. . .ch reach the collector through the post, give him all the pleasures of the sport at home.  He reads the booksellers’ catalogues eagerly, he marks his chosen sport with pencil, he writes by return of post, or he telegraphs to the vendor.  Unfortunately he almost always finds that he has been forestalled, probably by some bookseller’s agent.  When the catalogue is a French one, it is obvious that Parisians have the pick of the market before our slow letters reach M. Claudin, or M. Labitte.  Still the catalogues themselves are a kind of lesson in bibliography.  You see from them how prices are ruling, and you can gloat, in fancy, over De Luyne’s edition of Molière, 1673, two volumes in red morocco, doublé (“Trautz Bauzonnet”), or some other vanity hopelessly out of reach.  In their catalogues, MM. Morgand and Fatout print a facsimile of the frontispiece of this very rare edition.  The bust of Moli&#. . . Read More