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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I mean that you seem to have something on your mind that worries you," said the Bibliomaniac. "No, I haven't anything on my mind," returned the Idiot. "I was thinking about you and Mr. Pedagog which implies a thought not likely to use up much of my gray matter." "Do you think your head holds any gray matter?" put in the Doctor. "Rather verdant, I should say," said Mr. Pedagog.
A good example of the toils of the collector in pursuit of perfection is given by M. Henri Beraldi in his very amusing catalogue of M. Paillet's library. This book, by the way, is itself scarce, and the bibliomaniac will be rather lucky if he meets with it. M. Beraldi describes M. Paillet's copy of Dorat's "Fables," published in 1773, with illustrations by Marillier.
"It is understood then. Let me hear from you from time to time," and the nobleman went out. Mr. Gillett looked after him, then, reflectively, at the closed door. Outside the sound of shuffling feet alone broke the stillness; before the book-stand the bibliomaniac buried his face deeper in the musty pages of an old tragedy.
"He would have gone home disappointed," said the Idiot, with a look of surprise on his face, which seemed to indicate that in his opinion the Bibliomaniac was very dull-witted not to have solved the problem for himself. "He would have gone home disappointed, and we would now be foreigners, like most other Americans. Mr.
"It would fill me with regret, I say, if it were not that in taking up house-keeping I am I am to have the assistance of a better-half." "What??" cried the Bibliomaniac. "You? You are going to be to be married?" "Why not?" said the Idiot. "Imitation is the sincerest flattery. Mr. Pedagog marries, and I am going to flatter him as sincerely as I can by following in his footsteps."
Then I should like to know enough about the science of planning a building to find out whether my model hotel is practicable or not." "You have a model hotel in your mind, eh?" said the Bibliomaniac. "It must be a very small hotel if it's in his mind," said the Doctor. "That's tantamount to saying that it isn't anywhere," said Mr. Pedagog. "Well, it's a great hotel just the same," said the Idiot.
"Has your friend completed his article on old jokes yet?" queried the Bibliomaniac, with a smile and some apparent irrelevance. "Yes and no," said the Idiot. "He has completed his labors on it by giving it up.
"A unique book of unusual interest to the bibliophile in this department is the copy of Ancient and Critical Essays upon English Poets and Poesy, edited by Joseph Hazlewood, 2 vols. 4to, London, 1815. This is Hazlewood's own copy, and it is enriched and decorated by him in the most extravagant style of the bibliomaniac school in which he held so eminent a position.
Moreover, when it became known that he was fond of such things, people from every quarter sent him and brought him old books; it may be that they hoped in this wise to court his official favor, or perhaps they were prompted by the less selfish motive of gladdening the bibliomaniac soul.
The rain brings in another tribesman a famed though somewhat ragged bibliomaniac. His casual gestures hide the sudden fever old books kindle in his thought. Old books old books, a magical phrase to him. His eyes travel like a lover's back and forth, up and down. He knows them all the sets, the first editions, the bargains, the riff-raff. A democratic lover is here. But the clerk watches him.
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