were
principally old sermons, or, what is worse, theology and political
economy. He placed a sample lot outside his shop, leaving the bulk of
the stock untouched. The little parcel attracted the attention of a
stylishly dressed man, who entered the shop and said, 'I'll take these
books, and, say, have you any more of this kind with this shield onto
them?' pointing to the bookplate attached, which bore the arms and name
of a good old county family. 'That box, sir, is full of books from the
same house, and probably every book has the same bookplate, but I have
not yet had time to examine them.' 'What's yer figger for them, any way?
See here, I start back to Chicago to-morrow, and I mean to take these
books right back along. I'm goin' to start a libery thar, and these
books will just fit me, name and all. Just you sort out all that have
that shield and name, and send them round to the Langham at seven sharp.
I'll be round to settle up; but see, now, don't you send any without
that name-plate, for that's my name, too, and I reckon this old hoss
with the daggers and roosters might have been related to me some way.'

'I remember,' says the Marquis d'Argenson, in his 'Memoires,' 'once
paying a visit to a well-known bibliomaniac, who had just purchased an
extremely scarce volume, quoted at a fabulous price. Having been
graciously permitted by its owner to inspect the treasure, I ventured
innocently to remark that he had probably bought it with the
philanthropic intention of having it reprinted. "Heaven forbid!" he
exclaimed in a horrified tone; "how could you suppose me capable of such
an act of folly! If I were, the book would be no longer scarce, and
would have no value whatever. Besides," he added, "I doubt, between
ourselves, if it be worth reprinting." "In that case," said I, "its
rarity appears to be its only attraction." "Just so," he complacently
replied; "and that is quite enough for me."'

Another type which borders dangerously near to that which we have been
describing is the collector who, not necessarily ignorant, collects for
himself alone. The motto which Grolier adopted and acted upon--'Io
Grolierii et amicorum'--might have been a very safe principle to go upon
in the sixteenth century, but it would most certainly fail in the
nineteenth, when one's dearest friends are the most unmitigated
book-thieves. But perhaps even the too frequent loss of books is an evil
to be preferred to the egoistical meanness of the s