ooks which he pretended to know at
all. For not alone is it necessary that a collector should know
precisely what book he wants; it is even more important that he should
be able to know a book _as_ the book he wants when he sees it. It is a
lamentable thing to have fired in the dark, and then discover that you
have shot a wandering mule, and not the noble game you were in pursuit
of. One cannot take his reference library with him to the shops. The
tests, the criteria, must be carried in the head. The last and most
inappropriate moment for getting up bibliographical lore is that
moment when the pressing question is, to buy or not to buy. Master
Slender, in the play, learned the difficulties which beset a man whose
knowledge is in a book, and whose book is at home upon a shelf. It is
possible to sympathize with him when he exclaims, 'I had rather than
forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here!' In making
love there are other resources; all wooers are not as ill equipped as
Slender was. But in hunting rare books the time will be sure to come
when a man may well cry, 'I had rather than forty dollars I had my
list of first editions with me!'

The Bibliotaph carried much accurate information in his head, but he
never traveled without a thesaurus in his valise. It was a small
volume containing printed lists of the first editions of rare books.
The volume was interleaved; the leaves were crowded with manuscript
notes. An appendix contained a hundred and more autograph letters from
living authors, correcting, supplementing, or approving the printed
bibliographies. Even these authors' own lists were accurately
corrected. They needed it in not a few instances. For it is a wise
author who knows his own first edition. Men may write remarkable
books, and understand but little the virtues of their books from the
collector's point of view. Men are seldom clever in more ways than
one. Z. Jackson was a practical printer, and his knowledge as a
printer enabled him to correct sundry errors in the first folio of
Shakespeare. But Z. Jackson, as the Rev. George Dawson observes,
'ventured beyond the composing-case, and, having corrected blunders
made by the printers, corrected excellencies made by the poet.'

It was amusing to discover, by means of these autograph letters, how
seldom a good author was an equally good bibliographer. And this is as
it should be. The author's business is, not to take account of first
editions, but