As early rising produces a keen appetite for bodily, as well as mental, gratification, I found my companions clamorous for their breakfast. A little before ten o'clock, we were all prepared to make a formal attack upon muffins, cake, coffee, tea, eggs, and cold tongue. The window was thrown open; and through the branches of the clustering vine, which covered the upper part of it, the sun shot a warmer ray; while the spicy fragrance from surrounding parterres, and jessamine bowers, made even such bibliomaniacs as my guests forgetful of the gaily-coated volumes which surrounded them. At length the conversation was systematically commenced on the part of Lysander.
Lysand. To-morrow, Philemon and myself take our departure. We would willingly have staid the week; but business of a pressing nature calls him to Manchester—and myself to Bristol and Exeter.
Lis. Some bookseller,[418] I warrant, has published a thumping catalogue at each of these places. Ha!—here I have you, sober-minded Lysander! You are as arrant a book-madman as any of those renowned bibliomaniacs whom you celebrated yesterday evening!—Yet, if you love me, take me with you! My pistoles are not exhausted.
[418] I ought to have noticed, under Lysander's eulogy upon London Booksellers (see [p. 308], ante) the very handsome manner in which Mr. Roscoe alludes to their valuable catalogues—as having been of service to him in directing his researches into foreign literature. His words are these: "The rich and extensive Catalogues published by Edwards, Payne, and other London Booksellers, who have of late years diligently sought for, and imported into England, whatever is curious or valuable in foreign literature, have also contributed to the success of my inquiries." Lorenzo de Medici: pref. p. xxvii., edit. 1800, 8vo.
Phil. Peace, Lisardo!—but you are, in truth, a bit of a prophet. It is even as you surmise. We have each received a forwarded letter, informing us of very choice and copious collections of books about to be sold at these respective places. While I take my departure for Mr. Ford of Manchester, Lorenzo is about to visit the book-treasures of Mr. Dyer of Exeter, and Mr. Gutch of Bristol:—but, indeed, were not this the case, our abode here must terminate on the morrow.
Lis. I suppose the names you have just mentioned describe the principal booksellers at the several places you intend visiting.
Lysand. Even so: yet I will make no disparaging comparisons.[419] We speak only of what has come within our limited experience. There may be many brave and sagacious bibliopolists whose fame has not reached our ears, nor perhaps has any one of the present circle ever heard of the late Mr. Miller of Bungay;[420] who, as I remember my father to have said, in spite of blindness and multifarious occupations, attached himself to the book-selling trade with inconceivable ardour and success. But a word, Lisardo!
[419] Lysander is right. Since the note upon Mr. Ford's catalogue of 1810 was written (see [p. 123], ante), the same bookseller has put forth another voluminous catalogue, of nine thousand and odd articles; forming, with the preceding, 15,729 lots. This is doing wonders for a provincial town; and that a commercial one!! Of Mr. Gutch's spirit and enterprise some mention has been made before at [p. 404], ante. He is, as yet, hardly mellowed in his business; but a few years only will display him as thoroughly ripened as any of his brethren. He comes from a worthy stock; long known at our Alma Mater Oxoniensis:—and as a dutiful son of my University Mother, and in common with every one who is acquainted with his respectable family, I wish him all the success which he merits. Mr. George Dyer of Exeter is a distinguished veteran in the book-trade: his catalogue of 1810, in two parts, containing 19,945 articles, has, I think, never been equalled by that of any provincial bookseller, for the value and singularity of the greater number of the volumes described in it. As Lysander had mentioned the foregoing book-vending gentlemen, I conceived myself justified in appending this note. I could speak with pleasure and profit of the catalogues of booksellers to the north of the Tweed—(see[ p. 415], ante); but for fear of awaking all the frightful passions of wrath, jealousy, envy—I stop: declaring, from the bottom of my heart, in the language of an auld northern bard:
|
I hait flatterie; and into wourdis plane, And unaffectit language, I delyte: (Quod Maister Alexander Arbothnat; in anno 1572.) |
[420] There is something so original in the bibliomanical character of the above-mentioned Mr. Miller that I trust the reader will forgive my saying a word or two concerning him. Thomas Miller of Bungay, in Suffolk, was born in 1731, and died in 1804. He was put apprentice to a grocer in Norwich: but neither the fragrance of spices and teas, nor the lusciousness of plums and figs, could seduce young Miller from his darling passion of reading, and of buying odd volumes of the Gentleman's and Universal Magazine with his spare money. His genius was, however, sufficiently versatile to embrace both trades; for in 1755, he set up for himself in the character of Grocer and Bookseller. I have heard Mr. Otridge, of the Strand, discourse most eloquently upon the brilliant manner in which Mr. Miller conducted his complicated concerns; and which, latterly, were devoted entirely to the Bibliomania. Although Bungay was too small and obscure for a spirit like Miller's to disclose its full powers, yet he continued in it till his death; and added a love of portrait and coin, to that of book, collecting.