Lysand. I will make no such promise. If our facetious friend Lisardo, who is expected shortly to join us, should happen to direct our attention and the discourse to the sale of Malvolio's busts and statues, what favourable opportunity do you suppose could present itself for handling so unpromising a subject as bibliography?
Phil. Well, well, let us hope he will not come: or, if he does, let us take care to carry the point by a majority of votes. I hear the gate bell ring: 'tis Lisardo, surely!
Three minutes afterwards, Lisardo and myself, who met in the passage from opposite doors, entered the Cabinet. Mutual greetings succeeded: and, after a hearty breakfast, the conversation was more systematically renewed.
Lis. I am quite anxious to give you a description of the fine things which were sold at Malvolio's mansion yesterday! Amongst colossal Minervas, and pigmy fauns and satyrs, a magnificent set of books, in ten or twelve folio volumes (I forget the precise number) in Morocco binding, was to be disposed of.
Lysand. The Clementine and Florentine museums?
Lis. No indeed—a much less interesting work. A catalogue of the manuscripts and printed books in the library of the French king, Louis the fifteenth. It was odd enough to see such a work in such a sale!
Phil. You did not probably bid ten guineas for it, Lisardo?
Lis. Not ten shillings. What should I do with such books? You know I have a mortal aversion to them, and to every thing connected with bibliographical learning.
Phil. That arises, I presume, from your profound knowledge of the subject; and, hence, finding it, as Solomon found most pursuits, "vanity of vanities, and vexation of spirit."
Lis. Not so, truly! I have taken an aversion to it from mere whim and fancy: or rather from downright ignorance.