures.

    Read more from Christopher Morley

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    Reviews for The Haunted Bookshop

    3.5/5

    39 ratings48 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Delightful sequel to Parnassus on Wheels, which I also loved. A must read for bibliophiles.
    • 4/5
      It’s post-World War I Brooklyn and elderly Roger Mifflin owns Parnassus at Home, a used bookstore. When Aubrey Gilbert, a young man who’s selling advertising stops in, the two strike up a friendship. Then Roger and his wife Helen take on a new employee, the strikingly beautiful Titania Chapman, whose father wishes her to learn to learn the book trade as an antidote to her finishing school education. When he meets Titania, Aubrey Gilbert is smitten.But soon, Mr. Gilbert begins to suspect that Mr. Mifflin might have something sinister in mind having to do with his new employee – and decides to rent a nearby room to keep an eye on things at Parnassus at Home. What he sees troubles and baffles him. The Haunted Bookshop was first published in 1919 is the second book Christopher Morley wrote featuring Roger Mifflin. It’s a delightful tale, full of philosophy and books and witty writing. Most of the literary allusions, unfortunately, went over my head … but the book delivers much food for thought, regardless of whether the authors are familiar.
    • 5/5
      After books about English Professors and literature – or perhaps before, it is an extremely close race – I love novels set in bookstores. Christopher Morley has an especially warm place in my heart, since he is a Philadelphia native and a journalist to boot. Novels by former newspaper people are a close third on my list.Morley’s second novel, The Haunted Bookshop, starts out as a whimsical tale of Roger Mifflin, an eccentric owner and operator of the shop. An interesting cast of characters haunts the shop. Set in about 1919, the prose, attitudes, and viewpoints of the characters might seem a bit dated. I felt the faint glow of O. Henry who died in 1910. While Morley does not have a clever twist at the end, the story does take a radical turn on the last few pages.One day, Aubrey Gilbert stops by the shop and proposes an advertising campaign to increase sales. Roger will have none of it. He claims, “The people who are doing my advertising are Stevenson, Browning, Conrad, and Company” (7). Thus begins a cascade of literary references, which tempted me beyond all reason to catalog. Once I started, I could not stop, and ended up with six pages, single-spaced of authors and works, much to the amazement of my book club. Some mentioned items were well-known, others not so much, but only a few escaped my research. This makes a daunting and most interesting reading list.Aubrey persists without making any headway, but coincidentally, he does write ad copy for a Mr. Chapman, CEO of Dantybits Company, who also happens to frequent the shop. Mr. Chapman has a daughter fresh out of “finishing school,” and he wants her to have some real-life experiences. Roger agrees, and the young lady moves into the attic.A peculiar set of booksellers – known as the “Corn Cob Club” -- also meet at the shop. Mostly they decry the pitfalls and misfortunes of the bookselling business, as well as the theory and practice of stocking such a shop.I have “haunted” many a shop like Roger Mifflin’s in my life, and I recognized the characters, the complaints, and the dusty shelves. On one occasion, Roger is called to a noted bookseller in Philadelphia to appraise his collection. The trip to the City of Brotherly Love turns out to be a fake, thus setting in motion the bizarre turn the story makes. With some hours to spare before his return train to Brooklyn, Roger walks down Market Street to visit, Leary’s Bookshop, on 9 South 9th Street. Leary’s operated for nearly 100 years at that location. It closed in 1969, and was known as the oldest bookshop in America. I spent so many fond afternoons in Leary’s I could not recount them all. I happened to visit the day they announced the closing. I stood on the sidewalk with tears streaming as though I had lost a great, good friend. Indeed, I had.The copy I have is print-on-demand, and the editing and layout are atrocious. If you order this quaint book, make sure a publisher is listed in the description. The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley will provide hours of fun – and not all of them actually reading – for anyone interested in books and literature. 5 stars.--Jim, 1/30/15
    • 4/5
      The anarchist bombing plot is merely a diversion from the magical world of The Haunted Bookshop, it's owner, and it's patrons. Any book lover will find treasure here, but the true gold is saved for booksellers. Read it through once, then remind yourself it was written in 1918.
    • 2/5
      Oh how I didn't like this book. I should have DNF'd it, but it was called The Haunted Bookshop! I'd have thought it impossible for any book with that title to be so disappointing. Where to start... the characters - the two main characters - are each in their own way incredibly irritating. Roger Mifflin, the bookshop owner, constantly reminded me of Walter Mitty: living in his own dreamworld with grandiose ideas about the power of literature. Just about every time he opens his mouth, it's to deliver a long ultimately irritating panegyric on the fantastical powers of books. I love books and I believe the world would be a much better place if everybody read more, but Mifflin takes this idea too far and the result makes him look foolish. Aubrey Gilbert, on the other hand, is actually foolish. An idiot really. He spends the book either spouting off sales rhetoric that sounds like an Amway pitch or flying off half-cocked chasing dust-devils and flinging about insane accusations. Remember the Dick Van Dyke Show? Gilbert is like Dick Van Dyke only without rational thought or a sense of humour. The plot... sigh... the plot was good, what there was of it. Sadly it only accounted for about 1/10th of the book itself. The audiobook I listened to was 6 hours long and I swear if you edited out everything not directly related to the plot itself it would run less than 20 minutes. Tops. The narrator did a good job, although he sounded so much like Leonard Nimoy I kept picturing Spock reading to me, except I'm pretty sure even Spock would have lost patience with the book after a couple of hours. The best part of this experience? This was a library loan and it didn't cost me anything but the time I spent listening to it and the energy I spent yelling at my car's audio telling Mifflin to shut up already. Ah well, moving on.
    • 3/5
      Don't remember it too well. Pretty much agree with the reviews, good and bad. That is to say, it was corny, and charming. It had insightful meditations, and a contrived plot. It deserves to be beloved by many readers, and it's only going to be appreciated by a minority.
    • 4/5
      I rarely read a book at one sitting, but I was completely drawn in by this tale. The strongest sections are afire with the author's passion for books and reading, a message that today unfortunately needs a broader audience. The bookending espionage tale is weaker, but was oddly intriguing in that I had to remind myself that this was after WWI, and not WWII as we may be inclined to assume. The author's hope that the power of books could prevent further such calamities was sadly unrealized, but it was a fine utopian dream.
    • 2/5
      The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley attracted my attention by its presence on so many 'books about books' or 'books for booklovers' lists that I decided to give it a go.Roger Mifflin is the owner of a second hand bookstore, aptly named 'The Haunted Bookshop' because he is haunted by the ghosts of the books he hasn't read. Sadly, this is where the brilliance ended for me.There were many opportunities during the slim novel for Mifflin to spout on about the importance and art of the bookseller, the significance of books and reading and his belief that if only the population would read certain (mentioned) books, there would never be another Great War in the world.Incidentally, I only realised after finishing The Haunted Bookshop that it was published in 1919. This was a complete surprise to me as it truly felt like an historical fiction novel, not one written almost 100 years ago.Mifflin mentions so many books and written works throughout The Haunted Bookshop that I alternated between feeling illiterate and ignorant and believing the protagonist (if not the author himself) was a bit of a snob.I did however, enjoy the following quote immensely:"It saddens me to think that I shall have to die with thousands of books unread that would have given me noble and unblemished happiness." Pages 153-154I also learned two new words on page 202:- A bibliosoph is 'someone who knows about books.'- Bibliomania is 'an excessive fondness for acquiring and possessing books'.Despite these pearls, the novel's sole purpose seemed to be giving a voice to Roger Mifflin and his world of books and bookselling.
    • 2/5
      I really couldn't love this as much as I did Parnassus on Wheels. It's still permeated with that love of books, and the romance is kind of sweet, but I preferred the more unconventional romance of Roger and Helen. Introducing a pretty young girl to be a figure of romance took away one of the things I loved about Parnassus on Wheels, even if Helen was still a character.Also, the mystery plot raised my eyebrows a bit. Doubtless of its time, but still. I would've preferred another paean to books and booksellers and unconventional romance. Although, on that note, some of the sections about books/bookselling just seemed rambling and preachy. Parnassus on Wheels is a slighter novel, and a tighter one.
    • 4/5
      This short novel from 1919 is a sequel to Morley's Parnassus on Wheels, but it's not entirely necessary to have read that one first. It does feature the characters from the first book, who have now settled down and started their own bookstore in Brooklyn, but ends up focusing a bit more on a young man who shows up to try to sell them advertising and ends up hanging around for various reasons, most of which involve their attractive new shop assistant.So, there's a bit of romance, which is amusingly written (although the complete lack of depth on the part of the female half of the pairing is a little disappointing). There's also a sort of mystery plot, involving a book that keeps mysteriously disappearing and reappearing, which is reasonably entertaining, although not exactly too difficult to figure out. But mostly the appeal of this book is in the often very droll writing style, and in bookseller Roger Mifflin's amusing, passionate, entirely charming ramblings about books and the noble bookseller's calling. (Admittedly, you probably have to be a certain kind of book person to be charmed by them, but I most definitely am.) There are also some extremely poignant thoughts about the recently-ended WWI and the hope for peace in the world -- which are made all the more poignant by the fact that neither Mifflin nor Morley could have known what was to come in the next few decades, but I, looking back from the future, do.
    • 4/5
      Originally published in 1919, this is a great winter read for dark snowy nights and a glass of port. For book lovers and book sellers only.
    • 4/5
      Didn't quite enjoy this as much as Parnassus on Wheels as its very much of its time. Aubrey is one of the most obnoxious and pointless characters ever and Roger and Helen have lost a lot of their charm. But on the plus side it details an America coming to terms with the devastation of World War I with the expectation that the peace talks will bring a lasting peace so that the sacrifices made during the war would not be in vein.
    • 2/5
      The irrepressible bookseller, Roger “Professor” Mifflin, is back. Now married to Helen McGill (as was implied might happen at the end of Parnassus on Wheels), Roger is ensconced in a second-hand bookshop in Brooklyn. He likes to describe it as haunted by the ghosts of all great literature. He continues to enthuse and pontificate, somewhat, on the ameliorative effects of literature and thus the vital service to society contributed by booksellers. As part of his social efforts he has agreed to take on staff the daughter of a book loving industrialist who would like his (he thinks wayward) daughter to gain some perspective and proper proportion through association with great literature. Titania is exquisitely beautiful, for Brooklyn, and naturally becomes the object of the delusional affection of Roger’s other young acquaintance, the advertising copywriter, Aubrey Gilbert. If that were not enough, there is a plot afoot to assassinate President Wilson as he journeys to the Peace Conference subsequent to the armistice of 1918. Only Roger and Aubrey can save the day!In many ways, though somewhat lengthier this novel is slighter than its predecessor. Or perhaps Christopher Morley lost his head a bit to the enthusiasm that greeted his first novel in 1917. Here, the Mifflin character comes across as (somewhat) tedious. Aubrey Gilbert is thoroughly obnoxious in his efforts to take on the role of the action hero, all with an eye to winning Titania’s affection. And the melodramatic plot is risible. It remains a curious article of Americana from the inter-war years, but little more. Not recommended.
    • 4/5
      A book to delight booklovers! How many who have read this book want to time-travel to Brooklyn and hunt for this early 20th century used bookstore? Count me as one. The plot is a somewhat preposterous mystery, but the commentary throughout is priceless! The characters are humorously entertaining. Roger Mifflin, the lovable and chatty bookseller, dreams of elevating the status of bookseller to a highly honorable profession. He is passionate about books and strives to become a renown pioneer in spreading the knowledge of great books to the common man! His mission is to bring the love of reading to the world. What avid reader cannot identify with his rambling musing? "Did you ever notice how books track you down and hunt you out? They follow you like the hound in Francis Thompson's poem. They know their quarry! ... [they] follow you and follow you and drive you into a corner and MAKE you read [them] ... Words can't describe the cunning of some books. You'll think you've shaken them off your trail, and then one day some innocent-looking customer will pop in and begin to talk, and you'll know he's an unconscious agent of book-destiny... That's why I call this place the Haunted Bookshop. Haunted by the ghosts of books I haven't read."This sequel to "Parnassus on Wheels" is a worthy follow-up, but could be read strictly on its own. Highly recommended for fun!
    • 4/5
      A book to delight booklovers! How many who have read this book want to time-travel to Brooklyn and hunt for this early 20th century used bookstore? Count me as one. The plot is a somewhat preposterous mystery, but the commentary throughout is priceless! The characters are humorously entertaining. Roger Mifflin, the lovable and chatty bookseller, dreams of elevating the status of bookseller to a highly honorable profession. He is passionate about books and strives to become a renown pioneer in spreading the knowledge of great books to the common man! His mission is to bring the love of reading to the world. What avid reader cannot identify with his rambling musing? "Did you ever notice how books track you down and hunt you out? They follow you like the hound in Francis Thompson's poem. They know their quarry! ... [they] follow you and follow you and drive you into a corner and MAKE you read [them] ... Words can't describe the cunning of some books. You'll think you've shaken them off your trail, and then one day some innocent-looking customer will pop in and begin to talk, and you'll know he's an unconscious agent of book-destiny... That's why I call this place the Haunted Bookshop. Haunted by the ghosts of books I haven't read."This sequel to "Parnassus on Wheels" is a worthy follow-up, but could be read strictly on its own. Highly recommended for fun!
    • 3/5
      A sequel to Christopher Morley's charming Parnassus on Wheels, this novel finds Roger and Helen Mifflin running a second-hand bookstore in Brooklyn, NY. Here, at Parnassus at Home, the newly married couple find themselves playing chaperone to lovely society-girl Titania, the admiring Aubrey, and a host of other quirky characters.While I did not find it as entertaining as its predecessor, and thought that some of the plot elements were a little far-fetched, The Haunted Bookshop had enough charm of its own that I was not sorry to read it. I could have cared less about the espionage, but the bookstore itself - now that's another matter.
    • 4/5
      Charming is the word that comes to mind. It’s a light, slightly corny book from 1919 (?) that has the feel of a late 30’s movie. The whole thing is a love letter to books and reading, wrapped in a simple story of post WWI espionage.

      I disagree with someone here that said a drawback was the constant current cultural references. I love that stuff. You usually get so little of it as it does date a book and authors want their books to be timeless. I think it affects the way we look at the past. As mostly only the more serious and timeless of books make it down to us through the years we miss a lot of the little things that were a part of people’s everyday lives. I found many of the most interesting parts of this book to be the little tidbits of the culture and habits of the characters, like when you look at old pictures and are interested in the things in the room in the background.

      I’m going to have to give it 4 stars, even though it seems a 3 star book to me. Charming.
    • 3/5
      This is not a ghost story, or fantasy, or fantastical, and not too cliche either. Not really a mystery, although there is a mystery in the story, and not a romance, although there are elements of a romance as well. I'd mostly call it an examination of bookselling with other story elements surrounding books and bookselling. Interesting, if a bit dense in places.

      It was quite amazing that this book, which was written in the early 20th century, it didn't feel old. Yes, more interesting vocabulary was used than is generally incorporated into stories now, and some of the food was a bit old fashioned, but it was like reading a story written recently. Very impressively done on the part of the author. I'm looking forward to reading the book before this, once I find a copy.
    • 4/5
      I just finished The Haunted Bookshop. I highly recommend this book. Published in 1919 the book is full of memorable characters, spies, political intrigue, and mystery.
    • 4/5
      Roger and Helen Mifflin own a second-hand bookshop in Brooklyn, and Roger couldn't be happier. Though they aren't wealthy, Roger adores his books and can talk books all day. When a wealthy patron asks the Mifflins to take in his daughter and teach her the trade, in the hopes she'll gain an education, Roger is delighted to have a student. Aubrey Gilbert, a new young friend of Roger's is also delighted with beautiful Titiana, but he doesn't think Brooklyn is a safe place for her. There is something suspicious going on at Mifflin's shop- a certain bio of Cromwell keeps being stolen, then returned, the German druggist down the street seems to be working too hard and someone is trying to kill Aubrey. The young man decides to play detective in hopes of winning the girl.As you can see, the title of this book is completely misleading. Nothing ghostly going on so it wasn't what I expected. But it is an engaging story about books. Roger reads excerpts from his favorites, quotes and recommends to his customers, defends to noble profession of book-seller while his colleagues complain about the money, and longs to be able to read his whole stock. While it is a mystery with a gently romantic angle, there is some violence and, as it was written just after WWI, an anti-German attitude. But it's mostly a book about books.
    • 4/5
      Well-loved books from my pastRating: 3.5* of fiveAllegedly a spy story-cum-mystery, it's really a love note from author Morley to the trade of bookselling, with a side of supremely sweet love story.And I can't help myself, I am charmed and beguiled by the book, by the memories it holds, and by the sheer anti-German fervor of it.This book and Parnassus on Wheels were in my maternal grandmother's library. She died in 1977, and I chose these two books to be mine because I liked the titles. I read them over that summer, while I was staying in California with my father and stepmother. It was a trying period. The escape into a whimsical, crabby, loving relationship between the couple before and after their marriage was welcome, and the stuff about books...the mystical *fit* between reader and writer, abetted by the bookseller...has stayed with me all these years.My father was a very proud Nordic Aryan. He thought of himself as an Ubermensch of the first water, and was constantly extolling German thises and thatses and buying Blaupunkt radios and Telefunken TVs and BMWs and Porsches. I used the period-perfect anti-German caricatures in this book to get up his nose in a way he couldn't complain about without getting his titty in the wringer of freedom of speech and encouraging reading etc etc. Hours of fun for me, I can only imagine how ready to murder me he must have been. Heh.So it's unlikely I'll reread the books now, but what joy they afforded me then! Given the sheer meanness of my appreciation for them, I think it wisest to leave these two entertainments in the groves of memory as lovely flowers beside the path leading to adulthood.
    • 3/5
      The follow-up to Parnassus on Wheels offered a very different experience from the outdoor adventure of the first book. Shortly after WWI, Ellen and Roger Mifflin, now married, have settled down in a second-hand bookshop in Brooklyn. They take in the daughter of a wealthy customer who wants to teach his flighty and spoiled girl about the importance of books, and all the while a dangerous plot is brewing involving a stolen copy of Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell. I couldn't quite work up the same enthusiasm as I did for Parnassus, was disappointed to find that Ellen had only a minor role, and Mifflin's continual preaching about the importance of great literature lost it's charm before long. Good but not great.
    • 3/5
      A delightful book about a bookshop that is haunted by the ghosts of unread books. It's the sequel to Parnassus on Wheels. I liked the first a little better than this installment in the Roger Mifflin series by Morley, but it's a good read that resonates with book lovers nonetheless.
    • 5/5
      Loved this librivox audiobook. It had all the ingredients, was fast moving and appeals to anybibliophile because of the bookshop setting.
    • 3/5
      Quaint, interesting love story with a twist of espionage. Rambled a little too much at times but I liked the main characters a lot.
    • 4/5
      A mostly pleasant read, most pleasant when it is about books, the bookshop, or reading. The resolution to the mystery at the bookshop is interesting, but I found much of the run-up to it to be a bit tedious.
    • 4/5
      This is a delightful, charming book any bibliophile will be sure to appreciate. Roger Mifflin is a man I can respect and adore. He is saddened that he will die leaving thousands of books unread (I totally agree!), but he still finds time to uncover a mystery and prevent a tragedy. This novel takes place at the closing of WWI and it is a very interesting, funny and cozy mystery that had a few surprises along the way. I always enjoy a good book about books.
    • 2/5
      Note: there will be spoilers later on in this review, so skip from this point forward if you prefer not to read them.This was a very interesting book. While the romance element was perhaps not so charming as in the first book Parnassus on Wheels (young love can be so exhausting), it was very nice to see Helen and Roger settled in happily. And I loved some of the quotes. For example:"The life of a bookseller is very demoralizing to the intellect...He is surrounded by innumerable books; he cannot possible read them all; he dips into one and picks up a scrap from another. His mind gradually fills itself with miscellaneous flotsam, with superficial opinions, with a thousand half-knowledges."It is very much a book of its time. I had to cringe with the knowledge that I would never be able to browse through The Haunted Bookshop because its saturation of tobacco smoke would leave me unable to breathe. And I also had to cringe at the off-handed characterization of the "fawn-tinted coloured girl" who answered the door of the rooming house. On the other hand, Roger's open-mindedness and hopes for peace among all men at the end of The Great War were a welcome reflection, especially in contrast to Aubrey's stereotypical name-calling of the German conspirators, and even of Roger when he suspected him. "You damned little bolshevik." "You blasted Hun!" I actually didn't like Aubrey very much in general, and think Titania could do much better. However, he is the one who moved the action of the story along, while Roger's musings may have seemed very slow to some. I thought them some of the most interesting parts, however, to see how people right then in 1919 were thinking of the world, the peace, and the future. And finally, I must regret poor Bock, even as his actions saved the others from harm. I would have traded Aubrey for him, I fear, but I may be alone in that. What think you others?
    • 2/5
      Here's a reason to take book recommendations with a grain of salt. I read this because Julian Symons, an auhor I admire and respect, recommended it. Oh dear. One of the most dated, silliest, inane little books I've ever come across. The plot was thinner than air, the characters trite and incredible. The only saving grace was the bookshop setting and the ambience of New York a long, long, probably imaginary, time ago. Just goofy.
    • 4/5
      I thoroughly enjoyed this charming cozy mystery. It called up simpler times and even during the most suspenseful parts, there was the reassuring sense that all would turn out well somehow.The book is centered in Roger Mifflin's large, cluttered but cozy secondhand bookshop, behind which he lives with his wife. It's part meditation on bibliophilia, and book lovers will likely salivate over the descriptions of Roger's bookstore and his cozy sitting room lined with his most cherished volumes. Roger himself is quite a charming character, if sometimes long-winded on his favorite subject (books, of course).Onto this cozy canvas of biblio-bliss unfolds a mystery: a volume keeps disappearing and reappearing from Roger's shop, strange noises are heard, and suspicious characters start to turn up. The mystery was suspenseful and enjoyable, but for me, the most charming thing about this novel was its atmosphere. I was delighted to find there is a "prequel" to this novel, and look forward to checking it out.

    Book preview

    The Haunted Bookshop - Christopher Morley

    The Haunted Bookshop

    By Christopher Morley

    Positronic Publishing

    Copyright © 2014 Positronic Publishing

    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

    Manufactured in the United States of America

    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

    ISBN 978-1-63384-113-0

    Table of Contents

    To the Booksellers

    The Haunted Bookshop

    The Corn Cob Club

    Titania Arrives

    The Disappearing Volume

    Aubrey Walks Part Way Home—and Rides the Rest of the Way

    Titania Learns the Business

    Aubrey Takes Lodgings

    Again the Narrative Is Retarded

    Roger Raids the Ice-box

    Titania Tries Reading in Bed

    Aubrey Determines to Give Service That’s Different

    The Battle of Ludlow Street

    The Cromwell Makes its Last Appearance

    Mr. Chapman Waves His Wand

    To the Booksellers

    Be pleased to know, most worthy, that this little book is dedicated to you in affection and respect.

    The faults of the composition are plain to you all. I begin merely in the hope of saying something further of the adventures of Roger Mifflin, whose exploits in Parnassus on Wheels some of you have been kind enough to applaud. But then came Miss Titania Chapman, and my young advertising man fell in love with her, and the two of them rather ran away with the tale.

    I think I should explain that the passage in Chapter VIII, dealing with the delightful talent of Mr. Sidney Drew, was written before the lamented death of that charming artist. But as it was a sincere tribute, sincerely meant, I have seen no reason for removing it.

    Chapters I, II, III, and VI appeared originally in The Bookman, and to the editor of that admirable magazine I owe thanks for his permission to reprint.

    Now that Roger is to have ten Parnassuses on the road, I am emboldened to think that some of you may encounter them on their travels. And if you do, I hope you will find that these new errants of the Parnassus on Wheels Corporation are living up to the ancient and honourable traditions of our noble profession.

    Christopher Morley

    Philadelphia,

    April 28, 1919

    The Haunted Bookshop

    If you are ever in Brooklyn, that borough of superb sunsets and magnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages, it is to be hoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where there is a very remarkable bookshop.

    This bookshop, which does business under the unusual name Parnassus at Home, is housed in one of the comfortable old brown-stone dwellings which have been the joy of several generations of plumbers and cockroaches. The owner of the business has been at pains to remodel the house to make it a more suitable shrine for his trade, which deals entirely in second-hand volumes. There is no second-hand bookshop in the world more worthy of respect.

    It was about six o’clock of a cold November evening, with gusts of rain splattering upon the pavement, when a young man proceeded uncertainly along Gissing Street, stopping now and then to look at shop windows as though doubtful of his way. At the warm and shining face of a French rotisserie he halted to compare the number enamelled on the transom with a memorandum in his hand. Then he pushed on for a few minutes, at last reaching the address he sought. Over the entrance his eye was caught by the sign:

    PARNASSUS AT HOME R. AND H. MIFFLIN BOOKLOVERS WELCOME! THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED

    He stumbled down the three steps that led into the dwelling of the muses, lowered his overcoat collar, and looked about.

    It was very different from such bookstores as he had been accustomed to patronize. Two stories of the old house had been thrown into one: the lower space was divided into little alcoves; above, a gallery ran round the wall, which carried books to the ceiling. The air was heavy with the delightful fragrance of mellowed paper and leather surcharged with a strong bouquet of tobacco. In front of him he found a large placard in a frame:

    THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED by the ghosts Of all great literature, in hosts;

    We sell no fakes or trashes. Lovers of books are welcome here, No clerks will babble in your ear,

    Please smoke--but don’t drop ashes! ---- Browse as long as you like. Prices of all books plainly marked. If you want to ask questions, you’ll find the proprietor where the tobacco smoke is thickest. We pay cash for books. We have what you want, though you may not know you want it.

    Malnutrition of the reading faculty is a serious thing.

    Let us prescribe for you.

    By R. & H. MIFFLIN, Proprs.

    The shop had a warm and comfortable obscurity, a kind of drowsy dusk, stabbed here and there by bright cones of yellow light from green-shaded electrics. There was an all-pervasive drift of tobacco smoke, which eddied and fumed under the glass lamp shades. Passing down a narrow aisle between the alcoves the visitor noticed that some of the compartments were wholly in darkness; in others where lamps were glowing he could see a table and chairs. In one corner, under a sign lettered ESSAYS, an elderly gentleman was reading, with a face of fanatical ecstasy illumined by the sharp glare of electricity; but there was no wreath of smoke about him so the newcomer concluded he was not the proprietor.

    As the young man approached the back of the shop the general effect became more and more fantastic. On some skylight far overhead he could hear the rain drumming; but otherwise the place was completely silent, peopled only (so it seemed) by the gurgitating whorls of smoke and the bright profile of the essay reader. It seemed like a secret fane, some shrine of curious rites, and the young man’s throat was tightened by a stricture which was half agitation and half tobacco. Towering above him into the gloom were shelves and shelves of books, darkling toward the roof. He saw a table with a cylinder of brown paper and twine, evidently where purchases might be wrapped; but there was no sign of an attendant.

    This place may indeed be haunted, he thought, perhaps by the delighted soul of Sir Walter Raleigh, patron of the weed, but seemingly not by the proprietors.

    His eyes, searching the blue and vaporous vistas of the shop, were caught by a circle of brightness that shone with a curious egg-like lustre. It was round and white, gleaming in the sheen of a hanging light, a bright island in a surf of tobacco smoke. He came more close, and found it was a bald head.

    This head (he then saw) surmounted a small, sharp-eyed man who sat tilted back in a swivel chair, in a corner which seemed the nerve centre of the establishment. The large pigeon-holed desk in front of him was piled high with volumes of all sorts, with tins of tobacco and newspaper clippings and letters. An antiquated typewriter, looking something like a harpsichord, was half-buried in sheets of manuscript. The little bald-headed man was smoking a corn-cob pipe and reading a cook-book.

    I beg your pardon, said the caller, pleasantly; is this the proprietor?

    Mr. Roger Mifflin, the proprietor of Parnassus at Home, looked up, and the visitor saw that he had keen blue eyes, a short red beard, and a convincing air of competent originality.

    It is, said Mr. Mifflin. Anything I can do for you?

    My name is Aubrey Gilbert, said the young man. I am representing the Grey-Matter Advertising Agency. I want to discuss with you the advisability of your letting us handle your advertising account, prepare snappy copy for you, and place it in large circulation mediums. Now the war’s over, you ought to prepare some constructive campaign for bigger business.

    The bookseller’s face beamed. He put down his cook-book, blew an expanding gust of smoke, and looked up brightly.

    My dear chap, he said, I don’t do any advertising.

    Impossible! cried the other, aghast as at some gratuitous indecency.

    Not in the sense you mean. Such advertising as benefits me most is done for me by the snappiest copywriters in the business.

    I suppose you refer to Whitewash and Gilt? said Mr. Gilbert wistfully.

    Not at all. The people who are doing my advertising are Stevenson, Browning, Conrad and Company.

    Dear me, said the Grey-Matter solicitor. I don’t know that agency at all. Still, I doubt if their copy has more pep than ours.

    I don’t think you get me. I mean that my advertising is done by the books I sell. If I sell a man a book by Stevenson or Conrad, a book that delights or terrifies him, that man and that book become my living advertisements.

    But that word-of-mouth advertising is exploded, said Gilbert. You can’t get Distribution that way. You’ve got to keep your trademark before the public.

    By the bones of Tauchnitz! cried Mifflin. Look here, you wouldn’t go to a doctor, a medical specialist, and tell him he ought to advertise in papers and magazines? A doctor is advertised by the bodies he cures. My business is advertised by the minds I stimulate. And let me tell you that the book business is different from other trades. People don’t know they want books. I can see just by looking at you that your mind is ill for lack of books but you are blissfully unaware of it! People don’t go to a bookseller until some serious mental accident or disease makes them aware of their danger. Then they come here. For me to advertise would be about as useful as telling people who feel perfectly well that they ought to go to the doctor. Do you know why people are reading more books now than ever before? Because the terrific catastrophe of the war has made them realize that their minds are ill. The world was suffering from all sorts of mental fevers and aches and disorders, and never knew it. Now our mental pangs are only too manifest. We are all reading, hungrily, hastily, trying to find out--after the trouble is over--what was the matter with our minds.

    The little bookseller was standing up now, and his visitor watched him with mingled amusement and alarm.

    You know, said Mifflin, I am interested that you should have thought it worth while to come in here. It reinforces my conviction of the amazing future ahead of the book business. But I tell you that future lies not merely in systematizing it as a trade. It lies in dignifying it as a profession. It is small use to jeer at the public for craving shoddy books, quack books, untrue books. Physician, cure thyself! Let the bookseller learn to know and revere good books, he will teach the customer. The hunger for good books is more general and more insistent than you would dream. But it is still in a way subconscious. People need books, but they don’t know they need them. Generally they are not aware that the books they need are in existence.

    Why wouldn’t advertising be the way to let them know? asked the young man, rather acutely.

    "My dear chap, I understand the value of advertising. But in my own case it would be futile. I am not a dealer in merchandise but a specialist in adjusting the book to the human need. Between ourselves, there is no such thing, abstractly, as a ‘good’ book. A book is ‘good’ only when it meets some human hunger or refutes some human error. A book that is good for me would very likely be punk for you. My pleasure is to prescribe books for such patients as drop in here and are willing to tell me their symptoms. Some people have let their reading faculties decay so that all I can do is hold a post mortem on them. But most are still open to treatment. There is no one so grateful as the man to whom you have given just the book his soul needed and he never knew it. No advertisement on earth is as potent as a grateful customer.

    I will tell you another reason why I don’t advertise, he continued. "In these days when everyone keeps his trademark before the public, as you call it, not to advertise is the most original and startling thing one can do to attract attention. It was the fact that I do not advertise that drew you here. And everyone who comes here thinks he has discovered the place himself. He goes and tells his friends about the book asylum run by a crank and a lunatic, and they come here in turn to see what it is like."

    I should like to come here again myself and browse about, said the advertising agent. I should like to have you prescribe for me.

    The first thing needed is to acquire a sense of pity. The world has been printing books for 450 years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider circulation. Never mind! Printer’s ink is the greater explosive: it will win. Yes, I have a few of the good books here. There are only about 30,000 really important books in the world. I suppose about 5,000 of them were written in the English language, and 5,000 more have been translated.

    You are open in the evenings?

    Until ten o’clock. A great many of my best customers are those who are at work all day and can only visit bookshops at night. The real book-lovers, you know, are generally among the humbler classes. A man who is impassioned with books has little time or patience to grow rich by concocting schemes for cozening his fellows.

    The little bookseller’s bald pate shone in the light of the bulb hanging over the wrapping table. His eyes were bright and earnest, his short red beard bristled like wire. He wore a ragged brown Norfolk jacket from which two buttons were missing.

    A bit of a fanatic himself, thought the customer, but a very entertaining one. Well, sir, he said, I am ever so grateful to you. I’ll come again. Good-night. And he started down the aisle for the door.

    As he neared the front of the shop, Mr. Mifflin switched on a cluster of lights that hung high up, and the young man found himself beside a large bulletin board covered with clippings, announcements, circulars, and little notices written on cards in a small neat script. The following caught his eye:

    RX

    If your mind needs phosphorus, try Trivia, by Logan Pearsall Smith.

    If your mind needs a whiff of strong air, blue and cleansing, from hilltops and primrose valleys, try The Story of My Heart, by Richard Jefferies.

    If your mind needs a tonic of iron and wine, and a thorough rough-and-tumbling, try Samuel Butler’s Notebooks or The Man Who Was Thursday, by Chesterton.

    If you need all manner of Irish, and a relapse into irresponsible freakishness, try The Demi-Gods, by James Stephens. It is a better book than one deserves or expects.

    It’s a good thing to turn your mind upside down now and then, like an hour-glass, to let the particles run the other way.

    One who loves the English tongue can have a lot of fun with a Latin dictionary.

    ROGER MIFFLIN.

    Human beings pay very little attention to what is told them unless they know something about it already. The young man had heard of none of these books prescribed by the practitioner of bibliotherapy. He was about to open the door when Mifflin appeared at his side.

    Look here, he said, with a quaint touch of embarrassment. I was very much interested by our talk. I’m all alone this evening-- my wife is away on a holiday. Won’t you stay and have supper with me? I was just looking up some new recipes when you came in.

    The other was equally surprised and pleased by this unusual invitation.

    Why--that’s very good of you, he said. Are you sure I won’t be intruding?

    Not at all! cried the bookseller. I detest eating alone: I was hoping someone would drop in. I always try to have a guest for supper when my wife is away. I have to stay at home, you see, to keep an eye on the shop. We have no servant, and I do the cooking myself. It’s great fun. Now you light your pipe and make yourself comfortable for a few minutes while I get things ready. Suppose you come back to my den.

    On a table of books at the front of the shop Mifflin laid a large card lettered:

    PROPRIETOR AT SUPPER IF YOU WANT ANYTHING RING THIS BELL

    Beside the card he placed a large old-fashioned dinner bell, and then led the way to the rear of the shop.

    Behind the little office in which this unusual merchant had been studying his cook-book a narrow stairway rose on each side, running up to the gallery. Behind these stairs a short flight of steps led to the domestic recesses. The visitor found himself ushered into a small room on the left, where a grate of coals glowed under a dingy mantelpiece of yellowish marble. On the mantel stood a row of blackened corn-cob pipes and a canister of tobacco. Above was a startling canvas in emphatic oils, representing a large blue wagon drawn by a stout white animal-- evidently a horse. A background of lush scenery enhanced the forceful technique of the limner. The walls were stuffed with books. Two shabby, comfortable chairs were drawn up to the iron fender, and a mustard-coloured terrier was lying so close to the glow that a smell of singed hair was sensible.

    There, said the host; this is my cabinet, my chapel of ease. Take off your coat and sit down.

    Really, began Gilbert, I’m afraid this is—

    Nonsense! Now you sit down and commend your soul to Providence and the kitchen stove. I’ll bustle round and get supper. Gilbert pulled out his pipe, and with a sense of elation prepared to enjoy an unusual evening. He was a young man of agreeable parts, amiable and sensitive. He knew his disadvantages in literary conversation, for he had gone to an excellent college where glee clubs and theatricals had left him little time for reading. But still he was a lover of good books, though he knew them

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