In 1852 the library had grown too large for the house in Upper King Street, and he removed his business to two houses which form part of his present establishment—the penultimate house in New Oxford Street, and the penultimate house in Museum Street; and though the corner house intervened, the two were connected by a passage. Gradually, as the business grew, the houses on either side were absorbed. In 1860 the large hall was opened, and inaugurated by a festive gathering of literary men and publishers; and the entire block of building, as it stands at present, occupies the sites of eight houses, and even now great additions are being made to the rear of the premises. As the popularity of the library increased, branch houses were opened in the city, in Birmingham and Manchester, and arrangements were made with literary institutions, provincial libraries, book-clubs, and societies.
The magnitude of the business had, however, now grown beyond the limit of individual capital, and, in 1864, Mr. Mudie found it desirable to form his library into a limited liability company. The value of the property was estimated at £100,000; of this he reserved £50,000, and the remaining £50,000 was immediately subscribed by Mr. Murray, Mr. Bentley, and other publishers; Mr. Mudie’s services being, naturally, retained at a salary of £1,000 per annum, in addition to his half interest in the business.
This change, and the increase of capital, proved in every way beneficial to the expansion of the library; and since penning this account we have received a circular announcing an enormous increase of business. From the 18th August, 1871, the Directors of Mudie’s Select Library (Limited) became possessors of the English and Foreign Library and its large connection. This library, which was originally known as “Hookham’s,” at one time possessed one of the finest collections of rare and valuable standard works in London.
On entering Mudie’s Select Library, from New Oxford Street, we pass through the show-rooms devoted to the sale of bound books; for though the directors do not enter into the usual speculations of the bookselling trade, the clean copies of popular works are put into ornamental bindings, and in this manner a very extensive business is done in works adapted for presents and prizes. Behind these show-rooms stands the Great Hall, a large room, on the wall of which 16,000 of the current works most in vogue are shelved. What most strikes us here is the great order and method that everywhere obtains. The volumes are arranged in alphabetical order, and every attendant goes straight to the required book, without hesitation or delay. For each London customer a card is reserved bearing his name, and these cards are kept, like the books, in an alphabetical system. The books taken out are entered on the card, the books brought back ticked off, and the method is found to be as successful as it certainly is simple. The longer lists of large and country subscribers are still, however, entered in the ledgers. Proceeding upstairs to the first floor, we find books, still current, but not quite so incessantly called for. On the first floor, too, we have the private offices for clerks, and the foreign department. Mudie’s collection of German works is the best of any of the London circulating libraries, and the German books are said to be much more earnestly read than the French, occasional and popular novels, of course, excepted. On the higher floors the standard catalogued works are stowed, their popularity diminishing as the altitude of their resting place increases. As soon as a book is published in a shilling or other cheap edition, it ceases to be much demanded here. For instance, Lord Lytton’s novels are in very little request. On the contrary, we were told that no sets of books are so rapidly “worn out” as the works of Charles Dickens.
The stock of books is so incessantly varying through the sale of old and the purchase of new volumes, that we were told that it was impossible to give anything like an estimate of the numbers. Some idea of the magnitude of the library may, however, be gathered from the following:—
Of the last two volumes of Macaulay’s “History of England,” 2400 copies were taken, and the public demand for them was so extraordinary that a whole shop, now the large room on the left as one enters, was devoted to their stowage and exchange. There were taken, of Dr. Livingstone’s first African Travels, 2000 copies; and of Mr. Tennyson’s “Enoch Arden,” 2500 (the largest number required of any poetical work); of Mr. Disraeli’s “Lothair” 1500 copies were at first subscribed, but it was soon found necessary to increase the number to 3000. The demand was, however, as brief as it was eager, and the monumental pile of “remainders” in Mr. Mudie’s cellar is the largest that has ever been erected there to the hydra of ephemeral admiration. About 600 copies of each of the two great reviews—the Edinburgh and Quarterly—are required as a first instalment; but should any article prove more than usually attractive to the public, a large addition is made—this was notably the case with that number of the Quarterly containing the famous article on the “Talmud;” 100 copies of the Revue des Deux Mondes are required fortnightly to satisfy foreign students; and we believe that, of all novels which are likely to prove ordinarily popular, as many as 400 are at once ordered. The onus of selecting the books rests entirely in Mr. Mudie’s own hands, and it has often been objected that his decisions are somewhat arbitrary;—for instance Mr. Swinburne is tabooed, while M. Paul de Koch is made free of the establishment—that, in short, the subscribers should be considered as responsible judges of what books they do, and do not, desire to read. However, as it is, Mr. Mudie’s principles of selection are broad enough to satisfy very various classes of readers. Of course the largest class of all are the novel-devourers, and it is said that, as the coarser novels of the day are almost exclusively written by women, so it is by women that they are chiefly patronised. The large field opened to female labour in the manufacture of library fiction is worth a moment’s consideration, for the road has been cleared towards it, not by platform gatherings of stentorian amazons, but simply by the ordinary laws of supply and demand.
On analysing Mudie’s clearance catalogue for August, 1871 (and this catalogue is one of the best guides to the popular novel literature of the last few years), we find that there are 441 works of fiction written by authors under their own names, or by authors whose pseudonymes are perfectly well known. Of these 441 distinct works, 212 are written by men, and 229 by women; so that, by what seems to us a not unfair test, actually more than half the novels of the day are written by female authors. To another large class of readers (the good people who go to Mr. and Mrs. German Reed’s entertainments, and not to the theatre), the ordinary novels are caviare; and they require their fiction seasoned, not by sensation, but by religious precept. Scientific books, once asked for only by students, are vastly increasing in popularity; and the “fairy tales of science,” as narrated by a Huxley or a Darwin, are beginning to be as eagerly demanded as the latest productions of Miss Braddon or Mr. Wilkie Collins.
In the basement cellars, extending under the whole building, the “remainders” are stowed in huge bales, ready for sale or export. These are principally purchased by the country circulating libraries, and by shippers to the colonies and British possessions; and thus the name of Mudie—and the well-known yellow label, familiar in every English household—is carried wherever the English tongue is spoken.
About eighty assistants are employed in the central house alone, without reckoning those engaged in the city and the country branches. The system of leaving books at the subscribers’ own homes, recently introduced, is becoming more and more popular: five vans go out daily on their respective rounds, and 8000 calls are generally made in the course of the week.
Mr. Mudie’s services as a public benefactor in the cause of extended education, were some years since publicly recognized by the ratepayers of Westminster, in his election to the London School Board; and it is to be hoped that his knowledge of the practical use of the boon conferred upon the higher classes by the increased facilities of book-hiring, may lead him to urge upon his colleagues the advisability of establishing free circulating libraries for the use of those whose educational guardians they have recently become. The gift of tools is of very little moment to any one, if there is to be no occasion for their use; and in many instances it will be an absolute cruelty to teach children to read, and then to hurl them back on the atrocious literature of slum shops. At present, the fact that London is still without any pretence to a free circulating library, or indeed to an absolutely free library of any kind, is doubly disgraceful to our pachydermatous local authorities, because several provincial towns have shamed us by a good example. When the schoolmaster first began to bestir himself abroad in England, a taste for reading was encouraged, which soon spread in every direction, and by degrees a loud demand, satisfied at present only in a very limited degree, began to make itself heard for the establishment of free libraries.