Books and bidders

by A. S. W. Rosenbach

IX

THE COLLECTOR’S BEST BET

“I don’t give a tinker’s dam about the money value!” We were working, my uncle Moses and I, in his crowded bookshop on the second floor of the ancient red brick building on Commerce Street in old Philadelphia. Uncle Moses sat on top of a ladder before some shelves, arranging his volumes, while I endeavored to find an important document in his paper-stuffed desk. An old colored man, a messenger, had just staggered up the stairs to deliver an enormous package. It proved to be, as usual, a lot of crusty old books, and the last straw for me. I looked despairingly at my uncle. Where were these to find room? Each corner of the place, the chairs, tables, and his desk, was already filled; and the shelves, of course, were laden. I sighed. Why was Uncle Moses forever buying, buying, buying, and never—hardly ever—selling? And what was all this newly arrived lot worth? It didn’t look like much to me. It was then that he caught the trend of my thought and boomed at me from the other end of the room. I was, you must remember, only sixteen at the time, and had yet to learn that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Uncle Moses quickly came down from his ladder and gloated proudly over the newly arrived pile of books. Then he fairly beamed as he turned to me. “My boy,” he exclaimed, “‘Americana!’ That’s the stuff to collect!” He picked up a volume, opened to the yellowed title page, and read aloud: “Here is a Discovery of the Barmudas, otherwise called the Isle of Devils. It is the work of Silvester Jourdain, 1610. Americana! Even Shakespeare knew the fascination of it. It was this little book which in part inspired him to write The Tempest!” He turned to light his old meerschaum pipe, and as he did so, his battered, picturesque top-hat, which had stood crowded between a row of books and the wall, fell to the floor. I felt a savage glow of delight at this mishap. But Uncle Moses ignored it. He was on a favorite subject, and he had his most appreciative audience: me. Although I had not been born with a caul over my face, he felt I had second sight—for books. And he delighted to catch my imagination as a fair wind takes a sail, filling it now this way, now that. It was something of a relaxation for him.

“Heaps of people,” he continued, “can’t seem to get it into their heads that there is just as much drama in the history of our own country as in any of the Old World empires. Hasn’t my friend Prescott made the conquerors of Mexico and Peru live before our eyes? Talk about William the Conqueror! What is the matter with Columbus, Cortés, and Pizarro?” I was thrilled now—thrilled to the marrow when he talked like that. And with gratification he watched me as I stood there transfixed.

“Think of the capture of the last Inca! Why, it is far more exciting than the Battle of Agincourt. It outweighs even Shakespeare’s graphic description in King Henry V.” He stopped for a moment, his penetrating dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “But it is not only the battles, the political intrigues,” he went on, “the early history of our great industries is just as important. For instance, the old forty-niners’ records of the first discovery of gold in California, the beginning of the steel mills, the first railroad prospectuses, all this country’s gigantic domestic activities! My boy, I envy you the years ahead in which you will discover for yourself the color, the romance, the mystery of your country’s history!”

TEA-SHIP BROADSIDE

Monday Morning, December 27, 1773.

The Tea-Ship being arrived, every Inhabitant who wishes to preserve the Liberty of America, is desired to meet at the State-House, This Morning, precisely at TEN o’Clock, to advise what is best to be done on this alarming Crisis.

Time has proved to me that my uncle prophesied well when he said that Americana would have a unique and splendid place in the book world. And although his prophecies were made many years ago, it is not too late to-day to start collecting Americana. But, of course, to-morrow it may be. They get scarcer every day; they will never be any cheaper; and of one thing you may be sure: the value of Americana will increase with the rising fortunes of America.

So many of the books and documents on which history is based have been absorbed by public libraries and by historical societies that the available source material itself has dwindled. In the old days, when such friends of Moses Polock as James Lenox, Doctor Brinley, old Menzies, John Carter Brown, Brayton Ives, Henry C. Murphy, James Carson Brevoort, and countless others were enslaved by an inordinate passion for books, they did not have to go far afield to find the things that delighted their souls. The most precious relics were to be found almost at their doorsteps. If they were in Philadelphia, it was to the bookstalls along Second Street they went; in New York, to the drowsy old shops of lower Broadway. In these and other places serious-minded young collectors—can’t you see them in their stovepipe hats, their high, tight collars, and enormous black satin cravats?—searched in leisurely mood through the untouched treasure-hoards of Americana. Indeed, those were the days when you could pick up Smith’s History of Virginia for fifty dollars almost as easily as you can secure to-day the latest novel of a popular writer.

But, budding collectors, do not despair. Who knows but there are nuggets hidden this very minute, at your hand? Hidden only because you do not realize their potential value. Things which are considered valueless to-day may soar high in favor in the near future. You know that our grandfathers, not to mention their sisters and their cousins and their aunts, could have bought the autograph letters of such historical figures as Lincoln, Grant, Lee, and Jefferson Davis for a few dollars during the years that immediately followed the Civil War. And it was not until twenty years later that collectors began to gather together everything they could find concerning Lincoln, for it was not until then that he became a figure permanently great in the thoughts of the people. His merest pen scratch took on a definite value, which has increased steadily since then.

The World War has now been over for nearly nine years. Mementos of the conflict which are to-day tolerated merely for their sentimental value will be highly esteemed twenty years from now. They will be coveted objects, not only in the eyes of the collector, but to the perhaps more discerning ones of the historian as well.

The way of the transgressor is not much harder than that of the enthusiastic biblio-fiend. The only difference is that the latter is sure of his eventual reward. Not a day passes that some man or woman does not appear in my library, either in Philadelphia or in New York, to offer me some curious and interesting book, tract, or letter relating to the history of this country. Very often I have to pay heavily for certain desirable documents. But, like my uncle Moses, I don’t give a tinker’s dam about the money value. I hope I am a cheerful giver when, as a result of my purchase, I discover material hitherto unknown to the historians of our country.

TANKARD PRESENTED TO GEORGE WASHINGTON ON
HIS THIRTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY BY THE REV. DR.
GREEN, FEBRUARY 22, 1763, AT TRURO, VIRGINIA

When my brother Philip was in Spain last year he spent several weeks touring through the picturesque towns and villages of Granada. Can you imagine his surprise and joy, when one day he stopped at an ancient monastery and bought a bundle of old papers which contained a most valuable and interesting document—the original manuscript signed by the Emperor Charles V, wherein Hernando Cortés, Adelantado of the Indies, was appointed Knight of the Order of Santiago. As this order was an honor considered at that time the most distinguished and aristocratic in all Castile, it naturally showed Cortés in a light hitherto unnoted by historians. To-day this magnificent document is in the collection of my dear friend, Mr. H. V. Jones, in Minneapolis. Mr. Jones in a surprisingly short time has formed one of the finest libraries of books relating to this country.

From the very day that Christopher Columbus discussed his great project with Queen Isabella, the stream of American history has at all times flowed tumultuously, and never without color and romance.

When Columbus returned to Spain from the New World, he stopped on February 14, 1493, at Santa Maria, one of the islands of the Azores, probably to take water. Four days before this he had encountered the most terrific storm of his great voyage, and was convinced that he, his men, and his vessels must perish. Now Columbus realized in his heart that he was going back to Spain with news of a discovery second in importance to no other. And when it seemed that his ship might sink at any moment, he set to work to make a record of his mighty adventure, hoping that by some will of the Fates it would not be lost to posterity. So, on February fourteenth, he carefully prepared as complete an account of his marvelous voyage as was possible under the circumstances. He wrote the details of his journey on a stout piece of parchment, wrapped it carefully in a piece of waterproof cloth, then placed it in an iron-bound barrel and threw it into the raging ocean. But the Fates were kinder to Columbus than to this account made in a time of stress.

Certainly this, the first record of America, written by the brave hand of Columbus, would be the most precious relic in all the chronicles of our country. Alas, that it never has been found! And if I thought there were one chance in a million of finding it I would take my power boat, the First Folio, and cruise in the neighborhood of the Azores forever!

It is also curious that another letter, which Columbus wrote the day after he arrived at Santa Maria to his friend Luis de Santangel, has never been found. Nor has another and more concise account of his experiences, which he wrote in an exultant vein to the Reyes Catolicos, Ferdinand and Isabella, immediately upon landing in Lisbon, ever seen the light of day.

Every school child is taught the date of Columbus’s arrival at Palos, March 15, 1493. On that very same day he dispatched two letters to the Court, then sitting at Barcelona. Another, much briefer and more to the point, he sent to another friend, Gabriel Sanchez, then the royal treasurer.

About one month after Columbus returned to Spain, a second letter which he indited to Luis de Santangel was printed on two leaves, folio size. Evidently these were sent out in all directions and must have been in great demand. You can well realize that the excitement created by the publication of his stupendous discovery was tremendous. And yet it is very strange that but one copy of the entire edition has survived. These two leaves are the actual cornerstone of American history. They are worth not only their weight in radium many times over, but, to the book lover, his very chances of Paradise! They are now, I am proud to state, not in some musty old castle of Spain, but in the Lenox Foundation, a part of the New York Public Library, in the heart of New York City. There, if you show the appropriate desire, you may see it any day. Some authorities think this letter was printed by Rosenbach, one of the earliest Spanish printers, and probably one of my forbears. The old fool! Why didn’t he save at least one copy for his descendants?

Of the second edition of this letter, with the Fates still pursuing, there is likewise but one remaining copy. To-day it reposes in a very safe place, the Ambrosian Library in Milan. The present Pope, Pius XI, who should be the patron saint of all modern book collectors, was first the assistant in this library, and finally the librarian. In bygone years his knowledge of books and his infectious enthusiasm inspired many a bookman. How it must have delighted him to have this great letter of Columbus in his care!

Edition after edition of the first Columbus letter soon appeared. The news was so astounding that all who could read wanted to see for themselves the discoverer’s own description of this amazing new land. Four editions appeared in Rome, two in Basle, three in Paris, and one in Antwerp. These were all published in Latin or Italian. Florence printed the news four separate times; strange to relate, the first edition in German did not appear until 1497. But the Germans enhanced their edition with one of the most amusing woodcuts I have ever seen. It is a picture of the King of Spain and Columbus, who seem to be explaining their great achievement (doubtless as an offering) to Jesus Christ. There were six copies of it known until recently, three of which are in this country: one in the Lenox Library, one in the John Carter Brown collection at Providence, Rhode Island, and one in the safekeeping of the Huntington Library. But only last year, when I visited an old library in the west of England, the private collection of a friend of mine, I had a curious experience.

It was at that hour which is neither day nor night, and the dressing gong for dinner had sounded. I put my hand out in the half light to steady myself after “tea,” and touched—not the fille de chambre, as Sterne relates in his Sentimental Journey, but the edges of something projecting from a shelf of an old bookcase. I had the strange feeling of an omen about to be realized, one of those peculiar premonitions women are always boasting of. I loosened the books on either side, drew out the object, and went soberly to the nearest window, to find that I had not one but two copies of this German Columbus letter! That was enough to stagger anyone. One is now in the collection of that great lover and connoisseur of books, Mr. Grenville Kane, of Tuxedo Park, New York, who is now the doyen of American collectors; the other is cherished by my old friend Mr. H. V. Jones.

The story of this country unfolds itself like some gorgeous panorama as you look through the books which chronicle the stirring times of the early adventurers. Who wouldn’t choose to hear tales from actual eyewitnesses, rather than read them rehashed in a fusty history book? The principal performers in the great historical dramas have themselves told us stories of daring, of bravery, of great disasters and victories. Such men were Amerigo Vespucci; Waldseemüller, the famous geographer, whose Cosmographiæ Introductio, published at St. Dié in 1507, was the first book which gave the name, America, to the New World; Peter Martyr, the first historian of the Indies, who described the voyages of his friends and contemporaries, Columbus, Vasco da Gama, Magellan, Cabot, and Vespucci. Martyr’s Decades of the New World should quicken the pulse of every lover of American history, for it contains most of the knowledge we have of the very earliest “inventions,” as they were called.

Elsewhere I have told of my purchase of the Ellsworth copy of the Gutenberg Bible. Included in the lot with it was one of the earliest charts showing the east coast of America. It dates around 1501-02. I was present at the sale of this famous map, known as the King-Hamy chart, when it brought $17,600, and was one of the unhappy underbidders thereon. I thought it was lost to me and my heirs forevermore. However, when the Ellsworth collection was sold, I radioed my bid from mid-Atlantic and secured it.

Early portolano charts, as these first navigators’ maps are called, are extremely interesting. They indicate, step by step, the latest discoveries as they were made. You can see for yourself, if you follow the development from the first faint coast lines on the earliest charts to the recognizable later outlines, the wonderful progress made by various explorers in less than a century. Every year new ports, new bays, new islands, new harbors of refuge are seen. The first mariners in the waters of the New Islands, as they were called, sent their original and very rough working charts, made from the actual observations of pilots, to the great cartographers in Spain and Italy. Those men were really artists. Baptista Agnesi was one of the most famous of the chart makers. He and his colleagues all produced beautiful, illuminated atlases containing elaborately decorated maps, gorgeously bound, which they sold to the great princes and merchants of the day. The maps were much in demand as table books for the libraries of wealthy men.

But there are very few of the first drafts of the early maps left. The rolls of parchment which originated in the rough pilot house of an early sailing vessel were often damaged by ocean spray and rats’ teeth; under such conditions they could last but a short while. Probably not five, altogether, survive. Yet lately I have had the unexampled good fortune to obtain two actual pilots’ charts; the first one was used on the voyage of Cortés, the other must have accompanied Pizarro on his magnificent conquest of Peru. The former shows but the barest outline of the coasts of the two Americas; the second, only fifteen years later, presents a much more detailed diagram of the shores, indicating the advance in geographical knowledge during this brief period.

Probably the two finest and most highly finished examples of the map-maker’s art are two table books: the Spitzer chart in the John Carter Brown Library at Providence and the famous Jacques Cartier atlas in the collection of the late Henry E. Huntington. Another magnificent collection of portolano charts is in the library of the Hispanic Society in New York City, formed by the great student and collector, Mr. Archer M. Huntington.

Now the young book enthusiast, if he has a limited amount of money, must not feel out of the running when he sees that many of the rarer examples of Americana are beyond his means. Indeed, the discriminating collector seeks not only the great and costly pieces, such as Richard Hakluyt’s Divers Voyages Touching the Discoverie of America, 1582 (complete with both maps); Thomas Hariot’s Briefe and True Report of the New Found Land of Virginia, 1588; Francis Drake’s West Indian Voyage, 1589; or that wonderful collection, the most elaborate ever compiled about America, known as De Bry’s Voyages. Of course, everyone would like to secure these descriptions of the early discoveries. Such fascinating accounts as those bequeathed to posterity by Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, the first real historian of the Spanish conquest, and his successor, Cieza de Leon—these will always be coveted, it goes without saying.

It is the little things, however, that I think most appealing.

For instance, within the past few months I found and purchased the first tailor bill in the New World. It was the original invoice sent to Hernando de Soto in 1536, several years before he made his momentous discovery of the Mississippi River. The bill was dated from Lima, the City of the Kings, which had only been founded in 1535. There were forty items listed: bolts of the finest black velvets and satins, yards and yards of scarlet taffeta for linings. Can you see the great conquistador flashing his way through some primeval jungle, clad like the king’s courtier that he was, even in the wilderness? But to me the most startling thing about this bill of $1400 for one month’s raiment is that it was—receipted! How the tailors on Fifth Avenue would gloat over this relic of their earliest predecessor! Perhaps some way will be found to make a facsimile of the first receipted weapon of their trade. It should be hung in every tailoring establishment along the Avenue as a gentle reminder to tardy patrons. Although the clothes and the tailor who made them, as well as the customer who wore them, have all long since evaporated, Juan Ruiz, the tailor’s name, will live. It is forever connected with the distinguished name of Hernando de Soto, the discoverer of the Mississippi.

Virginia in the early days included practically all the English possessions in America. Consequently New England was part of Virginia. The first books relating to this English colony in the New World are all of abounding interest. The history of settlements such as these, of fierce and frequent fights with Indians, or the gentler tale of Raleigh and his pipe of tobacco, reads like a dime novel. Of course all these descriptions are entrancingly rare and the acquisition of any one of them will make a dent in the most astute pocketbook. As a rule, these tracts were ephemeral publications not unlike much of the pamphlet literature that is issued to-day. They were small quarto volumes, sometimes comprising only eight or ten leaves. After they were read they doubtless were cast into the seventeenth-century equivalent of the waste-paper basket, and that is why so few are in existence to-day. The cherished survivors have been preserved because they were bound together in volumes at the time they were issued.

Recently, in the library of an old London house, I came across one of these precious collections containing twenty-three of the rarest pamphlets relating to America. Bound therein were such collectors’ darlings as Brereton’s Brief and true Relation of the Discovery of the Northern Part of Virginia, 1602; James Rosier’s A True Relation of the most prosperous Voyage made this present year 1605 in the Discovery of the Land of Virginia, published in London in 1605. And embedded in the centre of the volume, like a choice nugget, was the first work of the redoubtable Captain John Smith, entitled A True Relation of such Occurrences and Accidents of Noate as hath hapned in Virginia, London, 1608.

“Have you any other books or pamphlets relating to America?” I asked the distinguished owner after I had purchased this volume, which was worth many thousands of pounds. He thought for so long before answering that I was afraid he had nothing. When I had almost given up hope, he said suddenly, “Would you be interested in a presentation copy of Captain Smith’s Generall Historie of Virginia, 1624?”

“What are you trying to do? Pull my leg?”

“No, really,” he replied. “Here it is.” He walked the length of the great room to an enormous bookcase with glass doors, and tenderly extracted a tall slim book. The arms of England were impressed in gold upon the covers. To say I was astounded is to express it mildly. And there, covering the whole flyleaf in front of the beautifully engraved title page, was the only known specimen of handwriting of the celebrated “Governour and Admirall of New England,” as Captain Smith was dubbed thereon. Since this dedication is entirely unknown, I give it here to be printed for the first time:—

To The Worshipfull the Master
Wardens & Societie of the
Cordwayners of ye Cittie of London.

Worthie Gentlemen:—

Not only in regard of your Courtesie & Love, Butt also of ye Continuall Use I have had of your Labours, & the hope you may make some use of mine, I salute you with this cronologicall discourse, whereof you may understand with what infinite Difficulties & Dangers these Plantations first began, with their yearlie proceedings, & the plaine description & Condition of those Countries; How many of your Companie have bin Adventurers, whose Names are omitted or not nominated in the Alphabett I know not, therefore I intreate you better to informe me, that I may hereafter imprint you amongst the Rest, Butt of this I am sure for want of shooes among the Oyster Bankes wee tore our hatts & Clothes & those being worne, wee tied Barkes of trees about our ffeete to keepe them from being Cutt by the shelles amongst which wee must goe or starve, yett how many thousand of shooes hath bin transported to these plantations, how many Soldiers, Marriners & Saylers have bin & are likely to be encreased thereby, what vent your Commodities have had & still have, & how many shipps & men of all ffaculties have bin & are yearelie imployed I leave to your owne Judgments, & yett by reason of ill manadging, the Returnes have neither answered the generall Expectation, nor my desire; the Causes thereof you may read at large in this Booke for your better satisfaction, & I pray you take it not in ill part that I present the same to you in this manuscript Epistle soe Late, for both it & I myself have bin soe overtired by attendances that this Work of mine doth seeme to be Superannuated before it’s Birth, notwithstanding Lett me intreat you to give it Lodging in your Hall Freelie to be perused for ever, in memorie of your Noblenesse towards mee, & my Love to God, my Countrie, your Societie, & those Plantations, Ever resting

Your’s to use

John Smith

ENGRAVED TITLE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH’S “HISTORY OF
VIRGINIA, 1624”

THE
GENERALL HISTORIE
OF
Virginia, New-England, and the Summer
Isles with the names of the Adventurers,
Planters, and Governours from their
first beginning An. 1584 to this
present 1624.
With the Procedings of those Severall Colonies
and the Accidents that befell them in all their
Journyes and Discoveries.
Also the Maps and Descriptions of all those
Countryes, their Commodities, people,
Government, Customes, and Religion
yet knowne.
Divided into sixe Bookes
By Captaine JOHN SMITH sometymes Governour’
in those Countryes & Admirall
of New England.
LONDON
Printed by I.D. and
I.H. for Michael
Sparkes.
1624.

Smith’s Virginia is in many respects the standard example of English Americana. The narrative is trippingly told, and if Captain Smith exaggerates and invents, so much the better! He is the prime storyteller among historians. Were he alive to-day he would probably prove himself the greatest scenario writer of all time, especially if he wrote colorful thrillers filled with action such as the Pocahontas episode. Here it is in part:—

The Queene of Appomatuck was appointed to bring him [Smith] water to wash his hands, and another brought him a bunch of feathers, instead of a Towell to dry them; having feasted him after their best barbarous manner they could, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two great stones were brought before Powhatan; then as many as could layd hand on him, dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and being ready with their clubs, to beate out his braines, Pocahontas the Kings dearest daughter, when no intreaty could prevaile, got his head in her armes, and laid her owne upon his to save him from death: whereat the Emperour was contented he should live to make him hatchets, and her bells, beads, and copper....

I myself like best his touching note about the first white child born in British America:—

And the 18th [August, 1587] Ellinor the Governours daughter, and wife to Ananias Dare, was delivered of a daughter in Roanoak; which, being the first Christian there borne, was called Virginia.

The early history of the settlement of New England according to its present bounds is perhaps more austere than the narrative of Ponce de Leon in Florida or the exploits of Jacques Cartier in New France. Nevertheless, the story contains many soul-stirring incidents. It is as chock-full of romantic relations as the Thousand and One Nights. No one realized this more clearly and beautifully than Nathaniel Hawthorne. A dear friend of mine and one of the most discriminating and earnest collectors in this country, whose judgment in any matter of taste is final, owns the Hawthorne family copy of William Hubbard’s Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England, printed in Boston by John Foster, 1677. It is in its original sheep binding. This book had been the cherished property of the Hawthorne family of Salem for two hundred and fifty years. The name of the first emigrant founder of the family is at the top of the title page: “William Hawthorne, Senior, his booke, 1677.” It is he who is described in the introduction to The Scarlet Letter as “grave, bearded, sable-cloaked ... with his Bible and his sword....”

The second owner, his son, and not less famous as the notorious witch judge of Salem, placed his autograph at the bottom of the title page: “John Hathorne his booke.” The book next descended to his son, who wrote on the flyleaf: “Joseph Hathorne His Book 1739-40.” And so it went from father to son for many more generations, finally becoming the possession of Nathaniel Hawthorne. After his name, in which he reinserted the original w, he wrote, “given him by his Kinswoman, Miss Susan Ingersoll, 1838.” Few old books of intrinsic value have a record of ownership as direct and interesting as this. From Major William Hawthorne, the founder of the family, who led more than one expedition against the Indians, to Nathaniel Hawthorne, the gentlest of men, is indeed a far cry.

New England is fortunate in possessing two interesting and authentic manuscript narratives of its earliest history. Governor Winthrop’s Journal or Historie of New England is one, and William Bradford’s Historie of Plimouth Plantation the other. Both, although written in a somewhat formal manner, contain the most realistic description of life in the colonies. Probably the two most important printed books of this period are George Mourt’s A Relation or Journal of the Beginning and Proceedings of the English Plantation settled at Plimouth in New England, London, 1622, and the first published history of Massachusetts, William Wood’s New England’s Prospect, London, 1634.

The first work published in English about New York is entitled The Second Part of the Tragedy of Amboyna, 1653. It is really a controversial pamphlet in which the early Dutch colonists were accused of trying to induce the Indians to murder the English settlers who had come down from New England. But the first true history of New York was Daniel Denton’s A Brief Description of New York First Called New Netherlands, 1670. In those days it was the fashion to malign the Dutch, and families such as the De Peysters and the Van Rensselaers were not so prominent socially as their descendants are to-day.

The first account of Pennsylvania was written by none other than William Penn himself, and published in London in 1681. Although Penn had never seen this country at the time, he wrote a most glowing account of it, proving that the press-agent bacillus was even then alive. This wonderful Quaker wanted colonists to develop the grant which was given him in settlement of the Crown’s debt to his father. It is no wonder that in a virulent tract the better classes of England showed their distaste for his business activities, which they considered unbecoming to his religion and his position. That naughty little pamphlet is entitled William Penn’s Conversion from a Gentleman to a Quaker!

FIRST MAP OF NEW YORK CITY ENGRAVED IN AMERICA, PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRADFORD, 1731
(click image to enlarge)

A Plan of the City of New York from an actual Survey

One could dwell for an indefinite time upon books and tracts dealing with the fascinating events of early life in the colonies. Every leaflet printed in this country from the time the first press was established in Cambridge in 1640 until the year 1700 is of value; after that date they must relate to historical events or prominent personages to prove their worth. Every early newspaper printed in America, every broadsheet, every autograph letter or manuscript containing real meat for the historian, is of value.

Many youthful collectors approach those older ones who have been through the mill, asking for tips. In the beginning they all believe there is some secret which may be learned by diligent questioners. Well, here is a secret, but it is an open one. If the young biblio-fiend will search in the older towns of the thirteen original colonies, he is bound in time to turn up unknown treasures! I only wish I had the time to do some quiet delving myself.

Do not forget that all material relating to the history of the West is just as important as that of the Eastern states, often more picturesque, and perhaps even more romantic. Take, for instance, the first book published in San Francisco in 1848-49. It will in time be just as valuable as the first book printed in Philadelphia in 1685. The three thousand miles between the two cities, one on the Atlantic Coast, the other on the Pacific, show the tide of settlement of our country. It was only seventy-five years ago that the first guidebooks were published in Eastern cities, showing ways to travel to the Far West, giving tables of distances and other information for the emigrant. They were the road maps of the stalwart pioneers who packed wife, children, and chattels into a covered wagon and took the shortest route to that part of the uninhabited plains which they hoped would be their El Dorado.

All these are important stones in the foundation of history. There are books printed within the past twenty-five years which contain important source material concerning the particular parts of the country they describe. Some of these books bring very high prices even to-day. What would Zenas Leonard have thought had he known that his simple little narrative, published at Clearfield, Pennsylvania, in 1839, would in less than ninety years be battled for in the auction rooms? This tale of his adventures of five years’ trapping for furs and trading with Indians in the Rocky Mountains is sought to-day as a most desirable addition to a library of Americana. I saw a copy sell at auction not long ago for $1700.

Although the printed books relating to America are fascinating and instructive, autographs make the incidents they describe alive and vivid for us. Every true collector is strongly moved when he sees the autograph of a great personage in his country’s history. And, after all, the printed word must have a certain coldness and formality. Indeed, it is perhaps a part of its beauty. But words written down by the actor himself as he helps to complete the drama are personal things which unfailingly appeal to the imagination.

GEORGE WASHINGTON’S COPY OF “PROCEEDINGS OF
THE CONVENTION”

JOURNAL
OF THE
PROCEEDINGS
OF THE
CONVENTION
HELD AT
Richmond, in the County of Henrico,
On the 20th Day of MARCH, 1775.
WILLIAMSBURG:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. DIXON AND W. HUNTER,
AT THE POST-OFFICE.
M, DCC, LXXV.

No wonder collectors everywhere are doing their utmost to uncover from the débris of a past age autograph letters relating to the Revolution, and particularly to the fifty-six signers of the Declaration of Independence. The highest auction price of any autograph was paid on March sixteenth of this year for a Button Gwinnett signature. When the auctioneer of the Anderson Galleries in New York City knocked it down to me for $51,000, I was tickled to death. It was the only 1776 Button Gwinnett letter about national affairs that had ever been sold. This particular autograph is now the most famous one in the world, and at the price paid figures about $3600 a letter. It is a strange commentary on the vagaries of fame that you can buy a signature of Napoleon for ten dollars a letter. During the last six months quotations on Button Gwinnett Preferred have jumped sixty-five per cent.

A shocking tale is told of the rapid rise of American autograph material. A friend of mine decided to sell at auction his magnificent collection of letters of signers, famous generals, Presidents of the United States, and other historical characters. He had bought them not many years ago. When the evening of the sale arrived Mr. G—— was there with his wife. He carried a catalogue marked with the cost of each item. The first number in the sale, which cost him $45, brought $250; the next, for which he had paid $80, fetched $800, and so on, until about fifteen items were sold.

LETTER SIGNED BY BUTTON GWINNETT, BOUGHT FOR
$51,000

His wife, who was watching his catalogue over his shoulder, and who could hardly contain herself any longer, exclaimed, “My, Doctor R is going strong to-night. Why, that letter which just sold for $1650 you bought from him only a little while ago for $360. I feel like laughing out loud.”

“If you do,” her husband threatened, “I’ll take you by the hair, drag you outside, and strangle you!” At this his wife was quiescent for a few minutes. The prices were still mounting. She then wrote on a card which she passed to Mr. G——: “I can smile, can’t I?”

“That goes for smiling, too,” replied her husband.

About five years ago I was especially interested in all material relating to Paul Revere and his celebrated ride. In the midst of my researches a gentleman called upon me one day and showed me a series of volumes which contained most important papers relating to the Revolutionary period. On looking through them I was amazed to run across the following outstanding document, which is dated Cambridge, April 29, 1775, ten days after Revere’s famous exploit. It is as follows:—

This may certify that the bearer Mr. Paul Revere is a messenger to the Committee of Safety and that all dispatch and assistance be given him in all instances that the business of the Collony may be facilitated.

Jos. Warren, Chairn

Poor General Warren, who signed Revere’s commission as messenger, was killed a few weeks later at the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Although I freely admit that this letter belongs in the archives of New England, you may be sure I keep it well within my reach. I don’t care to have those doughty New England historians, such as Dr. Charles L. Nichols, Clarence S. Brigham, George Parker Winship, and Lawrence C. Wroth, come pouncing down as a mighty host and demand it of me.

It is surprising how things fall the collector’s way in series. As I have related in a previous article, I have the only certified copy of the Declaration of Independence that is outside the public archives. But I always hankered after a letter written by a signer who was an eyewitness on that July Fourth, one hundred and fifty years ago—a letter telling about the actual signing of the Declaration of Independence. For twenty-two long years I searched for it, and was delightfully shocked one day to read in an auction catalogue a description of the following letter by Cæsar Rodney, the signer from Delaware, to his brother, Thomas Rodney, dated Philadelphia, July 4, 1776. You may be sure I gobbled up this letter.

Rodney wrote:—

I arrived in Congress tho detained by thunder and rain time enough to give my voice in the matter of Independence. It is now determined by the thirteen United Colonies without even one desenting Colony. We have now got through with the whole of the Declaration and ordered it to be printed so that you will soon have the pleasure of seeing it. Hand bills of it will be printed and sent to the armies, cities, county towns, etc.—to be published or rather proclaimed in form....

I have always been peculiarly interested in anything which related to the origin and history of the American flag, and I have always wanted, with my infernal and almost feminine curiosity, to find out when it was first raised. I had found references at various times to its appearance sometime during the second year of the Revolution, but could not discover the exact date in any of the items of Americana which I had collected. One day about nine years ago I was reading a manuscript, Journal of the most Material Occurrences proceeding the Siege of Fort Schuyler, by William Colbreath. As I turned the leaves of the manuscript my attention was arrested by the following:—

Augt 3d [1777] Early this morning a Continental Flagg made by the Officers of Col. Gansevoorts Regiment was hoisted and a Cannon Levelled at the Enemies Camp was fired on the Occasion....

This is the only authoritative account known of the first raising of the American battle flag, and it was on this day that the British troops saw for the first time the new standard of America.

Some years ago I received a seductive appeal from a Boston collector. He had purchased some wonderful books which, though they filled his shelves, depleted his purse. And yet he could still write, “Dear Doctor: Please tempt me!” How often do I wish the sirens would tempt me, especially if the little charmers were in the form of autograph letters and manuscripts relating to Lincoln and his time. Believe me, I’ll never be too old to be caught by their allure.

Of all periods in American history, none is more inspiring and dramatic than that of the Civil War. It is one of the most kaleidoscopic times in all history, with three men of outstanding character in it, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, and Robert E. Lee. Any scrap of material relating to them is bound to increase in value. Lincoln letters to-day are rarer than Washington’s, and nearly all of his great pieces are written in his own hand.

Of course, collectors prefer what are known as A. L. S. (autograph letter signed) instead of the L. S., or letter merely signed by Lincoln, that is, not in his handwriting but written by an official clerk. Thank God, those were the days before the typewriter, and every letter contains an intimate appeal which the machine can never give.

That puts me in mind of a good one.

About three months ago a lady came to see me in New York and asked to be shown some Lincoln letters. I used the cataloguer’s phrase and spoke of holographs, fair copies, A. L. S., and the usual rigmarole of the collector. I then exhibited before her interested eyes a letter of Lincoln’s which I treasured, because it is perhaps the only one in which Lincoln swore. It was addressed to John T. Stuart, his law partner, dated Vandalia, Illinois, February 14, 1839, and he refers to a man named Ewing as follows:—

Ewing won’t do anything. He is not worth a damn.

Your friend,

A. Lincoln

The lady exclaimed, “I know what you mean by A. L. S. I did not understand you at first. You mean Abraham Lincoln swore!”

Americana really is the collector’s best bet. I can never be too grateful to Uncle Moses for his advice to me. I have kept zealously almost every piece relating to the Civil War, and I think that I have succeeded in the past thirty years in gathering the finest collection relating to it, except the national collection in Washington. I have such remarkable Lincoln documents as his first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation, entirely in his autograph, written six months before it was finally put into operation on January 1, 1863; his famous Baltimore address, in which he gives his celebrated definition of liberty; the original manuscript of his speech about the formation of the Republican Party; and many other pieces of the greatest historical significance, which can never come a collector’s way again.

I cannot resist giving Lincoln’s speech on the party of which he was the most illustrious leader:—

Upon those men who are, in sentiment, opposed to the spread and nationalization of slavery, rests the task of preventing it. The Republican Organization is the embodiment of that sentiment; though as yet, it by no means embraces all the individuals holding that sentiment. The party is newly formed, and in forming, old party ties had to be broken, and the attractions of party pride, and influential leaders, were wholly wanting. In spite of all differences, prejudices, and animosities, its members were drawn together by a paramount common danger. They formed and maneuvered in the face of the disciplined enemy, and in the teeth of all his persistent misrepresentations. Of course, they fell far short of gathering in all of their own. And yet, a year ago, they stood up, an army over thirteen hundred thousand strong. That army is, today, the best hope of the nation, and of the world. Their work is before them, and from which they may not guiltlessly turn away.

I have spoken of the unfurling of the first American battle flag. The following is Lincoln’s beautiful acknowledgment of a flag sent him by some ladies of a patriotic society:—

Executive Mansion

Aug. 10, 1863

Permit me to return my grateful acknowledgements to the fair manufacturer and generous donors of the beautiful present which accompanies their note of the 20th July. If anything could enhance to me the value of this representation of our national ensign, so elegantly executed and so gracefully bestowed, it would be the consideration that its price has been devoted to the comfort and restoration of those heroic men who have suffered and bled in our flag’s defense. We never should, and I am sure, never shall be niggard of gratitude and benefaction to the soldiers who have endured toil, privations and wounds, that the nation may live.

Yours very truly,
A. Lincoln

I do not want to be accused of waving too often our emblem. But I must give in full two letters relating to the Confederate flag. They are not particularly valuable in a money sense, but I do not think any amount would tempt me to sell them. They are the kind that cannot fail to melt the heart of an old bachelor with a fondness for children. The first is addressed by General Leroy P. Walker, Secretary of War in the Confederate Cabinet, to General Beauregard, from Richmond, Virginia, September 14, 1861, and says:—

My dear General:

The enclosed note from my little daughter was written by her without suggestion or alterations in any way, and the design for a flag is entirely her own conception. She has insisted so strongly on sending it to you that I did not feel at liberty to refuse her. I consent the more readily because I am sure you will appreciate it in the spirit in which it is sent.

She signs herself with the usual vanity of her sex, “daughter of the Secretary of War”, and this gives me the opportunity to say that my official connection with the Army is about to terminate, having tendered my resignation to the President a few days since.

What I have done in this office has been honestly done, and when the history of this war is written I feel that the laggard justice of popular approval will be bestowed.

I am etc.,

Most truly,

yr friend L. P. Walker

And here is the second letter:—

General Beauregard:—

I send you a design entirely my own for a Confederate flag. I have never been satisfied with the Confederate flag, because it is too much like that of the United States. I am a little girl nine years old and though I have never seen you I feel as though I knew you

Your admirer
Matilda Pope Walker
Daughter of the Secretary of War
Richmond, Virginia. Sept. 14.

I feel that I must return for a moment to Lincoln. Although I have letters of the greatest historical import not only from the martyr President himself but from nearly all his generals and members of his cabinet, I prefer the notebook of Surgeon C. S. Taft, who was at Lincoln’s bedside at the time of his death. You can hear in it not only the last tragic heartbeats of one of the truly great characters of all time, but the knell of a soul-stirring epoch. The meagre words that follow, extracted from the notebook, are to me more moving than all the fine writing in the world:—

The wound ceased to bleed or discharge about 5.30 A.M. and from that time the breathing was stertorous but gradually increased in frequency and decreased in strength up to the last breath, which was drawn at 21 minutes and 55 seconds after 7; the heart did not cease to beat until 22′ 10″ past 7; my hand was upon the President’s heart and my eye upon the watch of the Surgeon General who was standing by my side.

The finest character after Lincoln in the whole Civil War was undoubtedly that great gentleman and descendant of gentlemen, Robert E. Lee. From my schooldays I had read of his life of nobility and sorrow. The letter in which he resigned his commission, addressed to General Winfield Scott, who commanded the American Army, has always been to me the highest example of patriotism and the soldier’s ideal credo. The words, “save in defence of my native State, I never desire again to draw my sword,” have been indelibly impressed upon every mind. I know of no letter that I would sooner possess than this, but it was thirty years before I could finally call it my own. I give it here without further comment:—

Arlington, Washington City P. O.
20th April, 1861

Lieut. Gen. Winfield Scott,

Com. Army

General:—Since my interview with you on the 18th inst., I have felt that I ought no longer to retain my commission in the army. I therefore tender my resignation which I request you will recommend for acceptance. It would have been presented at once, but for the struggle it has cost me to separate myself from the service to which I have devoted all the best years of my life, all the ability I possessed. During the whole of that time, more than thirty years, I have experienced nothing but kindness from my superiors, the most cordial friendship from my companions. To no one General have I been so much indebted as to yourself for uniform kindness and consideration, and it had always been my urgent desire to merit your approbation. I shall carry with me to the grave the most grateful recollections of your kind consideration, and your name and fame will always be dear to me. Save in the defence of my native State, I never desire again to draw my sword. Be pleased to accept my most earnest wishes for the continuance of your happiness and prosperity, and believe me most truly yours,

Robert E. Lee

Four years elapsed. The war was over. General Lee had surrendered. The following letter, which I hold, to his old friend, General Beauregard, is one of the finest letters ever written by the hand of man.

Lexington, Va.
3rd Oct. ’65

My dear Gen.:—

I am glad to see no indication in your letter of an intention to leave the country. I think the South requires the aid of her sons now, more than at any period of her history. As you ask my purpose, I will state that I have no thought of abandoning her, unless compelled to do so.

“After the surrender of the Southern Armies in April, the revolution in the opinions & feelings of the people, seemed so complete, & the return of the Southern States into the union of all the States, so inevitable; that it became in my opinion, the duty of every citizen, the Contest being virtually ended, to cease opposition, & place himself in a position to serve the country. I therefore upon the promulgation of the proclamation of Pres. Johnson, which indicated apparently his policy in restoring peace, determine to comply with its requirements; & on the 13 of June, applied to be embraced within its provisions. I have not heard the result of my application, but since then have been elected to the Presidency of Washington College, & have entered upon the duties of the office, in the hope of being of some benefit to the noble youth of our country.

“I need not tell you, that true patriotism requires of men sometimes, to act exactly contrary at one period, to that which it does at another; & that the motive which impels them, viz, the desire to do right, is precisely the same. The circumstances which govern their actions undergo change, and their conduct must conform to the new order of things. History is full of illustrations of this. Washington himself is an example, at one time he fought against the French, under Braddock, in the service of the King of Great Britain; at another he fought with the French at Yorktown, under the orders of the Continental Congress of America, against him. He has not been branded by the world with reproach for this, but his course has been applauded.

With sentiments of great esteem

I am most truly yours

R. E. Lee

To me, Ulysses S. Grant has always been a gigantic figure. He is probably the greatest general this country has ever produced. Nowhere are his simplicity and greatness better shown than in his letters. For some reason they are not yet appreciated at their proper worth, but the time will come when their extraordinary merits will be recognized. They are written in a direct style, free of all elaboration, not unlike Lincoln’s, but without his peculiar felicity of phrase. They are the words of a soldier, not a statesman. Two of the letters which I have are, it seems to me, without parallel for conciseness and beauty. The first, written at the beginning of the war, is to his father:—

May 30th, 1861
Galena, Illinois

Dear Father:—

I have now been home near a week, but return to Springfield today. I have tendered my services to the government and go today to make myself useful, if possible, from this until our national difficulties are ended. During the six days I have been at home, I have felt all the time as if a duty was being neglected that was paramount to any other duty I ever owed. I have every reason to be well satisfied with myself for the services already rendered but to stop now would not do.

Yours truly,

U. S. Grant

GRANT’S TELEGRAM TO STANTON ANNOUNCING THE
SURRENDER OF LEE

The second, at the war’s end, is probably the finest single document in private hands to-day, as it is the original official telegram which ended the greatest conflict in American history. Why I was allowed to get this is one of the mysteries of collecting. It should not be in the hands of any one person, but ought to be in the safekeeping of the Government. It was written in obvious haste, in his own hand, at the moment General Lee surrendered, on a page in the notebook of Grant’s orderly, General Badeau.

Appomattox Court House
April 9th, 1865. 4.50 o’clock P. M.

Hon. E. M. Stanton, Sec. of War, Washington

Gen. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Va. this afternoon on terms proposed by myself. The accompanying additional correspondence will show the condition fully.

U. S. Grant, Lt. Gen.

The demand for things American is not a passing fancy. It will increase in the same way as a stone gathers moss. The prices now paid for early American furniture, pottery, glass, and pictures are but an indication of a movement yet in its infancy. Even collectors in England, such as that eminent enthusiast, Sir R. Leicester Harmsworth, Bart., are gathering objects of interest relating to this country. It is only meet and proper that Americans themselves should tenderly cherish the primal, honest, unpretentious things to which this country owes its greatness.