But I am wandering from my text. To return to the “Angler.” Fifty pounds was a fair price for a fine copy fifty years ago. George D. Smith sold a copy a few weeks since for five thousand dollars, and the Heckscher copy a few years ago brought thirty-nine hundred dollars; but the record price appears to have been paid for the Van Antwerp copy, which is generally believed to be the finest in existence. It is bound in original sheepskin, and was formerly in the library of Frederick Locker-Lampson. It was sold in London some ten years ago and was purchased by Quaritch for “an American,” which was a sort of nom de guerre of the late J. P. Morgan, for £1290.
The rare first edition, and, according to Mr. Livingston in “The Bibliophile,” the earlier issue of the two printed in that year. A very large copy. From the Hagen collection. Said to be the finest copy in existence. It is bound in contemporary vellum, and measures 3½ × 6⅛ inches.
When “Anglers” could be had for fifty pounds, “Vicars” brought ten, or fifteen if in exceptionally fine condition, and the man who then spent this sum for a “Vicar” chose as wisely as did the Vicar’s wife her wedding gown, “not for a fine glossy surface, but for qualities as would wear well.” These two little volumes, with the Salisbury imprint and a required blunder or two, will soon be worth a thousand dollars. When I paid £120 for mine some years ago, I felt that I was courting ruin, especially when I recalled that Dr. Johnson thought rather well of himself for having secured for Goldsmith just half this sum for the copyright of it. Boswell’s story of the sale of the manuscript of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” as Johnson related it to him, is as pretty a bit of bibliographical history as we have. Those who know it will pardon the intrusion of the story for the sake of the pleasure it may give others.
“I received,” said Johnson, “one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begged that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was drest, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it and saw its merit; told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill ... and Sir,” continued Johnson, “it was a sufficient price, too, when it was sold; for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been elevated, as it afterwards was by his ‘Traveller’; and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuscript by him a long time, and did not publish it till after ‘The Traveller’ had appeared. Then, to be sure, it was accidentally worth more money.”
Here we have a characteristic sketch of the two men—the excitable, amiable, and improvident Goldy, and the wise and kindly Johnson, instantly corking the bottle and getting down to brass tacks, as we should say.
The first edition of “Robinson Crusoe” is another favorite book with collectors; as why should it not be? Here is a copy in two volumes (there should be three) in red morocco, super extra, gilt edges, by Bedford. It should be in contemporary calf, but the price was only £46. Turning to a bookseller’s catalogue published a year or two ago, there is a copy “3 vols. 8vo. with map and 2 plates, in original calf binding,” and the price is twenty-five hundred dollars.