Francis Wilson, the comedian, is the possessor of the chair which Sir Walter Scott used in his library at Abbotsford.  A beautiful bit of furniture it is, and well worth, aside from all sentimental consideration, the large price paid by the enterprising and discriminating curio.  As we understand it, Bouton, the New York dealer, had this chair on exhibition for several months.  Mr. Wilson happened along one day, having just returned from a professional tour in the West.  Mr. William Winter, dramatic critic of the Tribune, was looking at the chair; he had been after it for some time, but had been waiting for the price to abate somewhat.

  “The Players’ Club should have that chair,” said he to Bouton, “and
  if you’ll give better terms I’ll get a number of the members to chip
  in together and buy it.”

  To this appeal Bouton sturdily remained deaf.  After Mr. Winter had
  left the place, Wilson said to Bouton, “Send the chair up to my
  house; here is a check for the money.”

There are rumors to the effect that when Mr. Winter heard of this transaction he rent his garments and gnashed his teeth, and wildly implored somebody to hang a millstone about his neck and cast him into outer darkness.

Horace Greeley used to say that the best way to resume was to resume; so, in the science of collecting, it behooves the collector never to put off till to-morrow what he can pick up to-day.  This theory has been most succinctly and beautifully set forth in one of the hymns recently compiled by the Archbishop of the North Side (page 217): 

    How foolish of a man to wait
      When once his chance is nigh: 
    To-morrow it may be too late—­
      Some other man may buy.

    Nay, brother, comprehend the boon
      That’s offered in a trice,
    Or else some other all too soon
      Will pay the needful price.

    Should some fair book engage your eye,
      Or print invite your glance,
    Oh, trifle not with faith, but buy
      While yet you have the chance! 
    Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong,
      Some wolf in human guise—­
    Some bibliophil shall snoop along
      And nip that lovely prize!

    No gem of purest ray serene
      Gleams in the depthless sea,
    There is no flower that blooms unseen
      Upon the distant lea,
    But the same snooping child of sin,
      With fad or mania curst,
    Will find it out and take it in
      Unless you get there first.

    Though undue haste may be a crime,
      Procrastination’s worse;
    Now—­now is the accepted time
      To eviscerate your purse! 
    So buy what finds you find to-day—­
      That is the safest plan;
    And if you find you cannot pay,
      Why, settle when you can._