(An Essay on the Disease by a Victim)
Complete. Original edition, 1809.
WHEN the poetical Epistle of Dr. Ferriar, under the popular title of the “Bibliomania,” was announced for publication, I honestly confess that, in common with many of my book-loving acquaintance, a strong sensation of fear and of hope possessed me: of fear, that I might have been accused, however indirectly, of having contributed towards the increase of this Mania; and of hope, that the true object of book collecting, and literary pursuits, might have been fully and fairly developed. The perusal of this elegant epistle dissipated alike my fears and my hopes; for, instead of caustic verses and satirical notes, I found a smooth, melodious, and persuasive panegyric,—unmixed, however, with any rules for the choice of books, or the regulation of study.
To say that I was not gratified by the perusal of it would be a confession contrary to the truth; but to say how ardently I anticipated an amplification of the subject, how eagerly I looked forward to a number of curious, apposite, and amusing anecdotes and found them not therein, is an avowal of which I need not fear the rashness, when the known talents of the detector of Sterne’s plagiarisms are considered. I will not, however, disguise to you that I read it with uniform delight, and that I rose from the perusal with a keener appetite for—
| The small, rare volume, black with tarnished gold. | |
—Dr. Ferriar. Epistle V. 138. |
Whoever undertakes to write down the follies which grow out of an excessive attachment to any particular pursuit, be that pursuit horses, hawks, dogs, guns, snuffboxes, old china, coins, or rusty armor, may be thought to have little consulted the best means of insuring success for his labors, when he adopts the dull vehicle of Prose for the communication of his ideas, not considering that from Poetry ten thousand bright scintillations are struck off, which please and convince while they attract and astonish. Thus when Pope talks of allotting for—
| “Pembroke statues, dirty Gods and Coins; | |
| Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone; | |
| And books to Mead and butterflies to Sloane,” |
| “These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound” |
| “For Locke or Milton ’tis in vain to look; | |
| These shelves admit not any modern book”; |
If ever there was a country upon the face of the globe—from the days of Nimrod the beast to Bagford the book hunter—distinguished for the variety, the justness, and magnanimity of its views; if ever there was a nation which really and unceasingly “felt for another’s woe” (I call to witness our Infirmaries, Hospitals, Asylums, and other public and private institutions of a charitable nature, that, like so many belts of adamant, unite and strengthen us in the great cause of Humanity); if ever there was a country and a set of human beings pre-eminently distinguished for all the social virtues which soften and animate the soul of man, surely Old England and Englishmen are they! The common cant, it may be urged, of all writers in favor of the country where they chance to live! And what, you will say, has this to do with Book Collectors and Books?—Much, every way: a nation thus glorious is, at this present eventful moment, afflicted not only with the Dog, but the Book, disease—
| “Fire in each eye, and paper in each hand, | |
| They rave, recite,”——— |
In this inquiry I purpose considering the subject under three points of view: I. THE HISTORY OF THE DISEASE,—or an account of the eminent men who have fallen victims to it; II. THE NATURE OR SYMPTOMS OF THE DISEASE; and III. THE PROBABLE MEANS OF ITS CURE. We are to consider, then,
I. THE HISTORY OF THE DISEASE.—In treating of the history of this disease, it will be found to have been attended with this remarkable circumstance; namely, that it has almost uniformly confined its attacks to the male sex, and, among these, to people in the higher and middling classes of society, while the artificer, laborer, and peasant have escaped wholly uninjured. It has raged chiefly in palaces, castles, halls, and gay mansions; and those things which in general are supposed not to be inimical to health, such as cleanliness, spaciousness, and splendor, are only so many inducements towards the introduction and propagation of the Bibliomania! What renders it particularly formidable is that it rages in all seasons of the year and at all periods of human existence. The emotions of friendship or of love are weakened or subdued as old age advances; but the influence of this passion, or rather disease, admits of no mitigation: “it grows with our growth, and strengthens with our strength”; and is ofttimes—
| “The ruling passion strong in death.” |
We will now, my dear sir, begin “Making out the catalogue” of victims to the Bibliomania! The first eminent character who appears to have been infected with this disease was Richard de Bury, one of the tutors of Edward III., and afterwards Bishop of Durham; a man who has been uniformly praised for the variety of his erudition and the intenseness of his ardor in book collecting. I discover no other notorious example of the fatality of the Bibliomania until the time of Henry VII., when the monarch himself may be considered as having added to the number. Although our venerable typographer, Caxton, lauds and magnifies, with equal sincerity, the whole line of British kings, from Edward IV. to Henry VII. (under whose patronage he would seem, in some measure, to have carried on his printing business), yet, of all these monarchs, the latter alone was so unfortunate as to fall a victim to this disease. His library must have been a magnificent one, if we may judge from the splendid specimens of it which now remain. It would appear too, that, about this time, the Bibliomania was increased by the introduction of foreign printed books; and it is not very improbable that a portion of Henry’s immense wealth was devoted towards the purchase of vellum copies, which were now beginning to be published by the great typographical triumvirate, Verard, Eustace, and Pigouchet.
During the reign of Henry VIII., I should suppose that the Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyatt were a little attached to book collecting; and that Dean Colet and his friend Sir Thomas More and Erasmus were downright Bibliomaniacs. There can be little doubt but that neither the great Leland nor his biographer Bale were able to escape the contagion; and that, in the ensuing period, Roger Ascham became notorious for the Book disease. He purchased probably, during his travels abroad, many a fine copy of the “Greek and Latin Classics,” from which he read to his illustrious pupils, Lady Jane Grey and Queen Elizabeth; but whether he made use of an editio princeps, or a large paper copy, I have hitherto not been lucky enough to discover. This learned character died in the vigor of life, and in the bloom of reputation; and, as I suspect, in consequence of the Bibliomania,—for he was always collecting books and always studying them. His “Schoolmaster,” is a work which can only perish with our language.
If we are to judge from the beautiful Missal lying open before Lady Jane Grey, in Mr. Copley’s elegant picture now exhibiting at the British Institution, it would seem rational to infer that this amiable and learned female was slightly attacked by the disease. It is to be taken for granted that Queen Elizabeth was not exempt from it; and that her great secretary, Cecil, sympathized with her! In regard to Elizabeth, her Prayer Book is quite evidence sufficient for me that she found the Bibliomania irresistible! During her reign, how vast and how frightful were the ravages of the Book madness! If we are to credit Laneham’s celebrated Letter, it had extended far into the country, and infected some of the worthy inhabitants of Coventry; for one “Captain Cox, by profession a mason, and that right skillful,” had “as fair a library of sciences, and as many goodly monuments both in Prose and Poetry, and at afternoon could talk as much without book, as any Innholder betwixt Brentford and Bagshot, what degree soever he be!”
While the country was thus giving proofs of the prevalence of this disorder, the two Harringtons (especially the younger) and the illustrious Spenser were unfortunately seized with it in the metropolis.
In the seventeenth century, from the death of Elizabeth to the commencement of Anne’s reign, it seems to have made considerable havoc; yet, such was our blindness to it that we scrupled not to engage in overtures for the purchase of Isaac Vossius’s fine library, enriched with many treasures from the Queen of Sweden’s, which this versatile genius scrupled not to pillage without confession or apology. During this century our great reasoners and philosophers began to be in motion; and, like the fumes of tobacco, which drive the concealed and clotted insects from the interior to the extremity of the leaves, the infectious particles of the Bibliomania set a thousand busy brains a-thinking, and produced ten thousand capricious works, which, overshadowed by the majestic remains of Bacon, Locke, and Boyle, perished for want of air, and warmth, and moisture.
The reign of Queen Anne was not exempt from the influence of this disease; for during this period, Maittaire began to lay the foundation of his extensive library, and to publish some bibliographical works which may be thought to have rather increased, than diminished, its force. Meanwhile Harley, Earl of Oxford, watched its progress with an anxious eye; and although he might have learned experience from the fatal examples of R. Smith and T. Baker, and the more recent ones of Thomas Rawlinson, Bridges, and Collins, yet he seemed resolved to brave and to baffle it; but, like his predecessors, he was suddenly crushed within the gripe of the demon, and fell one of the most splendid of his victims. Even the unrivaled medical skill of Mead could save neither his friend nor himself. The Doctor survived his Lordship about twelve years, dying of the complaint called the Bibliomania! He left behind an illustrious character; sufficient to flatter and soothe those who may tread in his footsteps, and fall victims to a similar disorder.
The years 1755 and 1756 were singularly remarkable for the mortality excited by the Bibliomania; and the well-known names of Folkes and Rawlinson might have supplied a modern Holbein a hint for the introduction of a new subject in the “Dance of Death.” The close of George the Second’s reign witnessed another instance of the fatality of this disease. Henley “bawled till he was hoarse” against the cruelty of its attack, while his library has informed posterity how severely and how mortally he suffered from it.
We are now, my dear sir, descending rapidly to our own times; and, in a manner sufficiently rough, have traced the history of the Bibliomania to the commencement of the present illustrious reign: when we discover, among its victims, a General, who had probably faced many a cannon and stormed many a rampart uninjured. The name of Dormer will remind you of the small but choice library which affords such a melancholy proof of its owner’s fate; while the more splendid examples of Smith and West serve to show the increased ravages of a disease, which seemed to threaten the lives of all, into whose ears (like those of “Visto”) some demon had whispered the sound of “Taste.” These three striking instances of the fatality of the Bibliomania occurred,—the first in the year 1764, and the latter in 1773. The following year witnessed the sale of the Fletewode library; so that nothing but despair and havoc appeared to move in the train of this pestiferous malady. In the year 1775 died the famous Dr. Anthony Askew, another illustrious victim to the Bibliomania. Those who recollect the zeal and scholarship of this great book collector, and the precious gems with which his library was stored from the cabinets of De Boze and Gaignat, as well as of Mead and Folkes, cannot but sigh, with grief of heart, on the thought of such a victim! How ardently, and how kindly (as I remember to have heard his friend Dr. Burges say), would Askew unfold his glittering stores—open the magnificent folio, or the shining duodecimo, upon vellum, embossed and fast held together with golden knobs and silver clasps! How carefully would he unroll the curious manuscript—decipher the half-effaced characters—and then, casting an eye of ecstasy over the shelves upon which similar treasures were lodged, exult in the glittering prospect before him! But Death—who, as Horace tells us, raps equally at the palaces of kings and cottages of peasants, made no scruple to exercise the knocker of the Doctor’s door, and sent, as his avant-courier, this Deplorable Mania! It appeared; and even Askew, with all his skill in medicine and books, fell lifeless before it—bewailed, as he was beloved and respected!
After this melancholy event, one would have thought that future virtuosi would have barricaded their doors and fumigated their chambers, to keep out such a pest:—but how few are they who profit by experience, even when dearly obtained! The subsequent history of the disease is a striking proof of the truth of this remark; for the madness of book collecting rather increased—and the work of death still went on. In the year 1776 died John Ratcliffe, another, and a very singular, instance of the fatality of the Bibliomania. If he had contented himself with his former occupation, and frequented the butter and cheese, instead of the book, market—if he could have fancied himself in a brown peruke and Russian apron, instead of an embroidered waistcoat, velvet breeches, and flowing periwig, he might, perhaps, have enjoyed greater longevity; but, infatuated by the Caxtons and Wynkin de Wordes of Fleetwood and of West, he fell into the snare; and the more he struggled to disentangle himself the more certainly did he become a prey to the disease.
Thirty years have been considered by Addison (somewhere in his Spectator) as a pretty accurate period for the passing away of one generation and the coming on of another. We have brought down our researches to within a similar period of the present times; but, as Addison has not made out the proofs of such assertion, and as many of the relatives and friends of those who have fallen victims to the Bibliomania, since the days of Ratcliffe, may yet be alive; moreover, as it is the part of humanity not to tear open wounds which have been just closed, or awaken painful sensibilities which have been well nigh laid to rest, so, my dear sir, in giving you a further account of this fatal disorder, I deem it the most prudent method not to expatiate upon the subsequent examples of its mortality. We can only mourn over such names as Beauclerk, Crofts, Pearson, Lort, Mason, Farmer, Steevens, Woodhouse, Brand, and Reed, and fondly hope that the list may not be increased by those of living characters.
We are, in the second place, to describe the Symptoms of the Disease.
The ingenious Peignot, in the first volume of his “Dictionnaire Bibliologie,” p. 51, defines the Bibliomania to be “a passion for possessing books; not so much to be instructed by them, as to gratify the eye by looking on them. He who is affected by this mania knows books only by their titles and dates, and is rather seduced by the exterior than the interior.” This is, perhaps, too general and vague a definition to be of much benefit in the knowledge and consequent prevention of the disease; let us, therefore, describe it more certainly and intelligibly.
Symptoms of this disease are instantly known by a passion for; 1. Large Paper Copies; 2. Uncut Copies; 3. Illustrated Copies; 4. Unique Copies; 5. Copies Printed upon Vellum; 6. First Editions; 7. True Editions; 8. A General Desire for the Black Letter. We will describe these symptoms more particularly:—
1. Large Paper Copies.—These are a certain set or limited number of the work printed in a superior manner, both in regard to ink and press work, on paper of a larger size, and better quality, than the ordinary copies. Their price is enhanced in proportion to their beauty and rarity.
This symptom of the Bibliomania is, at the present day, both general and violent, and threatens to extend still more widely. Even modern publications are not exempt from its calamitous influence; and when Mr. Miller, the bookseller, told me with what eagerness the large paper copies of Lord Valentia’s “Travels” were bespoke, and Mr. Evans showed me that every similar copy of his new edition of “Burnett’s History of His Own Times” was disposed of, I could not help elevating my eyes and hands, in token of commiseration at the prevalence of this symptom of the Bibliomania.
2. Uncut Copies.—Of all the symptoms of the Bibliomania, this is probably the most extraordinary. It may be defined as a passion to possess books of which the edges have never been sheared by the binder’s tools. And here, my dear sir, I find myself walking upon doubtful ground;—your uncut Hearnes rise up in “rough majesty” before me, and almost “push me from my stool.” Indeed, when I look around in my book-lined tub, I cannot but be conscious that this symptom of the disorder has reached my own threshold; but when it is known that a few of my bibliographical books are left with the edges uncut merely to please my friends (as one must sometimes study their tastes and appetites as well as one’s own), I trust that no very serious conclusions will be drawn about the probable fatality of my own case. As to uncut copies, although their inconvenience (an uncut lexicon to wit!) and deformity must be acknowledged, and although a rational man can want for nothing better than a book once well bound, yet we find that the extraordinary passion for collecting them not only obtains with full force, but is attended with very serious consequences to those qui n’ont point des pistoles (to borrow the language of Clement, Vol. VI., p. 36). I dare say an uncut first Shakespeare, as well as an uncut first Homer, would produce a little annuity!
3. Illustrated Copies.—A passion for books illustrated or adorned with numerous prints, representing characters or circumstances mentioned in the work, is a very general and violent symptom of the Bibliomania, which has been known chiefly within the last half-century. The origin, or first appearance, of this symptom has been traced by some to the publication of Granger’s “Biographical History of England”; but whoever will be at the pains of reading the preface of this work will see that Granger sheltered himself under the authorities of Evelyn, Ashmole, and others; and that he alone is not to be considered as responsible for all the mischief which passion for collecting prints has occasioned. Granger, however, was the first who introduced it in the form of a treatise, and surely “in an evil hour” was this treatise published—although its amiable author must be acquitted of “malice prepense.” His “History of England” seems to have sounded the tocsin for a general rummage after, and slaughter of, old prints; venerable philosophers and veteran heroes, who had long reposed in unmolested dignity within the magnificent folio volumes which recorded their achievements, were instantly dragged from their peaceful abodes to be inlaid by the side of some spruce, modern engraving, within an Illustrated Granger! Nor did the madness stop here. Illustration was the order of the day; and Shakespeare and Clarendon became the next objects of its attack. From these it has glanced off in a variety of directions, to adorn the pages of humbler wights; and the passion, or rather this symptom of the Bibliomania, yet rages with undiminished force. If judiciously treated, it is, of all the symptoms, the least liable to mischief. To possess a series of well-executed portraits of illustrious men at different periods of their lives, from blooming boyhood to phlegmatic old age, is sufficiently amusing; but to possess every portrait, bad, indifferent, and unlike, betrays such a dangerous and alarming symptom as to render the case almost incurable!
There is another mode of illustrating copies by which this symptom of the Bibliomania may be known: it consists in bringing together, from different works (by means of the scissors, or otherwise by transcription), every page or paragraph which has any connection with the character or subject under discussion. This is a useful and entertaining mode of illustrating a favorite author; and copies of works of this nature, when executed by skillful hands, should be preserved in public repositories. I almost ridiculed the idea of an Illustrated Chatterton, in this way, till I saw Mr. Haslewood’s copy, in twenty-one volumes, which riveted me to my seat!
4. Unique Copies.—A passion for a book which has any peculiarity about it, by either or both of the foregoing methods of illustration—or which is remarkable for its size, beauty, and condition—is indicative of a rage for unique copies and is unquestionably a strong prevailing symptom of the Bibliomania. Let me therefore urge every sober and cautious collector not to be fascinated by the terms “Matchless and Unique”; which, “in slim Italicks” (to copy Dr. Ferriar’s happy expression) are studiously introduced into booksellers’ catalogues to lead the unwary astray. Such a collector may fancy himself proof against the temptation; and will, in consequence, call only to look at this unique book or set of books; but, when he views the morocco binding, silk water-tabby lining, blazing gilt edges—when he turns over the white and spotless leaves—gazes on the amplitude of margin—on a rare and lovely print introduced—and is charmed with the soft and coaxing manner in which, by the skill of Herring or Mackinlay, “leaf succeeds to leaf”—he can no longer bear up against the temptation—and, confessing himself vanquished, purchases and retreats—exclaiming with Virgil’s shepherd—
| “Ut vidi, ut perii—ut me malus abstulit error!” |
5. Copies Printed on Vellum.—A desire for works printed in this manner is an equally strong and general symptom of the Bibliomania; but as these works are rarely to be obtained of modern date, the collector is obliged to have recourse to specimens executed three centuries ago in the printing offices of Aldus, Verard, and the Juntæ. Although the Bibliothèque Impériale at Paris, and the library of Count Macarty at Toulouse, are said to contain the greatest number of books printed upon vellum, yet those who have been fortunate enough to see copies of this kind in the libraries of his Majesty, the Duke of Marlborough, Earl Spencer, Mr. Johnes, and the late Mr. Cracherode (now in the British Museum), need not travel on the Continent for the sake of being convinced of their exquisite beauty and splendor. Mr. Edward’s unique copy (he will forgive the epithet) of the first Livy upon vellum is a library of itself!—and the recent discovery of a vellum copy of Wynkin de Worde’s reprint of Juliana Barnes’s book, complete in every respect (to say nothing of his Majesty’s similar copy of Caxton’s “Doctrinal of Sapience,” 1489, in the finest preservation) are, to be sure, sufficient demonstrations of the prevalence of this symptom of the Bibliomania in the times of our forefathers; so that it cannot be said, as some have asserted, to have appeared entirely within the last half-century.
6. First Editions.—From the time of Ancillon to Askew, there has been a very strong desire expressed for the possession of original or first published editions of works, as they are in general superintended and corrected by the author himself; and, like the first impressions of prints, are considered more valuable. Whoever is possessed with a passion for collecting books of this kind may unquestionably be said to exhibit a strong symptom of the Bibliomania; but such a case is not quite hopeless, nor is it deserving of severe treatment or censure. All bibliographers have dwelt on the importance of these editions, for the sake of collation with subsequent ones, and detecting, as is frequently the case, the carelessness displayed by future editors. Of such importance is the first edition of Shakespeare considered, that a facsimile reprint of it has been published with success. In regard to the Greek and Latin classics, the possession of these original editions is of the first consequence to editors who are anxious to republish the legitimate text of an author. Wakefield, I believe, always regretted that the first edition of Lucretius had not been earlier inspected by him. When he began his edition, the editio princeps was not (as I have understood) in the library of Earl Spencer—the storehouse of almost everything that is exquisite and rare in ancient classical literature!
It must not, however, be forgotten that if first editions are, in some instances, of great importance, they are in many respects superfluous, and an incumbrance to the shelves of a collector; inasmuch as the labors of subsequent editors have corrected their errors, and superseded, by a great fund of additional matter, the necessity of consulting them. Thus, not to mention other instances (which present themselves while noticing the present one), all the fine things which Colomies and Remannus have said about the rarity of La Croix du Maine’s “Bibliotheque,” published in 1584, are now unnecessary to be attended to, since the ample and excellent edition of this work by De La Monnoye and Juvigny, in six quarto volumes, 1772, has appeared. Nor will any one be tempted to hunt for Gesner’s “Bibliotheca” of 1545–48, whatever may be its rarity, who has attended to Morhof’s and Vogt’s recommendation of the last and best edition of 1583.
7. True Editions.—Some copies of a work are struck off with deviations from the usually received ones, and, though these deviations have neither sense nor beauty to recommend them (and indeed are principally defects), yet copies of this description are eagerly sought after by collectors of a certain class. This particular pursuit may therefore be called another, or the seventh, symptom of the Bibliomania.
8. Books Printed in the Black Letter.—Of all the symptoms of the Bibliomania, this eighth symptom (and the last which I shall notice) is at present the most powerful and prevailing. Whether it was not imported into this country from Holland, by the subtlety of Schelhorn (a knowing writer upon rare and curious books) may be shrewdly suspected. Whatever be its origin, certain it is, my dear sir, that books printed in the black letter are now coveted with an eagerness unknown to our collectors in the last century. If the spirits of West, Ratcliffe, Farmer, and Brand, have as yet held any intercourse with each other, in that place “from whose bourn no traveler returns,” what must be the surprise of the three former, on being told by the latter, of the prices given for some of the books in his library, as mentioned below!
A perusal of these articles may probably not impress the reader with any lofty notions of the superiority of the black letter; but this symptom of the Bibliomania is, nevertheless, not to be considered as incurable, or wholly unproductive of good. Under a proper spirit of modification it has done, and will continue to do, essential service to the cause of English literature. It guided the taste, and strengthened the judgment, of Tyrwhitt in his researches after Chaucerian lore. It stimulated the studies of Farmer and of Steevens, and enabled them to twine many a beauteous flower round the brow of their beloved Shakespeare. It has since operated, to the same effect, in the labors of Mr. Douce, the Porson of old English and French literature; and in the editions of Milton and Spenser by my amiable and excellent friend Mr. Todd, the public have had a specimen of what the black letter may perform, when temperately and skillfully exercised.
I could bring to your recollection other instances; but your own copious reading and exact memory will better furnish you with them. Let me not, however, omit remarking that the beautiful pages of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and Sir Trestrem, exhibit, in the notes (now and then thickly studded with black-letter references), a proof that the author of “The Lay” and “Marmion” has not disdained to enrich his stores of information by such intelligence as black-lettered books impart. In short, though this be also a strong and general symptom of the Bibliomania, it is certainly not attended with injurious effects when regulated by prudence and discretion. An undistinguishable voracious appetite to swallow everything printed in the black letter can only bring on unconquerable disease, if not death, to the patient.
Having in the two preceding divisions of this letter discoursed somewhat largely upon the history and symptoms of the Bibliomania, it now remains, according to the original plan, to say a few words upon the probable means of its cure. And, indeed, I am driven to this view of the subject from every laudable motive; for it would be highly censurable to leave any reflecting mind impressed with melancholy emotions concerning the misery and mortality that have been occasioned by the abuse of those pursuits, to which the most soothing and important considerations ought to be attached. Far from me and my friends be such a cruel, if not criminal, conduct; let us then, my dear sir, seriously discourse upon the—
III. PROBABLE MEANS OF THE CURE OF THE BIBLIOMANIA.—He will surely be numbered among the philanthropists of his day who has, more successfully than myself, traced and described the ravages of this disease, and fortified the sufferer with the means of its cure. But as this is a disorder of quite a recent date, and as its characteristics, in consequence, cannot be yet fully known or described, great candor must be allowed that physician who offers a prescription for so obscure and complicated a case. It is in vain that you search the works (aye, even the best editions) of Hippocrates and Galen for a description of this malady; nor will you find it hinted at in the more philosophical treatises of Sydenham and Heberden. It had, till the medical skill of Dr. Ferriar first noticed it to the public, escaped the observations of all our pathologists. With a trembling hand and fearful apprehension, therefore, I throw out the following suggestions for the cure, or mitigation, of this disorder: In the first place, the disease of the Bibliomania is materially softened, or rendered mild, by directing our studies to useful and profitable works,—whether these be printed upon small or large paper, in the Gothic, Roman, or Italic type. To consider purely the intrinsic excellence, and not the exterior splendor, or adventitious value, of any production, will keep us perhaps wholly free from this disease. Let the midnight lamp be burned to illuminate the stores of antiquity—whether they be romances, or chronicles, or legends, and whether they be printed by Aldus or by Caxton—if a brighter lustre can thence be thrown upon the pages of modern learning. To trace genius to its source, or to see how she has been influenced or modified by “the lore of past times” is both a pleasing and profitable pursuit. To see how Shakespeare has here and there plucked a flower from some old ballad or popular tale, to enrich his own unperishable garland—to follow Spenser and Milton in their delightful labyrinths ’midst the splendor of Italian literature—are studies which stamp a dignity upon our intellectual characters. But, in such a pursuit, let us not overlook the wisdom of modern times, nor fancy that what is only ancient can be excellent. We must remember that Bacon, Boyle, Locke, Taylor, Chillingworth, Robertson, Hume, Gibbon, and Paley are names which always command attention from the wise, and remind us of the improved state of reason and acquired knowledge during the two last centuries.
In the second place, the reprinting of scarce intrinsically valuable works is another means of preventing the propagation of this disorder. Amidst all our present sufferings under the Bibliomania, it is some consolation to find discerning and spirited booksellers republishing the valuable “Chronicles” of Froissart, Holinshed, and Hall, and the collections known by the names of “The Harleian Miscellany,” and “Lord Somer’s Tracts.” These are noble efforts, and richly deserve the public patronage.
In the third place, the editing of our best ancient authors, whether in prose or poetry, is another means of effectually counteracting the progress of the Bibliomania, as it has been described under its several symptoms.
In the fourth place, the erecting of public institutions is a very powerful antidote against the prevalence of several symptoms of this disease.
In the fifth place, the encouragement of the study of Bibliography, in its legitimate sense, and towards its true object, may be numbered among the most efficacious cures for this destructive malady. To place competent librarians over the several departments of a large public library, or to submit a library, on a more confined scale, to one diligent, enthusiastic, well-informed, well-bred, bibliographer or librarian (of which in this metropolis we have so many examples), is doing a vast deal towards directing the channels of literature to flow in their proper courses.
Thus briefly and guardedly have I thrown out a few suggestions, which may enable us to avoid, or mitigate the severity of, the disease called the Bibliomania. Happy indeed shall I deem myself, if, in the description of its symptoms, and in the recommendation of the means of cure, I may have snatched any one from a premature grave, or lightened the load of years that are yet to come.
You, my dear sir, who, in your observations upon society, as well as in your knowledge of ancient times, must have met with numerous instances of the miseries which “flesh is heir to,” may be disposed perhaps to confess that, of all species of afflictions, the present one under consideration has the least moral turpitude attached to it. True, it may be so: for, in the examples which have been adduced, there will be found neither suicides, nor gamesters, nor profligates. No woman’s heart has been broken from midnight debaucheries; no marriage vow has been violated; no child has been compelled to pine in poverty or neglect; no patrimony has been wasted; and no ancestor’s fame tarnished. If men have erred under the influence of this disease, their aberrations have been marked with an excess arising from intellectual fever, and not from a desire of baser gratifications.
If, therefore, in the wide survey which a philosopher may take of the “Miseries of Human Life” the prevalence of this disorder may appear to be less mischievous than that of others, and, if some of the most amiable and learned of mortals seemed to have been both unwilling, as well as unable, to avoid its contagion, you will probably feel the less alarmed if symptoms of it should appear within the sequestered abode of Hodnet! Recollecting that even in remoter situations its influence has been felt—and that neither the pure atmosphere of Hafod nor of Sledmere has completely subdued its power—you will be disposed to exclaim with violence, at the intrusion of Bibliomaniacs—
| “What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? | |
| They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide! | |
| By land, by water, they renew the charge; | |
| They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.” |
Upon the whole, therefore, attending closely to the symptoms of this disorder as they have been described, and practicing such means of cure as have been recommended, we may rationally hope that its virulence may abate and the number of its victims annually diminish. But if the more discerning part of the community anticipate a different result, and the preceding observations appear to have presented but a narrow and partial view of the mischiefs of the Bibliomania, my only consolation is that to advance something upon the subject is better than to preserve a sullen and invincible silence. Let it be the task of more experienced bibliographers to correct and amplify the foregoing outline!
