The Poet at the Breakfast-TableHolmes, Oliver Wendell
General
The Poet at the Breakfast-Table
Holmes, Oliver Wendell
American fiction -- 19th century; Conversation -- Fiction; Poetry
In the first place, you see, I have four extensive cyclopaedias. Out
of these I can get information enough to serve my immediate purpose on
almost any subject. These, of course, are supplemented by geographical,
biographical, bibliographical, and other dictionaries, including of
course lexicons to all the languages I ever meddle with. Next to
these come the works relating to my one or two specialties, and these
collections I make as perfect as I can. Every library should try to be
complete on something, if it were only on the history of pin-heads.
I don't mean that I buy all the trashy compilations on my special
subjects, but I try to have all the works of any real importance
relating to them, old as well as new. In the following compartment you
will find the great authors in all the languages I have mastered, from
Homer and Hesiod downward to the last great English name.
This division, you see, you can make almost as extensive or as limited
as you choose. You can crowd the great representative writers into
a small compass; or you can make a library consisting only of the
different editions of Horace, if you have space and money enough. Then
comes the Harem, the shelf or the bookcase of Delilahs, that you
have paid wicked prices for, that you love without pretending to be
reasonable about it, and would bag in case of fire before all the
rest, just as Mr. Townley took the Clytie to his carriage when the
anti-Catholic mob threatened his house in 1780. As for the foundlings
like my Hedericus, they go among their peers; it is a pleasure to
take them, from the dusty stall where they were elbowed by plebeian
school-books and battered odd volumes, and give them Alduses and
Elzevirs for companions.
Nothing remains but the Infirmary. The most painful subjects are the
unfortunates that have lost a cover. Bound a hundred years ago, perhaps,
and one of the rich old browned covers gone--what a pity! Do you know
what to do about it? I 'll tell you,--no, I 'll show you. Look at this
volume. M. T. Ciceronis Opera,--a dozen of 'em,--one of 'em minus half
his cover, a poor one-legged cripple, six months ago,--now see him.
--He looked very respectably indeed, both covers dark, ancient, very
decently matched; one would hardly notice the fact that they were not
twins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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