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In Mrs。 Gordon's noble ‘‘Memoirs'' we have a vivid picture of Professor Wilson's workroom。 All was confusion there： ‘‘his room was a strange mixture of what may be called order and untidiness； for there was not a scrap of paper or a book that his hand could not light upon in a moment； while to the casual eye； in search of discovery； it would appear chaos。'' Wilson had no love for fine furniture； and he seems to have crowded his books together without regard to any system of classification。 He had a habit of mixing his books around with fishing…tackle； and his charming biographer tells us it was no uncommon thing to find the ‘‘Wealth of Nations；'' ‘‘Boxiana；'' the ‘‘Faerie Queen；'' Jeremy Taylor； and Ben Jonson occupying close quarters with fishing…rods； boxing…gloves； and tins of barley…sugar。
Charles Lamb's favorite workshop was in an attic； upon the walls of this room he and his sister pasted old prints and gay pictures； and this resulted in giving the place a cheery aspect。 Lamb loved old books； old friends； old times； ‘‘he evades the present； he works at the future； and his affections revert to and settle on the past；''so says Hazlitt。 His favorite books seem to have been Bunyan's ‘‘Holy War；'' Browne's ‘‘Urn…Burial；'' Burton's ‘‘Anatomy of Melancholy；'' Fuller's ‘‘Worthies；'' and Taylor's ‘‘Holy Living and Dying。'' Thomas Westwood tells us that there were few modern volumes in his library； it being his custom to give away and throw away （as the same writer asserts） presentation copies of contemporaneous literature。 Says Barry Cornwall： ‘‘Lamb's pleasures lay amongst the books of the old English writers；'' and Lamb himself uttered these memorable words： ‘‘I cannot sit and thinkbooks think for me。''
Wordsworth； on the other hand； cared little for books； his library was a small one； embracing hardly more than five hundred volumes。 He drew his inspiration not from books； but from Nature。 From all that I have heard of him I judge him to have been a very dull man。 Allibone relates of him that he once remarked that he did not consider himself a witty poet。 ‘‘Indeed；'' quoth he； ‘‘I don't think I ever was witty but once in my life。''
His friends urged him to tell them about it。 After some hesitation； he said： ‘‘Well； I will tell you。 I was standing some time ago at the entrance of Rydal Mount。 A man accosted me with the question： ‘Pray； sir； have you seen my wife pass by？' Whereupon I retorted； ‘Why； my good friend； I didn't know till this moment that you had a wife。' ''
Illustrative of Wordsworth's vanity； it is told that when it was reported that the next Waverley novel was to be ‘‘Rob Roy；'' the poet took down his ‘‘Ballads'' and read to the company ‘‘Rob Roy's Grave。'' Then he said gravely： ‘‘I do not know what more Mr。 Scott can have to say on the subject。''
Wordsworth and Dickens disliked each other cordially。 Having been asked his opinion of the young novelist； Wordsworth answered： ‘‘Why； I'm not much given to turn critic on people I meet； but； as you ask me； I will cordially avow that I thought him a very talkative young personbut I dare say he may be very clever。 Mind； I don't want to say a word against him； for I have never read a line he has written。''
The same inquirer subsequently asked Dickens how he liked Wordsworth。
‘‘Like him！'' roared Dickens； ‘‘not at all； he is a dreadful Old Ass！''
XIX
OUR DEBT TO MONKISH MEN
Where one has the time and the money to devote to the collection of missals and illuminated books； the avocation must be a very delightful one。 I never look upon a missal or upon a bit of antique illumination that I do not invest that object with a certain poetic romance； and I picture to myself long lines of monkish men bending over their tasks； and applying themselves with pious enthusiasm thereto。 We should not flatter ourselves that the enjoyment of the delights of bibliomania was reserved to one time and generation； a greater than any of us lived many centuries ago； and went his bibliomaniacal way； gathering together treasures from every quarter； and diffusing every where a veneration and love for books。
Richard de Bury was the king； if not the father； of bibliomaniacs； his immortal work reveals to us that long before the invention of printing men were tormented and enraptured by those very same desires； envies； jealousies； greeds； enthusiasms； and passions which possess and control bibliomaniacs at the present time。 That vanity was sometimes the controlling passion with the early collectors is evidenced in a passage in Barclay's satire； ‘‘The Ship of Fools''； there are the stanzas which apply so neatly to certain people I know that sometimes I actually suspect that Barclay's prophetic eye must have had these nineteenth…century charlatans in view。
But yet I have them in great reverence And honor； saving them from filth and ordure By often brushing and much diligence。 Full goodly bound in pleasant coverture Of damask； satin； or else of velvet pure； I keep them sure； fearing lest they should be lost； For in them is the cunning wherein I me boast。
But if it fortune that any learned man Within my house fall to disputation； I draw the curtains to show my books them； That they of my cunning should make probation； I love not to fall into altercation； And while they come； my books I turn and wind； For all is in them； and nothing in my mind。
Richard de Bury had exceptional opportunities for gratifying his bibliomaniac passions。 He was chancellor and treasurer of Edward III。； and his official position gained him access to public and private libraries and to the society of literary men。 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 flying fame of our love；'' says de Bury； ‘‘had already spread in all directions； and it was reported not only that we had a longing desire for books； and especially for old ones； but that any one could more easily obtain our favors by quartos than by money。 Wherefore； when supported by the bounty of the aforesaid prince of worthy memory； we were enabled to oppose or advance； to appoint or to discharge； crazy quartos and tottering folios； precious however in our sight as in our affections； flowed in most rapidly from the great and the small； instead of new year's gifts and remunerations； and instead of presents and jewels。 Then the cabinets of the most noble monasteries were opened； cases were unlocked； caskets were unclasped； and sleeping volumes which had slumbered for long ages in their sepulchres were roused up； and those that lay hid in dark places were overwhelmed with the rays of a new light。 Among these； as time served； we sat down more voluptuously than the delicate physician could do amidst his stores of aromatics； and where we found an object of love we found also an assuagement。''
‘‘If；'' says de Bury； ‘‘we would have amassed cups of gold and silver； excellent horses； or no mean sums of