The Book-Hunter at Home | Page 5

them, and he can never quite forgive their
presence on his shelves. Generally their stay in any one home is not a
long one, for they are weeded out at the first opportunity, and find no
permanent rest until they come finally to that ultimate goal of books,

the paper mills. I confess that in my early days of collecting this
phenomenon was of not infrequent occurrence, being associated,
probably, with the indecision of youth. And in this connection a
bookseller once told me an interesting story.
A certain young man of the working class, on his way to work every
day, used to pass a bookstall situated in a narrow alley. Every day he
glanced at the books, and as custom was scanty he would notice what
books were sold and with what works the bookseller filled the empty
places on the shelves. In this way all of the books which the young man
had first noticed gradually disappeared, with one exception. This was a
volume bound in calf, containing some rather curious poems, and no
one seemed to want it. At length, after some weeks, the young man
could stand it no longer. He approached the bookseller, and for
sixpence the volume became his.
The verses seemed to him rather poor, though one entitled 'Hans
Carvel' amused him rather. The title-page bore the date 1707, and he
wondered who was the 'E. Curll at the Peacock without Temple-Bar,'
for whom the work was printed. Some time afterwards he read in the
newspaper that a certain book had been sold for a large sum because of
a misprint in it. This set him wondering . . . 'at the Peacock without
Temple-Bar . . .' Temple-Bar without a peacock he could imagine:
surely this was a misprint! Perhaps the book was valuable, and others
had not 'spotted' the error!
And now he bethought him of an acquaintance who kept a bookshop in
the West End of the town, a man who knew a lot about old books. He
would take it to him and ask his advice. So, one Saturday afternoon he
carried his 'treasure' to the shop in question. Inside, an elderly man was
examining a calf-bound volume.
'. . . the first authentic edition, seventeen hundred and nine,' he was
saying.
The young man glanced at the volume under discussion, and as a page
was turned he caught sight of the heading 'Hans Carvel.' Good gracious;
this volume was the same as his! Just then the elderly man looked up,

and the young fellow handed his volume to the bookseller, saying:
'Here's another one, same as that, but mine's got something wrong on
the front page.'
The bookseller opened the newcomer's volume, looked at the title-page,
and handed it without a word to his customer, who took it with a look
of surprise.
'Something wrong?' said he, 'why, bless me, what's this--1707--that
rascal Curll's edition--where did you get this?'
The young man told him, adding that he gave sixpence for it.
'Sixpence, did you?' said the connoisseur; 'well, I'll give you six
guineas for it': which he did, there and then.
It was a copy of the rare 'pirated' collection of his poems, published
without Matt Prior's knowledge, some two years before the first
authentic edition appeared. Some years later, when the elderly collector
died, this volume came to the saleroom with the rest of his books. It
realised forty pounds! So much for the ugly duckling.
What an absorbing topic is that of 'lost books'! There is a fascination
about the subject that every bibliophile must have experienced. 'Hope
springs eternal in the human breast,' and it is impossible to read of
books long lost without making a mental note of their titles in the hope
that some day we may come across them. Perhaps it is these memories,
pigeon-holed in our mind, that add a zest to anticipation whenever we
go book-hunting on our travels. But alas! the reward for the
bibliophile's hope in this direction is rare as the blossoming of the aloe.
It is curious to think of the thousands of books that have completely
disappeared. Nowadays the Act which assures the preservation in our
greater libraries of every book published in this country will doubtless
prevent the disappearance of a good many English books of lesser
importance, such as school books and other works that are quickly
superseded. But before the passing of this Act there was nothing to
prevent an unpopular or useless work from becoming extinct, and vast

numbers must have disappeared in this country alone. There are many
books, however, important books even, and books which we know to
have been immensely popular in their day, of which so much as a
glimpse has been denied us. The 1606 octavo of 'The