On the coach he met some other young men, who, like himself, were going up to London in search of employment, but who intended to spend the first few days in sight-seeing, and asked him to join their party. But Tegg resisted the temptation, and when London, the London of his dreams—but how black, smoke-filled, and inhospitable!—was really reached, he alighted at the Green Dragon in Bishopsgate Street, and, struggling through the busy stream of men who filled the city streets, he went straightway in search of employment, to the first book-shop that met his eyes. This happened to be Mr. Lane’s “Minerva Library,” in Leadenhall Street. “What can you do?” asked Lane. “My best,” rejoined Tegg. “Do you wear an apron?” Tegg produced one and tied it on. “Go to work,” said Lane, and thus, “in less than half-an-hour from my arrival, I was at work in one of the best houses in London.” Early next morning, map in hand, he took an exploring walk, and was astonished and delighted with all he saw, for to the young bookseller, with his mind wrapt up entirely in his projects of success, the perpetual rush of unknown faces—that he had never seen before, would never see again—the jostling eagerness of crowds, going incessantly this way and that, the noisy din of carts and carriages, the vastness of the buildings, and the vagueness of the never-ending streets, did not bring that feeling of utter loneliness which so many of us remember in our first solitary entry into London. Nor was the country lad to be beguiled by any of the myriad temptations that were ready on all sides to divide his attention from his business. “I resolved,” he writes, “to visit a place of worship every Sunday, and to read no loose or infidel books; that I would frequent no public-houses, that I would devote my leisure to profitable studies, that I would form no friendships till I knew the parties well, and that I would not go to any theatre till my reason fortified me against my passions.” This perseverance did not immediately meet with its deserved reward, for having been sent, with the other shopmen, to make an affidavit as to the numbers of an election bill that had been struck off, before the Lord Mayor, he said boldly, that he did not even know that they had been printed; the Lord Mayor was pleased with the answer, and censured Lane severely for tempting the boy to commit a perjury; and Lane, in his rage, dismissed him forthwith. Tegg walked out of the shop, down-hearted for the moment, perhaps, but self-possessed and reliant, and entering the shop of John and Arthur Arch, at the corner of Gracechurch Street, the kindly Quakers took him at once into their employ, and here he stayed until entering into business on his own account. His new masters were strict but affectionate. He soon asks for a holiday, “We have no objection, but where art thou going, Thomas?” “To Greenwich fair, sir.” “Then we think thou hadst better not go. Thou wilt lose half a day’s wages. Thou wilt spend at least the amount of two days’ wages more, and thou wilt get into bad company.” At two, however, he was told he might go; but as soon as he reached London Bridge his heart smote him, and he returned. “Why, Thomas, is this thee? Thou art a prudent lad.” And when Saturday came, his masters added a guinea to his weekly wages as a present. From this, Tegg says, he himself learnt to be a kind though strict master, and during his fifty years of business life, he never used a harsh word to a servant, and dismissed but three.
Having received £200 from the wreck of the family prospects, Tegg took a shop, in partnership with a Mr. Dewick, in Aldersgate Street, and became a “bookmaker” as well as a bookseller; and his first book, the “Complete Confectioner,” though it contained only one hundred lines of original matter, reached a second edition. After a short time he indulged in a tour to Scotland, where he found that his old schoolmaster had died from the effects of an amputation; and in this same journey he honestly bought up the unlapsed time of his apprenticeship. On returning to London he re-entered the service of the Messrs. Arch, and took unto himself a wife. The story of his courtship is pleasantly and naïvely told. Coming down the stairs of his new lodgings, “I was met by a good-looking, fresh-coloured, sweet-countenanced country girl; and without thinking of the impropriety I ventured to wink as she passed. On looking up the stairs, I saw my fair one peeping through the balusters at me. I was soon on speaking terms with her, and told her I wanted a wife, and bade her look out for one for me; but if she failed in the search she must take the office herself. After waiting a short time, no return being made, I acted on this agreement. Young and foolish both, we were married at St. Bride’s church, April 20, 1800.... I was most happy in my choice, and cannot write in adequate terms of my dear partner, who possesses four qualities seldom found in one woman—good nature, sound sense, beauty, and prudence.”
After his marriage, he again opened a shop in St. John’s Street, Clerkenwell, and here he “wrote all night and worked all day,” while his partner was drinking himself to death. His wife was ill, two of the children died, and the future looked terribly gloomy; for a “supposed friend” prevailed upon him to discount a bill for £172 14s. 9d. out of his little capital of two hundred pounds, and the bill, of course, turned out to be utterly worthless. In this strait he acted with much energy, dissolved his partnership, called a meeting of his creditors, and found a friend who nobly came forward as a security; and he left his home, declaring he would never return until he could pay the uttermost farthing. “God,” he writes solemnly, “never forsook me. A man may lose his property and yet not be ruined; peace and pride of heart may be more than equivalents.”
Tegg now took out a country auction licence, and determined to try his fortune in the provinces.
A few words on the book-auction trade may have a passing interest here. According to Dibdin, the first book auction of which we have any record in England occurred in 1676, when Cooper, the bookseller, prefixed the following address to his catalogue:—“Reader, it hath not been usual here in England to make sale of books by way of auction, or who will give most for them; but it having been practised in other countries, to the great advantage of both buyers and sellers, it was therefore conceived (for the encouragement of learning) to publish the sale of those books in this manner of way.” The innovation was successful. Cooper established a reputation as a book-auctioneer, and in London such sales became common. In a few years we read of the practice being extended to Scotland, and to the larger towns in England, such as Leeds and York. John Dunton, with his usual versatility, took over a cargo of books to sell at Dublin, and after that date attendance at the country fairs with books to sell by auction became quite a distinct branch among the London booksellers. The leading auctioneer in Dunton’s time was Edward Millington. “He had a quick wit and a wonderful fluency of speech. There was usually as much wit in his ‘One, two, three!’ as can be met with in a modern play. ‘Where,’ said Millington, ‘is your generous flame for learning? Who but a sot or a blockhead would have money in his pocket, and starve his brains?’” At this time it appears that bids of one penny were very commonly offered and accepted. Book-auctioneering soon became a distinct trade altogether, and required not only much fluency of speech and power of persuasion, but a very exact knowledge of the science of bibliography. For this latter speciality Samuel Paterson, of King Street, Covent Garden, was particularly famous. Perhaps no bookseller ever lived who knew so much about the contents of the books he sold. When, in compiling his catalogues, he met with an unknown book he would sit perusing it for hours, utterly unmindful of the time of sale, and oblivious of the efforts of his clerk to call his attention to the lateness of the time. Baker, Leigh, and Sotheby, all of York Street, Covent Garden, were also eminent in this branch of the trade; but the prince of book-auctioneers was James Christie, whose powers of persuasion were rendered doubly effective by a quiet, easy flow of conversation, and a gentle refinement of manners. At the close of the century, the booksellers’ trade sales were held at the Horn Tavern, in Doctors’ Commons, and were preceded by a luxurious dinner, when the bottle and the jest went round merrily, and the competition was heightened by wine and laughter.
Tegg, to retake the thread of our story after this digression, started with a very poor stock, consisting of shilling political pamphlets, and some thousands of the Monthly Visitor. At Worcester, however, he purchased a parcel of books from a clergyman for ten pounds, but when the time for payment arrived the good man refused to accept anything. At Worcester, too, it was that he held his first auction. “With a beating heart I mounted the rostrum. The room was crowded. I took £30 that first night, and in a few days a knife and fork was provided for me at many of the houses of my customers. God helps those, I thought, who help themselves.” With his wife acting as clerk, he travelled through the country, buying up the duplicates at all the gentlemen’s libraries he could hear of, and rapidly paying off his debts. This led him to return to his shop in Cheapside, but his ardent desire for advancement involved him again in difficulties. “One day I was called from the shop three times by the sheriff’s officers (a few years afterwards I paid a fine of £400 to be excused serving sheriff myself). Bailiffs are not always iron-hearted. I have met with very kind officers; some have taken my word for debt and costs, and one lent me the money to pay both” (O rare bum-bailiff! why is not thy name recorded?).
Still Tegg was making gradual way, in spite of occasional difficulties which again led him to the pawnshops, but with more precious pledges than when at Berwick he asked a rosy-cheeked Irish girl how he might best raise money on a silk handkerchief, for now his watch and spoons could accommodate him, when needful, with fifty pounds. About this time one of the most interesting episodes of his life was commenced. He had purchased a hundred pounds’ worth of books from Mr. Hunt, who, hearing of his struggles, bade him to pay for them when he pleased. Tegg, in the fulness of his gratitude, told him that should he, in his turn, ever need aid he should have it; but the wealthy bookseller smiled at the young struggler’s evident simplicity. We will tell the rest of the story in Tegg’s own words. “Thirty years after, I was in my counting-house, when Mr. Hunt, with a queer-looking companion, came in and reminded me of my promise. He was under arrest, and must go to prison unless I would be his bail. I acknowledged the obligation, but I would first take my wife’s opinion. ‘Yes, my dear, by all means help Mr. Hunt,’ was her answer. ‘He aided us in trouble; you can do no less for him.’ Next morning I found I had become his surety for thirty thousand pounds. I was sharply questioned in court as to my means, and, rubbing his hands together, Mr. Barrister remarked that Book-selling must be a fine trade, and wished he had been brought up to it. I answered, ‘The result did not depend on the trade, but on the man; for instance, if I had been a lawyer I would not have remained half this time in your situation—I would have occupied a seat with their lordships.’ There was a laugh in court, and the judge said, ‘You may stand down.’”
When success first really dawned, Tegg began to feel poignantly the want of a more complete education; however, he determined to employ the powers he possessed as best he could. His earliest publications consisted of a series of pamphlets, printed in duodecimo, with frontispieces, containing abridgments of popular works; and the series extended to two hundred, many of them circulating to the extent of 4000 copies. As an instance of his business energy, we may cite the following:—Tegg heard one morning from a friend that Nelson had been shot at Trafalgar. He set an engraver to work instantly on a portrait of the hero, purchased the Naval Chronicle, found ample material for a biography; and, in a few hours, “The Whole Life of Nelson” was ready for the press. Such timely assiduity was rewarded by a sale of 5000 sixpenny copies. On another occasion, when on a summer jaunt to Windsor with a friend, it was jocularly resolved that, as they had come to see the king, they ought to make his Majesty pay the expenses of the trip. Tegg suggested a Life of Mrs. Mary Anne Clarke, with a coloured portrait. 13,000 copies were sold at seven-and-sixpence each; and, as he observes, the “bill was probably liquidated.”
Among his other cheap books were—“Tegg’s Chronology,” “Philip Quail,” and—perhaps the most successful and useful of all—a diamond edition of “Johnson’s Dictionary,” published when the original edition was selling at five guineas.
In 1824 he purchased the copyright of Hone’s “Every-Day Book” and “Table Book;” republished the whole in weekly parts, and cleared a very large profit.