Why need the women-folk (God forgive me!) bother themselves about the inside of a man's library, and whether it wants dusting or not?
My boys' playroom, in which is a carpenter's bench, a lathe, and no end of litter, is never tidied--perhaps it can't be, or perhaps their youthful vigour won't stand it--but my workroom must needs be dusted daily, with the delusive promise that each book and paper shall be replaced exactly where it was.

The damage done by such continued treatment is incalculable.

At certain times these observances are kept more religiously than others; but especially should the book-lover, married or single, beware of the Ides of March.

So soon as February is dead and gone, a feeling of unrest seizes the housewife's mind.

This increases day by day, and becomes dominant towards the middle of the month, about which period sundry hints are thrown out as to whether you are likely to be absent for a day or two.