10.But the personage that most struck my attention，was a pragmatical old gentleman，in clerical robes，with a remarkably large and square，but bald head.He entered the room wheezing and puffing，elbowed his way through the throng，with a look of sturdy self-confidence，and having laid hands upon a thick Greek quarto，clapped it upon his head，and swept majestically away in a formidable frizzled wig.
11.In the hight of this literary masquerade，a cry suddenly resounded from every side，of “Thieves！thieves！”I looked，and lo！the portraits about the wall became animated！The old authors thrust out，first a head，then a shoulder，from the canvas，looked down curiously，for an instant，upon the motley throng，and then descended，with fury in their eyes，to claim their rifled property.The scene of scampering and hubbub that ensued，baffles all deion.The unhappy culprits endeavored in vain to escape with their plunder.On one side，might be seen half a dozen old monks stripping a modern professor；on another，there was sad devastation carried into the ranks of modern dramatic writers.Beaumont and Fletcher，side by side，raged round the field like Castor and Pollux，and sturdy Ben Jonson enacted more wonders，than when a volunteer with the army in Flanders.
12.I was grieved to see many men，to whom I had been accustomed to look up with awe and reverence，fain to steal off with scarce a rag to cover their nakedness.Just then my eye was caught by the pragmatical old gentleman in the Greek frizzled wig，who was scrambling away in sore affright，with half a score of authors in full cry after him！They were close upon his haunches：in a twinkling off went his wig；at every turn some strip of raiment was peeled away；until，in a few moments，from his domineering pomp he shrunk into a little，pursy，wheezy fellow，and made his exit with only a few tags and rags fluttering at his back.
13.There was something so ludicrous in the catastrophe of this learned Theban，that I burst into an immoderate fit of laughter，which broke the whole illusion.The tumult and the scuffle were at an end.The chamber resumed its usual appearance.The old authors shrunk back into their picture-frames，and hung in shadowy solemnity along the walls.In short，I found myself wide awake in my corner，with the whole assemblage of book-worms gazing at me with astonishment.Nothing of the dream had been real but my burst of laughter，a sound never before heard in that grave sanctuary，and so abhorrent to the ears of wisdom，as to electrify the fraternity.
14.The librarian now stepped up to me，and demanded whether I had a card of admission.At first，I did not comprehend him，but I soon found that the library was a kind of literary “preserve，”subject to game-laws，and that no one must presume to hunt there without special license and permission.In a word，I stood convicted of being an arrant poacher，and was glad to make a precipitate retreat，lest I should have a whole pack of authors let loose upon me.
（WASHINGTON IRVING ）
中文阅读
1.我曾经常常对出版社超多的图书产品感到好奇，它是如何经过那么多有才智的头脑，大自然似乎使其免受贫瘠的诅咒，竟然能够生产出数量这么庞大的作品。但是，作为一个生命之路上的旅行者，虽然对事物的好奇心会日益减退，却依然会去继续寻求伟大奇迹的简单成因。就这样，在这个大都市的旅行中，我有机会发现了一个秘密，它向我展示了图书出版的技艺，迅速解答了我的疑问。
