nd offered
condolence, with that sleek complacency of manner noteworthy in men
who are conscious of being mated for life better than they deserve,
the Bibliotaph said, with an admiring glance at the wife, 'Your
sympathy is supererogatory, sir, for I fully expect to become your
residuary legatee.'

It is most pleasing to think of this unique man 'buffeting his books'
in one of those temporary libraries which formed about him whenever he
stopped four or five weeks in a place. The shops were rifled of not a
few of their choicest possessions, and the spoils carried off to his
room. It was a joy to see him display his treasures, a delight to hear
him talk of them. He would disarm criticism with respect to the more
eccentric purchases by saying, 'You wouldn't approve of this, but _I_
thought it was curious,'--and then a torrent of facts, criticisms,
quotations, all bearing upon the particular volume which you were
supposed not to like; and so on, hour after hour. There was no limit
save that imposed by the receptive capacity of the guest. It reminded
one of the word spoken concerning a 'hard sitter at books' of the last
century, that he was a literary giant 'born to grapple with whole
libraries.' But the fine flavor of those hours spent in hearing him
discourse upon books and men is not to be recovered. It is evanescent,
spectral, now. This talk was like the improvisation of a musician who
is profoundly learned, but has in him a vein of poetry too. The talk
and the music strongly appeal to robust minds, and at the same time do
not repel the sentimentalist.

It is not to be supposed that the Bibliotaph pleased every one with
whom he came in contact. There were people whom his intellectual
potency affected in a disagreeable way. They accused him of applying
great mental force to inconsidered trifles. They said it was a
misfortune that so much talent was going to waste. But there is no
task so easy as criticising an able man's employment of his gifts.

THE BIBLIOTAPH: HIS FRIENDS, SCRAP-BOOKS, AND 'BINS'

To arrive at a high degree of pleasure in collecting a library, one
must travel. The Bibliotaph regularly traveled in search of his
volumes. His theory was that the collector must go to the book, not
wait for the book to come to him. No reputable sportsman, he said,
would wish the game brought alive to his back-yard for him to kill.
Half the pleasure was in tracking the quarry to its hiding-place. He
himself ordere