The Library-第2部分

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f　money。　　Let　him　confine　all　his　transactions　in　the　market　to　purchasing　only。　　No　good　es　of　gentlemenamateurs　buying　and　selling。〃　　There　is　room　for　difference　of　opinion　here；　but　there　seems　to　be　most　reason　on　the　side　of　Mr。　Hill　Burton。　　It　is　one　thing　for　the　collector　to　be　able　to　reflect　that　the　money　he　expends　on　books　is　not　lost；　and　that　his　family　may　find　themselves　richer；　not　poorer；　because　he　indulged　his　taste。　　It　is　quite　another　thing　to　buy　books　as　a　speculator　buys　shares；　meaning　to　sell　again　at　a　profit　as　soon　as　occasion　offers。　　It　is　necessary　also　to　warn　the　beginner　against　indulging　extravagant　hopes。　　He　must　buy　experience　with　his　books；　and　many　of　his　first　purchases　are　likely　to　disappoint　him。　　He　will　pay　dearly　for　the　wrong　〃Caesar〃　of　1635；　the　one　WITHOUT　errors　in　pagination；　and　this　is　only　a　mon　example　of　the　beginner's　blunders。　Collecting　is　like　other　forms　of　sport；　the　aim　is　not　certain　at　first；　the　amateur　is　nervous；　and；　as　in　angling；　is　apt　to　〃strike〃　（a　bargain）　too　hurriedly。

I　often　think　that　the　pleasure　of　collecting　is　like　that　of　sport。　People　talk　of　〃bookhunting；〃　and　the　old　Latin　motto　says　that　〃one　never　wearies　of　the　chase　in　this　forest。〃　　But　the　analogy　to　angling　seems　even　stronger。　　A　collector　walks　in　the　London　or　Paris　streets；　as　he　does　by　Tweed　or　Spey。　　Many　a　lordly　mart　of　books　he　passes；　like　Mr。　Quaritch's；　Mr。　Toovey's；　or　M。　Fontaine's；　or　the　shining　store　of　M。M。　Mand　et　Fatout；　in　the　Passage　des　Panoramas。　　Here　I　always　feel　like　Brassicanus　in　the　king　of　Hungary's　collection；　〃non　in　Bibliotheca；　sed　in　gremio　Jovis；〃　〃not　in　a　library；　but　in　paradise。〃　　It　is　not　given　to　every　one　to　cast　angle　in　these　preserves。　　They　are　kept　for　dukes　and　millionaires。　　Surely　the　old　Duke　of　Roxburghe　was　the　happiest　of　mortals；　for　to　him　both　the　chief　bookshops　and　auction　rooms；　and　the　famous　salmon　streams　of　Floors；　were　equally　open；　and　he　revelled　in　the　prime　of　bookcollecting　and　of　angling。　　But　there　are　little　tributary　streets；　with　humbler　stalls；　shy　pools；　as　it　were；　where　the　humbler　fisher　of　books　may　hope　to　raise　an　Elzevir；　or　an　old　French　play；　a　first　edition　of　Shelley；　or　a　Restoration　edy。　　It　is　usually　a　case　of　hope　unfulfilled；　but　the　merest　nibble　of　a　rare　book；　say　Marston's　poems　in　the　original　edition；　or　Beddoes's　〃Love's　Arrow　Poisoned；〃　or　Bankes's　〃Bay　Horse　in　a　Trance；〃　or　the　〃Mel　Heliconicum〃　of　Alexander　Ross；　or　〃Les　Oeuvres　de　Clement　Marot；　de　Cahors；　Vallet　de　Chambre　du　Roy；　A　Paris；　Ches　Pierre　Gaultier；　1551；〃　even　a　chance　at　something　of　this　sort　will　kindle　the　waning　excitement；　and　add　a　pleasure　to　a　man's　walk　in　muddy　London。　　Then；　suppose　you　purchase　for　a　couple　of　shillings　the　〃Histoire　des　Amours　de　Henry　IV；　et　autres　pieces　curieuses；　A　Leyde；　Chez　Jean　Sambyx　（Elzevir）；　1664；〃　it　is　certainly　not　unpleasant；　on　consulting　M。　Fontaine's　catalogue；　to　find　that　he　offers　the　same　work　at　the　ransom　of　10　pounds。　　The　beginner　thinks　himself　in　singular　luck；　even　though　he　has　no　idea　of　vending　his　collection；　and　he　never　reflects　that　CONDITIONspotless　white　leaves　and　broad　margins；　make　the　market　value　of　a　book。

Setting　aside　such　bare　considerations　of　profit；　the　sport　given　by　bookstalls　is　full　of　variety　and　charm。　　In　London　it　may　be　pursued　in　most　of　the　cross　streets　that　stretch　a　dirty　　between　the　British　Museum　and　the　Strand。　　There　are　other　more　shy　and　less　frequently　poached　resorts　which　the　amateur　may　be　allowed　to　find　out　for　himself。　　In　Paris　there　is　the　long　se　eighty　bouquinistes　set　their　boxes　on　the　walls　of　the　embankment　of　the　Seine。　　There　are　few　country　towns　so　small　but　that　books；　occasionally　rare　and　valuable；　may　be　found　lurking　in　secondhand　furniture　warehouses。　　This　is　one　of　the　advantages　of　living　in　an　old　country。　　The　Colonies　are　not　the　home　for　a　collector。　　I　have　seen　an　Australian　bibliophile　enraptured　by　the　rare　chance　of　buying；　in　Melbourne；　an　early　work　onthe　history　of　Port　Jackson！　　This　seems　but　poor　game。　　But　in　Europe　an　amateur　has　always　occupation　for　his　odd　moments　in　town；　and　is　for　ever　lured　on　by　the　radiant　apparition　of　Hope。　　All　collectors　tell　their　anecdotes　of　wonderful　luck；　and　magnificent　discoveries。　　There　is　a　volume　〃Voyages　Litteraires　sur　les　Quais　de　Paris〃　（Paris；　Durand；　1857）；　by　M。　de　Fontaine　de　Resbecq；　which　might　convert　the　dullest　soul　to　bookhunting。　　M。　de　Resbecq　and　his　friends　had　the　most　amazing　good　fortune。　　A　M。　N　found　six　original　plays　of　Moliere　（worth　perhaps　as　many　hundreds　of　pounds）；　bound　up　with　Garth's　〃Dispensary；〃　an　English　poem　which　has　long　lost　its　vogue。　　It　is　worth　while；　indeed；　to　examine　all　volumes　marked　〃Miscellanea；〃　〃Essays；〃　and　the　like；　and　treasures　may　possibly　lurk；　as　Snuffy　Davy　knew；　within　the　battered　sheepskin　of　school　books。　　Books　lie　in　out　of　the　way　places。　Poggio　rescued　〃Quintilian〃　from　the　counter　of　a　wood　merchant。　The　best　time　for　bookhunting　in　Paris　is　the　early　morning。　　〃The　take；〃　as　anglers　say；　is　〃on〃　from　halfpast　seven　to　halfpast　nine　a。m。　　At　these　hours　the　vendors　exhibit　their　fresh　wares；　and　the　agents　of　the　more　wealthy　booksellers　e　and　pick　up　everything　worth　having。　　These　agents　quite　spoil　the　sport　of　the　amateur。　　They　keep　a　strict　watch　on　every　country　dealer's　catalogue；　snap　up　all　he　has　worth　selling；　and　sell　it　over　again；　charging　pounds　in　place　of　shillings。　　But　M。　de　Resbecq　vows　that　he　once　picked　up　a　copy　of　the　first　edition　of　La　Rochefoucauld's　〃Maxims〃　out　of　a　box　which　two　booksellers　had　just　searched。　　The　same　collector　got　together　very　promptly　all　the　original　editions　of　La　Bruyere；　and　he　even　found　a　copy　of　the　Elzevir　〃Pastissier　Francais；〃　at　the　humble　price　of　six　sous。　　Now　the　〃　Pastissier　Francais；〃　an　illprinted　little　cookerybook　of　the　Elzevirs；　has　lately　fetched　600　pounds　at　a　sale。　　The　Antiquary's　story　of　Snuffy　Davy　and　the　〃Game　of　Chess；〃　is　dwarfed　by　the　luck　of　M。　de　Resbecq。　　Not　one　amateur　in　a　thousand　can　expect　such　good　fortune。　　There　is；　however；　a　recent　instance　of　a　Rugby　boy；　who　picked　up；　on　a　stall；　a　few　fluttering　leaves　hanging　together　on　a　flimsy　thread。　　The　old　woman　who　kept　the　stall　could　hardly　be　induced　to　accept　the　large　sum　of　a　shilling　for　an　original　quarto　of　Shakespeare's　〃King　John。〃　　These　stories　are　told　that　none　may　despair。　　That　none　may　be　over　confident；　an　author　may　recount　his　own　experience。　　The　only　odd　trouvaille　that　ever　fell　to　me　was　a　clean　copy　of　〃La　Journee　Chretienne；〃　with　the　name　of　Leon　Gambetta；　1844；　on　its　catholic　flyleaf。　　Rare　books　grow　rarer　every　day；　and　often　'tis　only　Hope　that　remains　at　the　bottom　of　the　fourpenny　boxes。　　Yet　the　Paris　bookhunters　cleave　to　the　game。　August　is　their　favourite　season；　for　in　August　there　is　least　petition。　　Very　few　people　are；　as　a　rule；　in　Paris；　and　these　are　not　tempted　to　loiter。　　The　bookseller　is　drowsy；　and　glad　not　to　have　the　trouble　of　chaffering。　　The　English　go　past；　and　do　not　tarry　beside　a　row　of　dusty　boxes　of　books。　　The　heat　threatens　the　amateur　with　sunstroke。　　Then；　says　M。　Octave　Uzanne；　in　a　prose　ballade　of　bookhuntersthen；　calm；　glad；　heroic；　the　bouquineurs　prowl　forth；　refreshed　with　hope。　　The　brown　old　calfskin　wrinkles　in　the　sun；　the　leaves　crackle；　you　could　poach　an　egg　on　the　cover　of　a　quarto。　　The　dome　of　the　Institute　glitters；　the　sickly　trees　seem　to　wither；　their　leaves　wax　red　and　grey；　a　faint　warm　wind　is　walking　the　streets。　　Under　his　vast　umbrella　the　bookhunter　is　secure　and　content；　he　enjoys　the　pleasures　of　the　sport　unvexed　by　poachers；　and　thinks　less　of　the　heat　than　does　the　deerstalker　on　the　bare　hillside。

There　is　plenty　of　morality；　if　there　are　few　rare　books　in　the　stalls。　　The　decay　of　affection；　the　breaking　of　friendship；　the　decline　of　ambition；　are　all　illustrated　in　these　fourpenny　collections。　　The　presentation　volumes　are　here　which　the　author　gave　in　the　pride　of　his　heart　to　the　poet　who　was　his　〃Master；〃　to　the　critic　whom　he　feared；　to　the　friend　with　whom　he　was　on　terms　of　mutual　admiration。　　The　critic　has　not　even　cut　the　leaves；　the　poet　has　brusquely　torn　three　or　four　apart　with　his　finger　and　thumb；　the　friend　has　grown　cold；　and　has　let　the　poems　slip　into　some　corner　of　his　library；　whence　they　were　removed　on　some　day　of　doom　and　of　general　clearing　out。　　The　sale　of　the　library　of　a　late　learned　prelate　who　had　Boileau's　hatred　of　a　dull　book　was　a　scene　to　be　avoided　by　his　literary　friends。　　The　Bishop　always　gave　the　works　which　were　offered　to　him　a　fair　chance。　　He　read　till　he　could　read　no　longer；　cutting　the　pages　as　he　went；　and　thus　his　progress　could　be　traced　like　that　of　a　backwoodsman　who　〃blazes〃　his　way　through　a　primeval　forest。　　The　paperknife　generally　ceased　to　do　duty　before　the　thirtieth　page。　　The　melancholy　of　the　book　hunter　is　aroused　by　two　questions；　〃Whence？〃　and　〃Whither？〃　　The　bibliophile　asks　about　his　books　the　question　which　the　metaphysician　asks　about　his　soul。　　Whence　came　they？　　Their　value　depends　a　good　deal　on　the　answer。　　If　they　are　stamped　wi