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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 book-collecting 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 comedy.  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

CONDITION--spotless 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 net

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 sweep of the

Quais, where some 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 second-hand 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

on--the 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 book-hunting.  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.

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