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glish　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　with　arms；　then　there　is　a　book　（〃Armorial　du　Bibliophile；〃　by　M。　Guigard）　which　tells　you　who　was　their　original　owner。　　Any　one　of　twenty　coatsofarms　on　the　leather　is　worth　a　hundred　times　the　value　of　the　volume　which　it　covers。　　If　there　is　no　such　mark；　the　fancy　is　left　to　devise　a　romance　about　the　first　owner；　and　all　the　hands　through　which　the　book　has　passed。　　That　Vanini　came　from　a　Jesuit　college；　where　it　was　kept　under　lock　and　key。　　That　copy　of　Agrippa　〃De　Vanitate　Scientiarum〃　is　marked；　in　a　crabbed　hand　and　in　faded　ink；　with　cynical　Latin　notes。　　What　pessimist　two　hundred　years　ago　made　his　grumbling　so　permanent？　　One　can　only　guess；　but　part　of　the　imaginative　joys　of　the　bookhunter　lies　'　in　the　fruitless　conjecture。　　That　other　question　〃Whither？〃　is　graver。　　Whither　are　our　treasures　to　be　scattered？　　Will　they　find　kind　masters？　or；　worst　fate　of　books；　fall　into　the　hands　of　women　who　will　sell　them　to　the　trunkmaker？　　Are　the　leaves　to　line　a　box　or　to　curl　a　maiden's　locks？　　Are　the　rarities　to　bee　more　and　more　rare；　and　at　last　fetch　prodigious　prices？　　Some　unlucky　men　are　able　partly　to　solve　these　problems　in　their　own　lifetime。　　They　are　constrained　to　sell　their　librariesan　experience　full　of　bitterness；　wrath；　and　disappointment。

Selling　books　is　nearly　as　bad　as　losing　friends；　than　which　life　has　no　worse　sorrow。　　A　book　is　a　friend　whose　face　is　constantly　changing。　　If　you　read　it　when　you　are　recovering　from　an　illness；　and　return　to　it　years　after；　it　is　changed　surely；　with　the　change　in　yourself。　　As　a　man's　tastes　and　opinions　are　developed　his　books　put　on　a　different　aspect。　　He　hardly　knows　the　〃Poems　and　Ballads〃　he　used　to　declaim；　and　cannot　recover　the　enigmatic　charm　of　〃Sordello。〃　　Books　change　like　friends；　like　ourselves；　like　everything；　but　they　are　most　piquant　in　the　contrasts　they　provoke；　when　the　friend　who　gave　them　and　wrote　them　is　a　success；　though　we　laughed　at　him；　a　failure；　though　we　believed　in　him；　altered　in　any　case；　and　estranged　from　his　old　self　and　old　days。　　The　vanished　past　returns　when　we　look　at　the　pages。　　The　vicissitudes　of　years　are　printed　and　packed　in　a　thin　octavo；　and　the　shivering　ghosts　of　desire　and　hope　return　to　their　forbidden　home　in　the　heart　and　fancy。　　It　is　as　well　to　have　the　power　of　recalling　them　always　at　hand；　and　to　be　able　to　take　a　prehensive　glance　at　the　emotions　which　were　so　powerful　and　full　of　life；　and　now　are　more　faded　and　of　less　account　than　the　memory　of　the　dreams　of　childhood。　　It　is　because　our　books　are　friends　that　do　change；　and　remind　us　of　change；　that　we　should　keep　them　with　us；　even　at　a　little　inconvenience；　and　not　turn　them　adrift　in　the　world　to　find　a　dusty　asylum　in　cheap　bookstalls。　　We　are　a　part　of　all　that　we　have　read；　to　parody　the　saying　of　Mr。　Tennyson's　Ulysses；　and　we　owe　some　respect；　and　houseroom　at　least；　to　the　early　acquaintances　who　have　begun　to　bore　us；　and　remind　us　of　the　vanity　of　ambition　and　the　weakness　of　human　purpose。　　Old　school　and　college　books　even　have　a　reproachful　and　salutary　power　of　whispering　how　much　a　man　knew；　and　at　the　cost　of　how　much　trouble；　that　he　has　absolutely　fotten；　and　is　neither　the　better　nor　the　worse　for　it。　　It　will　be　the　same　in　the　case　of　the　books　he　is　eager　about　now；　though；　to　be　sure；　he　will　read　with　less　care；　and　fet　with　an　ease　and　readiness　only　to　be　acquired　by　practice。

But　we　were　apologising　for　bookhunting；　not　because　it　teaches　moral　lessons；　as　〃dauncyng〃　also　does；　according　to　Sir　Thomas　Elyot；　in　the　〃Boke　called　the　Gouvernour；〃　but　because　it　affords　a　kind　of　sportive　excitement。　　Bookstalls　are　not　the　only　field　of　the　chase。　　Book　catalogues；　which　reach　the　collector　through　the　post；　give　him　all　the　pleasures　of　the　sport　at　home。　　He　reads　the　booksellers'　catalogues　eagerly；　he　marks　his　chosen　sport　with　pencil；　he　writes　by　return　of　post；　or　he　telegraphs　to　the　vendor。　Unfortunately　he　almost　always　finds　that　he　has　been　forestalled；　probably　by　some　bookseller's　agent。　　When　the　catalogue　is　a　French　one；　it　is　obvious　that　Parisians　have　the　pick　of　the　market　before　our　slow　letters　reach　M。　Claudin；　or　M。　Labitte。　　Still　the　catalogues　themselves　are　a　kind　of　lesson　in　bibliography。　　You　see　from　them　how　prices　are　ruling；　and　you　can　gloat；　in　fancy；　over　De　Luyne's　edition　of　Moliere；　1673；　two　volumes　in　red　morocco；　double　（〃Trautz　Bauzon〃）；　or　some　other　vanity　hopelessly　out　of　reach。　　In　their　catalogues；　MM。　Mand　and　Fatout　print　a　facsimile　of　the　frontispiece　of　this　very　rare　edition。　　The　bust　of　Moliere　occupies　the　centre；　and　portraits　of　the　great　actor；　as　Sganarelle　and　Mascarille　（of　the　〃Precieuses　Ridicules〃）；　stand　on　either　side。　　In　the　second　volume　are　Moliere；　and　his　wife　Armande；　crowned　by　the　muse　Thalia。　　A　catalogue　which　contains　such　exact　reproductions　of　rare　and　authentic　portraits；　is　itself　a　work　of　art；　and　serviceable　to　the　student。　　When　the　shop　of　a　bookseller；　with　a　promising　catalogue　which　arrives　over　night；　is　not　too　far　distant；　bibliophiles　have　been　known　to　rush　to　the　spot　in　the　grey　morning；　before　the　doors　open。　　There　are　amateurs；　however；　who　prefer　to　stay　fortably　at　home；　and　pity　these　poor　fanatics；　shivering　in　the　rain　outside　a　door　in　Oxford　Street　or　Booksellers'　Row。　　There　is　a　length　to　which　enthusiasm　cannot　go；　and　many　collectors　draw　the　line　at　rising　early　in　the　morning。　　But；　when　we　think　of　the　sport　of　bookhunting；　it　is　to　sales　in　auctionrooms　that　the　mind　naturally　turns。　　Here　the　rival　buyers　feel　the　passion　of　emulation；　and　it　was　in　an　auctionroom　that　Guibert　de　Pixerecourt；　being　outbid；　said；　in　tones　of　mortal　hatred；　〃I　will　have　the　book　when　your　collection　is　sold　after　your　death。〃　　And　he　kept　his　word。　　The　fever　of　gambling　is　not　absent　from　the　auctionroom；　and　people　〃bid　jealous〃　as　they　sometimes　〃ride　jealous〃　in　the　huntingfield。　Yet；　the　neophyte；　if　he　strolls　by　chance　into　a　saleroom；　will　be　surprised　at　the　spectacle。　　The　chamber　has　the　look　of　a　r