Chapter XIII: A Word in Memory 343

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CARICATURE OF TWO GREAT VICTORIANS _Frontispiece in Color_ W. M. Thackeray and Charles Dickens

TITLE OF "PARADISE LOST." First Edition 6

TITLE OF FRANKLIN'S EDITION OF CICERO'S "CATO MAJOR" 9

LETTER OF THOMAS HARDY TO HIS FIRST PUBLISHER, "OLD TINSLEY" 12

PAGE OF ORIGINAL MS. OF HARDY'S "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" 14

BERNARD QUARITCH 14

TITLE OF MS. OF "LYFORD REDIVIVUS" 16

BERNARD ALFRED QUARITCH 16

SAMUEL JOHNSON 20 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds about 1770, for Johnson's Step-Daughter, Lucy Porter. Engraved by Watson

PAGE OF PRAYER IN DR. JOHNSON'S AUTOGRAPH 23

TITLE OF KEATS'S COPY OF SPENSER'S WORKS 24

PORTRAIT OF TENNYSON READING "MAUD" TO THE BROWNINGS, BY ROSSETTI 26

DR. JOHNSON'S CHURCH, ST. CLEMENT DANES 31 From a pen-and-ink sketch by Charles G. Osgood

INSCRIPTION TO MRS. THRALE IN DR. JOHNSON'S HAND 32

INSCRIPTION TO GENERAL SIR A. GORDON IN QUEEN VICTORIA'S HAND 35

GEORGE D. SMITH 36 Photographed by Genthe

AUTOGRAPH MS. OF LAMB'S POEM, "ELEGY ON A QUID OF TOBACCO" 40

DR. A. S. W. ROSENBACH 42 Photographed by Genthe

TITLE OF "ROBINSON CRUSOE." First Edition 45

TITLE OF "OLIVER TWIST" 47 Presentation Copy to W. C. Macready

ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATION FOR "VANITY FAIR" 48 Becky Sharp throwing Dr. Johnson's "Dixonary" out of the carriage window, as she leaves Miss Pinkerton's School

From the first pen-and-ink sketch, by Thackeray, afterwards elaborated

SPECIMEN PROOF-SHEET OF GEORGE MOORE'S "MEMOIRS OF MY DEAD LIFE" 50

TITLE OF GEORGE MOORE'S "PAGAN POEMS" 51 Presentation Copy to Oscar Wilde

TITLE OF BLAKE'S "MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL" 52

CHARLES LAMB'S HOUSE AT ENFIELD 54

INSCRIPTION BY JOSEPH CONRAD IN A COPY OF "THE NIGGER OF THE 'NARCISSUS'" 56

THE AUTHOR'S BOOK-PLATE 60

HENRY E. HUNTINGTON 72

STOKE POGES CHURCH 74 A fine example of fore-edge painting

TITLE OF BLAKE'S "SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE" 80

"A LEAF FROM AN UNOPENED VOLUME" 82 Specimen page of an unpublished manuscript of Charlotte Brontë

TITLE OF THE KILMARNOCK EDITION OF BURNS'S POEMS 85

FIFTEENTH-CENTURY ENGLISH MS. ON VELLUM: BOËTHIUS'S "DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIÆ" 90

TITLE OF GEORGE HERBERT'S "THE TEMPLE." First Edition 97

FIRST PAGE OF A RARE EDITION OF "ROBINSON CRUSOE" 102

AUTOGRAPH MS. OF A POEM BY KEATS--"TO THE MISSES M---- AT HASTINGS" 105

INSCRIPTION TO SWINBURNE FROM DANTE ROSSETTI 106

AUTOGRAPH INSCRIPTION BY STEVENSON, IN A COPY OF HIS "INLAND VOYAGE" 109

TITLE OF A UNIQUE COPY OF STEVENSON'S "CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES" 110

NEW BUILDING OF THE GROLIER CLUB 114

INSCRIPTION TO CHARLES DICKENS, JUNIOR, FROM CHARLES DICKENS 116

ILLUSTRATION, "THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS," BY JOHN LEECH FOR DICKENS'S "CHRISTMAS CAROL" 116 From the original water-color drawing

AUTOGRAPH DEDICATION TO DICKENS'S "THE VILLAGE COQUETTES" 118

TITLE OF MEREDITH'S "MODERN LOVE," WITH AUTOGRAPH INSCRIPTION TO SWINBURNE 121

INSCRIPTION BY DR. JOHNSON IN A COPY OF "RASSELAS" 125

INSCRIPTION BY WOODROW WILSON, IN A COPY OF HIS "CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES" 126

INSCRIPTION BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 128

CHARLES LAMB 130

FRANCES MARIA KELLY 132

MISS KELLY IN VARIOUS CHARACTERS 136

MS. DEDICATION OF LAMB'S WORKS TO MISS KELLY 137

AUTOGRAPH LETTER OF LAMB TO MISS KELLY 139

CHARLES AND MARY LAMB 144

JAMES BOSWELL OF AUCHINLECK, ESQR. 146 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Engraved by John Jones

SAMUEL JOHNSON IN A TIE-WIG 150 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Engraved by Zobel

INSCRIPTION TO REV. WILLIAM J. TEMPLE, FROM JAMES BOSWELL 159

TITLE OF MASON'S "ELFRIDA." First Edition 163

MS. OF BOSWELL'S AGREEMENT WITH MR. DILLY, RECITING THE TERMS AGREED ON FOR THE PUBLICATION OF "CORSICA" 167

MS. INDORSEMENT BY BOSWELL ON THE FIRST PAPER DRAWN BY HIM AS AN ADVOCATE 168

DR. JOHNSON IN TRAVELING DRESS, AS DESCRIBED IN BOSWELL'S "TOUR" 174 Engraved by Trotter

INSCRIPTION TO JAMES BOSWELL, JUNIOR, FROM JAMES BOSWELL 176

SAMUEL JOHNSON 184 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Engraved by Heath

INSCRIPTION TO EDMUND BURKE, BY JAMES BOSWELL 185

MRS. PIOZZI 186 Engraved by Ridley from a miniature

EXTRACT FROM MS. LETTER OF MRS. THRALE 191

TITLE OF MISS BURNEY'S "EVELINA." First Edition 199

MRS. THRALE'S BREAKFAST-TABLE 200

SAMUEL JOHNSON. THE "STREATHAM PORTRAIT" 204 Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Engraved by Doughty

MS. INSCRIPTIONS BY MRS. THRALE 206

TITLE OF "THE PRINCE OF ABISSINIA" ("RASSELAS"). First Edition 207

MS. OF THE LAST PAGE OF MRS. THRALE'S "JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN WALES" 219

MISS AMY LOWELL, OF BOSTON 222

SAMUEL JOHNSON 225

WILLIAM GODWIN, THE RIDICULOUS PHILOSOPHER 227

CHARLES LAMB'S PLAY-BILL OF GODWIN'S "ANTONIO" 236

MS. LETTER FROM WILLIAM GODWIN 241

ANTHONY TROLLOPE 250 From a photograph by Elliot and Fry

TEMPLE BAR AS IT IS TO-DAY 268

OLD TEMPLE BAR: DEMOLISHED IN 1666 276

TEMPLE BAR IN DR. JOHNSON'S TIME 280

TEMPLE BAR 291

FIRST PAGE OF DR. JOHNSON'S PETITION TO THE KING ON BEHALF OF DR. DODD 306

MR. ALLEN'S COPY OF THE LAST LETTER DR. DODD SENT DR. JOHNSON 312

CARICATURE OF OSCAR WILDE 319 From an original drawing by Aubrey Beardsley

"OUR OSCAR" AS HE WAS WHEN WE LOANED HIM TO AMERICA 326 From a contemporary English caricature

MS. INSCRIPTION TO J. E. DICKINSON, FROM OSCAR WILDE 342

HARRY ELKINS WIDENER 344

TITLE OF STEVENSON'S "MEMOIRS OF HIMSELF" 349 Printed for private distribution only, by Mr. Widener

BEVERLY CHEW 350

HENRY E. HUNTINGTON AMONG HIS BOOKS 352 Photographed by Genthe

HARRY ELKINS WIDENER'S BOOK-PLATE 355

THE AMENITIES OF BOOK-COLLECTING

AND

KINDRED AFFECTIONS

I

BOOK-COLLECTING ABROAD

If my early training has been correct, which I am much inclined to doubt, we were not designed to be happy in this world. We were simply placed here to be tried, and doubtless we are--it is a trying place. It is, however, the only world we are sure of; so, in spite of our training, we endeavor to make the best of it, and have invented a lot of little tricks with which to beguile the time.

The approved time-killer is work, and we do a lot of it. When it is quite unnecessary, we say it is in the interest of civilization; and occasionally work is done on so high a plane that it becomes sport, and we call these sportsmen, "Captains of Industry." One of them once told me that making money was the finest sport in the world. This was before the rules of the game were changed.

But for the relaxation of those whose life is spent in a persistent effort to make ends meet, games of skill, games of chance, and kissing games have been invented, and indoor and outdoor sports. These are all very well for those who can play them; but I am like the little boy who declined to play Old Maid because he was always "it." Having early discovered that I was always "it" in every game, I decided to take my recreation in another way. I read occasionally and have always been a collector.

Many years ago, in an effort to make conversation on a train,--a foolish thing to do,--I asked a man what he did with his leisure, and his reply was, "I play cards. I used to read a good deal but I wanted something to occupy my mind, so I took to cards." It was a disconcerting answer.

It may be admitted that not all of us can read all the time. For those who cannot and for those to whom sport in any form is a burden not to be endured, there is one remaining form of exercise, the riding of a hobby--collecting, it is called; and the world is so full of such wonderful things that we collectors should be as happy as kings. Horace Greeley once said, "Young man, go West." I give advice as valuable and more easily followed: I say, Young man, get a hobby; preferably get two, one for indoors and one for out; get a pair of hobby-horses that can safely be ridden in opposite directions.

We collectors strive to make converts; we want others to enjoy what we enjoy; and I may as well confess that the envy shown by our fellow collectors when we display our treasures is not annoying to us. But, speaking generally, we are a bearable lot, our hobbies are usually harmless, and if we loathe the subject of automobiles, and especially discussion relative to parts thereof, we try to show an intelligent interest in another's hobby, even if it happen to be a collection of postage-stamps. Our own hobby may be, probably is, ridiculous to some one else, but in all the wide range of human interest, from postage-stamps to paintings,--the sport of the millionaire,--there is nothing that begins so easily and takes us so far as the collecting of books.

And hear me. If you would know the delight of book-collecting, begin with something else, I care not what. Book-collecting has all the advantages of other hobbies without their drawbacks. The pleasure of acquisition is common to all--that's where the sport lies; but the strain of the possession of books is almost nothing; a tight, dry closet will serve to house them, if need be.

It is not so with flowers. They are a constant care. Some one once wrote a poem about "old books and fresh flowers." It lilted along very nicely; but I remark that books stay old, indeed get older, and flowers do not stay fresh: a little too much rain, a little too much sun, and it is all over.

Pets die too, in spite of constant care--perhaps by reason of it. To quiet a teething dog I once took him, her, it, to my room for the night and slept soundly. Next morning I found that the dog had committed suicide by jumping out of the window.

The joys of rugs are a delusion and a snare. They cannot be picked up here and there, tucked in a traveling-bag, and smuggled into the house; they are hard to transport, there are no auction records against them, and the rug market knows no bottom. I never yet heard a man admit paying a fair price for a rug, much less a high one. "Look at this Scherazak," a friend remarks; "I paid only nine dollars for it and it's worth five hundred if it's worth a penny." When he is compelled to sell his collection, owing to an unlucky turn in the market, it brings seventeen-fifty. And rugs are ever a loafing place for moths--But that's a chapter by itself.

Worst of all, there is no literature about them. I know very well that there are books about rugs; I own some. But as all books are not literature, so all literature is not in books. Can a rug-collector enjoy a catalogue? I sometimes think that for the over-worked business man a book-catalogue is the best reading there is. Did you ever see a rug-collector, pencil in hand, poring over a rug-catalogue?

Print-catalogues there are; and now I warm a little. They give descriptions that mean something; a scene may have a reminiscent value, a portrait suggests a study in biography. Then there are dimensions for those who are fond of figures and states and margins, and the most ignorant banker will tell you that a wide margin is always better than a narrow one. Prices, too, can be looked up and compared, and results, satisfactory or otherwise, recorded. Prints, too, can be snugly housed in portfolios. But for a lasting hobby give me books.

Book-collectors are constantly being ridiculed by scholars for the pains they take and the money they spend on first editions of their favorite authors; and it must be that they smart under the criticism, for they are always explaining, and attempting rather foolishly to justify their position. Would it not be better to say, as Leslie Stephen did of Dr. Johnson's rough sayings, that "it is quite useless to defend them to any one who cannot enjoy them without defense"?

I am not partial to the "books which no gentleman's library should be without," fashionable a generation or two ago. The works of Thomas Frognall Dibdin do not greatly interest me, and where will one find room to-day for Audubon's "Birds" or Roberts's "Holy Land" except on a billiard-table or under a bed?

The very great books of the past have become so rare, so high-priced, that it is almost useless for the ordinary collector to hope ever to own them, and fashion changes in book-collecting as in everything else. Aldines and Elzevirs are no longer sought. Our interest in the Classics being somewhat abated, we pass them over in favor of books which, we tell ourselves, we expect some day to read, the books written by men of whose lives we know something. I would rather have a "Paradise Lost" with the first title-page,[1] in contemporary binding, or an "Angler," than all the Aldines and Elzevirs ever printed.

Paradise lost.

A POEM

Written in TEN BOOKS By _JOHN MILTON_.

Licensed and Entred according to Order.

_LONDON_ Printed, and are to be sold by _Peter Parker_ under _Creed,_ Church neer _Aldgate_; And by _Robert Boulter_ at the _Turks Head_ in _Bishopsgate-Street_; And _Matthias Walker_, under _St. Dunstons_ Church in _Fleet-Street_, 1667. ]

That this feeling is general, accounts, I take it, for the excessively high prices now being paid for first editions of modern authors like Shelley, Keats, Lamb, and, to come right down to our own day, Stevenson. Would not these authors be amazed could they know in what esteem they are held, and what fabulous prices are paid for volumes which, when they were published, fell almost stillborn from the press? We all know the story of Fitzgerald's "Rubaiyat": how a "remainder" was sold by Quaritch at a penny the copy. It is now worth its weight in gold, and Keats's "Endymion," once a "remainder" bought by a London bookseller at fourpence, now commands several hundred dollars. I paid three hundred and sixty dollars for mine--but it was once Wordsworth's and has his name on the title-page.

But it is well in book-collecting, while not omitting the present, never to neglect the past. "Old books are best," says Beverly Chew, beloved of all collectors; and I recall Lowell's remark: "There is a sense of security in an old book which time has criticized for us." It was a recollection of these sayings that prompted me, if prompting was necessary, to pay a fabulous price the other day for a copy of "Hesperides, or the Works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq.," a beautiful copy of the first edition in the original sheep.

We collectors know the saying of Bacon: "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed and some few to be chewed and digested"; but the revised version is, Some books are to be read, others are to be collected. Mere reading books, the five-foot shelf, or the hundred best, every one knows at least by name. But at the moment I am concerned with collectors' books and the amenities of book-collecting; for, frankly,--

I am one of those who seek
What Bibliomaniacs love.

Some subjects are not for me. Sydney Smith's question, "Who reads an American book?" has, I am sure, been answered; and I am equally sure that I do not know what the answer is. "Americana"--which was not what Sydney Smith meant--have never caught me, nor has "black letter." It is not necessary for me to study how to tell a Caxton. Caxtons do not fall in my way, except single leaves now and then, and these I take as Goldsmith took his religion, on faith.

Nor am I the rival of the man who buys all his books from Quaritch. Buying from Quaritch is rather too much like the German idea of hunting: namely, sitting in an easy chair near a breach in the wall through which game, big or little, is shooed within easy reach of your gun. No, my idea of collecting is "watchful waiting," in season and out, in places likely and unlikely, most of all in London. But one need not begin in London: one can begin wherever one has pitched one's tent.

I have long wanted Franklin's "Cato Major." A copy was found not long ago in a farmhouse garret in my own county; but, unluckily, I did not hear of it until its price, through successive hands, had reached three hundred dollars. But if one does not begin in London, one ends there. It is the great market of the world for collectors' books--the best market, not necessarily the cheapest.