k
savage joy in his conquests. In playing with him one had to do two
men's work; one must play, and then one must summon such philosophy as
one might to suffer continuous defeat, and such wit as one possessed
to beat back a steady onslaught of daring and witty criticisms. 'I
play like a fool,' said a despairing opponent after fruitless effort
to win a just share of the games. 'We all have our moments of
unconsciousness,' purred the Bibliotaph blandly in response. This same
despairing opponent, who was an expert in everything he played, said
that there was but one solace after croquet with the Bibliotaph; he
would go home and read Hazlitt's essay on the Indian Jugglers.

* * * * *

Here ends the account of the Bibliotaph. From these inadequate notes
it is possible to get some little idea of his habits and conversation.
The library is said to be still growing. Packages of books come
mysteriously from the corners of the earth and make their way to that
remote and almost inaccessible village where the great collector hides
his treasures. No one has ever penetrated that region, and no one, so
far as I am aware, has ever seen the treasures. The books lie
entombed, as it were, awaiting such day of resurrection as their owner
shall appoint them. The day is likely to be long delayed. Of the
collector's whereabouts now no one of his friends dares to speak
positively; for at the time when knowledge of him was most exact THE
BIBLIOTAPH was like a newly-discovered comet,--his course was
problematical.

THOMAS HARDY

I

'The reason why so few good books are written is that so few people
that can write know anything.' So said a man who, during a busy
career, found time to add several fine volumes to the scanty number of
good books. And in a vivacious paragraph which follows this initial
sentence he humorously anathematizes the literary life. He shows
convincingly that 'secluded habits do not tend to eloquence.' He says
that the 'indifferent apathy' so common among studious persons is by
no means favorable to liveliness of narration. He proves that men who
will not live cannot write; that people who shut themselves up in
libraries have dry brains. He avows his confidence in the 'original
way of writing books,' the way of the first author, who must have
looked at things for himself, 'since there were no books for him to
copy from;' and he challenges the reader to prove that this original
wa