ONE of the most difficult branches of bibliography is that which treats of the books to choose and those to avoid, with reference mainly to their pecuniary value. Few collectors, who are not specialists, care very much for the utility of their libraries; in many cases, indeed, it is not a question of utility at all, but of extent, though I apprehend that no one would wish to crowd his shelves with rubbish merely for the sake of filling them. As an immense proportion of the books which have been published during the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries clearly come under that category, the collector has much to avoid, and stands in need of considerable experience to enable him to make a selection.

NaudÉ, the apologist for "great men suspected of magic," whose patron, by the way, was Cardinal Mazarin, had a method of purchasing which, if not unique, was at any rate uncommon. His favourite plan was to buy up entire libraries, and sort them at his leisure; or when these were not available in the bulk, he would, as Rossi relates, enter a shop with a yard measure in his hand, and buy his books by the ell. Wherever he went, paper and print became scarce: "the stalls he encountered were like the towns through which Attila had swept with ruin in his train". Richard Heber, the bibliotaph, too, had collections of miscellaneous books at Paris, Antwerp, Brussels, and other continental towns, to say nothing of London, where the aristocracy among his treasures were deposited. The books were sold by auction after his death; the sale occupied 202 days, and flooded the market with rubbish—a worthy termination to a life of sweeping and gigantic purchases, made in the hope of acquiring single grains of wheat among his tons of worthless chaff.

But NaudÉ had the wealth of Mazarin at his back, and free licence to purchase as and where he would at the Cardinal's expense, while Heber was rich beyond the dreams of avarice; the modern book hunter, whose means we will suppose are limited, must discard the yard measure and the scales, and rely on his judgment, taking care to get the utmost value for his money. He will have to make up his mind to buy or not to buy on the spur of the moment, for while he is consulting his books of reference at home, a golden opportunity may be missed. This is his capital difficulty, and one which it will take years of experience to surmount, for there is no vade mecum capable of being carried in the waistcoat pocket, which will enable him to spot a rarity at a glance; nothing, in fact, which can compensate for a lack of practical knowledge. I have often thought that a register of scarce but mean-looking English books, of such a convenient size as to be carried in the palm of the hand, might be of assistance to those who haunt the stalls, and delve among the rubbish usually to be found there; some day, perhaps, it may be worth while to try the experiment, sed Gloria, quantalibet quid erit; si gloria tantum est? What will be the value of ever so much glory, if it be glory and nothing else?

In turning over the contents of an old book-stall, the major portion of the heap will be found to consist of volumes of sermons, and other theological treatises, recipe books, odd historical volumes, and poetical effusions, besides periodical literature of the Spectator and Tatler brand. Books of this class are, as a rule, merely rubbish; but still there are a few exceptions. Sermons of John Knox and Dr. Sacheverell, or any of Mather's tracts, are invariably worth purchasing; as also are first editions of sermons by Cardinals Manning or Newman. Early editions of Mrs. Glasse's cookery book, or any recipe books of the seventeenth century, may safely be speculated in; so may early editions of poetical works, if written by authors whose reputation subsequently became established. Third, fourth, or later editions are seldom of much value, no matter who the author may be, and no matter of what character or description, provided they come under one or other of the heads enumerated above. In purchasing books of the class generally found on second-hand stalls, there are two preliminary questions to be asked: first, was the author of sufficient reputation to make his name well known? and secondly, is the particular copy of his works offered for sale an early edition? If an affirmative answer can be given to each of these inquiries, it will be advisable to tender the small sum likely to be asked, and to run the risk.

Another point to be observed is that where a printer's device appears on the title-page, or indeed on any other part of an old book, it is more likely than not to have a value, and it ought never to be passed over without a careful scrutiny.

Should the collector be fortunate enough to pick up a rare French book, his best policy will be to have it suitably bound in France by a first-rate binder. Though already valuable, its importance will be still further increased by this manoeuvre; for when the inevitable day of parting shall arrive, the French bibliophiles will be more inclined to welcome native talent than any English imitation of it.

Volumes containing separate tracts should always be examined, as it sometimes happens that rare pieces are found bound up with a mass of worthless matter. I once heard of original editions of two of MoliÈre's plays being found in this way; and as these stand pretty much in the same position, so far as rarity and consequent value is concerned, to the early Shakespearean quartos, the importance of the "find" to the lucky discoverer can hardly be exaggerated. This is only another example of the rule which can never be too often repeated, since it can never be sufficiently understood. If the author is "big enough," and the edition is early enough, buy. The probability is you may not realise the full importance of what you have got until you have had time to consult some book of reference; it may indeed turn out that a wretched and dirty reprint has done duty for the original, or it may so be that the book is worthless on its merits. This is one of the risks of book collecting, and, it may be added, one of its charms. Hundreds of thousands of dead and forgotten books must be annually disposed of, for nominal sums, in London alone, and there is no telling how often these and others may have been turned over and flung aside by passers-by before they eventually find a market. Among all this profusion of rubbish, a certain percentage of valuable pieces must necessarily exist, and these, from the very circumstances under which they are offered for sale, will be unknown, and more or less unbound and uncut. Every year some of these princes in disguise are rescued from the wind and rain, and henceforth considered a fair exchange for gold instead of copper; but alas! we cannot both eat our cake and have it too. "Finds," as they are called, are not so numerous as they once were, nor hucksters so ignorant as in the merry days of Dibdin and Burton, to say nothing of such foreign Nimrods as Colbert, Grolier, and the great PixÉrÉcourt.

The same rules which guide the haunter of the stalls are suitable to those who purchase from the regular booksellers. There is so much to be learned, so many artificial rules and distinctions to be observed in everything relating to books, that mistakes are of frequent occurrence. Ignorant assistants have before now unwittingly thrown shabby little books, like Burns' Poems (Kilmarnock, 1786), into the sixpenny-box at the shop door; others have been too lazy to sort the "parcels" as they have come in from the auctioneers, and have bundled the whole contents into the same repository. There are a hundred and one accidents in favour of the book hunter, but he needs experience in order to take advantage of them, and this cannot be got without the expenditure of much time and money and the suffering of many disappointments, which, indeed, seem to increase as he grows older, rather than to diminish. This is doubtless because the sphere of his operations becomes wider until it exceeds that of his experience; the seventh age of the Bibliophile is even as his first.

Apart from the books which are fashionable for the time being and invariably command fancy prices, there are others which may be styled "standards," that is to say, are sold over and over again, both by auction and private contract, for sums which vary only according to condition. These for the most part are in several volumes, 8vo, frequently also in 4to or folio. Their very appearance precludes any prospect of a bargain; indeed the purchaser, unless well versed in book-lore, stands a very good chance of paying for mere bulk. When the library at Sion College took fire, the attendants at the risk of their lives rescued a pile of books from the flames, and it is said that the librarian wept when he found that the porters had taken it for granted that the value of a book was in exact proportion to its size. To this day the impression that big books contain wisdom is all but universal. This has always been so, as witness the temporary reputation of Nicholas de Lyra, who wrote and printed 1800 folios of Commentary on the Bible, and of Aldrovandus, whose thirteen large folio volumes on General Zoology (1599-1668) have greatly perplexed the scientific world ever since they were published. Let not the collector be led away by massive tomes, nor imagine that standard works of acknowledged reputation can often be got for less than they are worth.

Of late years there has been a violent competition for books and even tracts published in or in any way relating to the American Continent provided only that they were published during the sixteenth, seventeenth, and sometimes also the eighteenth centuries. Thus Cotton's Abstract of the Laws of New England, 1641; The Description of Jamaica, 1657; Brereton's Relation of the Discoverie of the North Part of Virginia, 1602, and many other obscure little 4to tracts—not books—would be cheap at twenty guineas each, while others are worth even more. American collectors are largely responsible for this. In the same way treatises of any kind which have a Scotch local interest, and are dated about the same period, are always worth two or three guineas at the least, and in many cases far more than those amounts.

The earliest book printed in Scotland is The Knightly Tale of Golagrus and Gawane and other ancient poems (Edinburgh, 1508), 4to, which was reprinted in fac-simile under the superintendence of Dr. Laing in 1827. As might be expected, the original is so scarce as to be unprocurable, and even the reprint is of considerable value. Early Scotch-printed books by such workmen as Walter Chepman, Androu Myllar, Andro Hart, Alexander Arbuthnot, Thomas Davidson, Anthony Marlar, James Watson, Andrew Anderson and his widow the would-be monopolist, Robert Freebairn, and several others, some of whom carried on business into the eighteenth century, should never be overlooked or discarded. These are just the kind of books which are occasionally discovered on stalls in obscure streets, and which may be expected to be bought for a few pence. They are scarce, of course, or it would not be worth while to mention them; but they look insignificant, and many, for anything I know, may this very day be making their weary pilgrimage on costermongers' barrows in the New Cut, despised and rejected of men.

Specimens of typography from the presses of Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde, and other early English printers, some of which have already been mentioned, are essentially curiosities, and it is almost useless to hope for even the semblance of a bargain so far as they are concerned. Still, occasional finds are from time to time reported from out-of-the-way villages whose inhabitants have not yet wakened from their mediÆval slumbers, and great is the rejoicing of the explorer, and many the paragraphs with which the discovery is heralded in the newspapers. The collector who is fortunate enough to come across a work of this class—he can hardly expect a repetition of such extraordinary luck—will have crowned his labours, be they great or small, and can henceforth pride himself on his success. If he never handles a book again, he will have earned his laurels.

Inferior County Histories in one volume, generally 8vo, are always worth buying if they can be got for a few pence, as is often the case, for there are very few of them which are not worth as many shillings at the least. Topographical works are now being inquired for to a much greater extent than was the case several years ago, and the booksellers can dispose of almost any quantity. Such examples as are likely to be casually met with are, however, very small game; yet they represent the average amount of success likely to be achieved at one time in these days of widespread knowledge. The demand for book rarities is very great, and every hole and corner, likely and unlikely, is periodically ransacked by booksellers' "jackals," to say nothing of the army of amateurs ever on the look-out for bargains. Accident is, however, productive of occasional successes, and every man has, or may have, if he thinks proper to put it to the test, an equal chance.

In addition to the ready-made bargains, which do more than anything else to delight the heart of the book lover and encourage him to further exertions, there is such a thing as playing upon popular likes and dislikes, or, in other words, speculating on the vagaries of fashion. At present the rage is for original editions of modern authors, principally those with plates, coloured or uncoloured. Some day the fashion will change, and books hitherto neglected will suddenly take their place and increase many times in value. Such books should be bought while they are cheap, and they doubtless would be if there was such a thing as a literary barometer capable of forecasting the state of the market; but there is not, and it is impossible to foretell the direction in which the mass of book lovers will turn when once they are tired of picture-books.

Every bookseller is of necessity a speculator, for it is his business to buy at a low price and to sell at a higher. The amateur, however, should, if he would preserve his title, abstain from traffic of this kind and be satisfied to pay for the privilege of forming a library without regard to the ultimate profit or loss. His pleasure should consist in acquisition and the opportunity afforded of fondling his store while there is time, for he may be absolutely certain that the whole assortment—bookcases, shelves, and all—will find their way to the auctioneer directly he has done with them. This mournful prospect has been the indirect means of founding a new school, that of the semi-amateurs, which, while claiming for itself all the attributes of the book lover, has, nevertheless, an eye to the main chance, and is prepared at a moment's notice to transfer an entire collection inter vivos if the required sum be forthcoming. As an ardent Waltonian would regard a brother of the angle who went a-fishing with the object of selling his catch, so the old-fashioned bibliophile views this degenerate school—that is to say, with unfeigned disgust. It makes no difference, nay, if anything it is an aggravation, that the culprit is "well up" in his subject and knows a book when he sees one. "Fancy!" says a member of the old academy, "here is an educated man who for years has occupied his leisure hours in studies the most delightful, and among friends the most courteous and refined. He knows them, can put his hand upon any in the dark, and yet——;" but here the power of words fails to describe the heartless greed which alone could send a row of life's companions to the block. Nevertheless this is being done every day, and, however vexed the respectable book lover may be, the fact remains that the new school is just now showing remarkable activity and is running the booksellers very close indeed. The advisability of purchasing depends upon the answer to a single question, "Will this book go up?" Never mind the author, or a syllable of what he wrote, but take especial care to see that the work is perfect, clean, and uncut, and then ask yourself this solitary question. This is the first and last commandment of the semi-amateur, whose method of procedure it may be interesting to analyse.

Let us suppose that a London publisher advertises a new edition of some famous work, tastefully got up and luxuriously bound and illustrated. The issue of course is limited, as the price is high, and discriminating purchasers must be tempted. The old-fashioned amateur is not to be charmed because he persuades himself that there is plenty of time, and what matter if a few years later he has to pay a slightly enhanced price? The book will be worth it, for it will be scarce, and, moreover, have attained a respectable degree of antiquity, and so he passes it by. Not so the new school, which we will assume has answered its solitary question in the affirmative. The edition is snapped up in a moment, and single members will buy as many duplicates as they can afford to invest in—buy to sell again ultimately, and in the meantime to gloat over, like so many jackdaws eying a secreted heap of stolen goods. This is commonly called "cornering" an edition; and when several persons possessing the same opinions and the same tastes join their forces, it will readily be perceived that if a book will not go up of its own accord it may readily be forced up by judicious retention and self-denial. This, of course, is nothing more nor less than Stock-Exchange speculation, and it is satisfactory to find that sometimes the greedy purchaser makes a mistake and is saddled with a small stock of waste-paper.

As previously stated in the fifth chapter, a book which has perhaps been cornered as often as any other, and never successfully, is Ottley's Italian School of Design, on large paper, with proof impressions. The published price was £25 4s., the present value is about £3 by auction. Here is a dreadful falling off, and the adherents of the new school have never yet been able to understand the reason, or to cease persuading themselves that the day must surely come when the book will go up. If anything, however, it is going down, and in the opinion of many experts it can never again take a respectable position in the market.

Another book which has also been speculated in, and with even more disastrous results still, is Hogarth's Works, from the original plates, restored by Heath, and published by Baldwin and Cradock, in 1822, at £50. This is a large and sumptuous work, with a secret pocket at the end, in which are, or should be, found the three suppressed plates. The present auction value is not much more than £4, and, judging from appearances, it is very unlikely to get any higher. How many people have burned their fingers over these two tempting works it would be very difficult even to guess; suffice it to say, that the amateur speculator often has half-a-dozen of each on his shelves, and in nine cases out of ten he finds them an encumbrance and a loss. As John Hill Burton truly says, "No good comes of gentlemen amateurs buying and selling". This is, of course, as it should be; but rejoicing at the fate of the enemy is likely to be turned into gall when it is discovered that defeat is bolstered up with the inevitable axiom "Better luck next time".

It cannot be denied that, from a practical everyday stand-point, the collector who buys to sell has everything in his favour. Why should he not employ his knowledge to advantage? why be compelled to stock his library at a loss which will fall chiefly on his immediate descendants? why suffer the pain and mortification of ever remembering that after all his books are only lent to him on hire, and that as others have parted with the identical volumes before, so he must also part with them in his turn? The pleasure of possession is mixed with an alloy which is disquieting to the man who loves his books too well. Still, after all, there is one pleasure which the votaries of the new school can never hope to enjoy, and that is the communion with old friends. Their books are strangers, and even though they should learn them by heart, they would be strangers still. The remembrance of happy hours spent with a lost volume is to them as nothing compared with the ringing metal which replaces it; or to put the case as pleasantly as possible, we will say that the speculator regards a book as possessing an interest quite apart from its literary or domestic value. How such an one would hunger after the treasures secured by an eager collector at a fishmonger's shop in Hungerford Market some fifty years ago—"Autograph signatures of Godolphin, Sunderland, Ashley, Lauderdale, Ministers of James II., accounts of the Exchequer Office signed by Henry VII. and Henry VIII., wardrobe accounts of Queen Anne, secret service accounts marked with the 'E. G.' of Nell Gwynne, a treatise on the Eucharist in the boyish hand of Edward VI., and a disquisition on the Order of the Garter, in the scholarly writing of Elizabeth," all of which, as Mr. Rogers Rees narrates, had been included in waste-paper cleared out of Somerset House at £7 a ton.