Imagine my surprise when Hawley informed me that the
club had no collection of the sort to appeal to the bibliophile.
"'No,' he answered, 'we have no library.'
"'Rather strange,' I said, 'that a club to which men like Shakespeare,
Milton, Edgar Allan Poe, and other deceased literati belong should be
deficient in that respect.'
"'Not at all,' said he. 'Why should we want books when we have the men
themselves to tell their tales to us? Would you give a rap to possess a
set of Shakespeare if William himself would sit down and rattle off the
whole business to you any time you chose to ask him to do it? Would you
follow Scott's printed narratives through their devious and tedious
periods if Sir Walter in spirit would come to you on demand, and tell you
all the old stories over again in a tenth part of the time it would take
you to read the introduction to one of them?'
"'I fancy not,' I said. 'Are you in such luck?'
"'I am,' said Hawley; 'only personally I never send for Scott or
Shakespeare.
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