A. S. W. Rosenbach

“ Although Hooker had known Miss Blaythwaite for some time, she was to him always, the Lady of the Breviary.
When he felt the delicious warmth of her hand, he thought of the missal; when she was seated near him, poring over some old volume of forgotten lore, his mind turned to its wonderful binding, or its miraculous miniatures. Strange as it may seem, Miss Blaythwaite was nothing more to him than the guardian and sole owner of a book that his soul desired. Sometimes, when they were reading together some volume of Elizabethan verse, another caller would be announced ”

“ It's a superb copy!"
The Colonel laid before the astonished eyes of Richard Hooker the priceless first edition of Poe's marvelous story. It was in the original brown printed wrappers, just as it was published. With trembling hands he grasped the book; he turned the first page and gasped. A startled cry broke from his lips. The Colonel at once noticed his pallor. He did not dream that an old book would affect even the most ardent bibliophile in this manner. In all his experience of forty years he had never seen anyone so overcome at the sight of a dingy pamphlet. ”

“ One evening, about a month later, the eccentric collector of the little Connecticut town sat down in his chair to gloat over and hold communion with his "literary" treasures, for he did not call them articles of virtu or specimens of bric-a-brac, or furniture of the Jacobean period, but gave each piece that was dear to him a name that smacked of books and learning. His mind turned to the evil early life of William Penn, and the wisdom of Poor Richard, while at the same time his eyes were riveted upon a beautiful eighteenth century desk. ”

“ Hooker said nothing. Bibliophiles are not missionaries. They do not go into the by-ways of the world to uphold their creeds, for the love of books is such a wonderful thing that it can never be explained!
When he left Miss Blaythwaite that night, he felt that the breviary was farther from him than ever.
Hooker, however, came swiftly to a decision.
The only way he could obtain the Abelard Missal, was by marrying Miss Blaythwaite. The next evening he called, with this firmly fixed in his mind. This wily, calculating book-worm had slowly crept into her affections. ”

“ The book was constantly under guard in a guaranteed burglar-proof vault. To employ the most experienced crackmen to undertake the job would be almost insane. He could not try to substitute a facsimile as in the "Three Trees." To bribe the guard was foolhardy because the guard did not know the combination of the safety-lock. He was at his wit's end! Not a single practical idea entered his head. For once he was at the end of his resources!
Robert Hooker was a great lover of books. Like other kinds of love, the more he was denied, the greater the love grew; and time added fuel to the flames. ”

“ Libro was looking over the Poems of John Keats, published in 1817, when a catalogue slip fell out. On the slip it stated that a copy had once sold for five hundred dollars! This, then, was meat and drink for him! He would sell it! He could live for months on poor Keats. But his soul revolted. He was not a cannibal. He could not live off the flesh of his own.
But at last he was compelled to return to Steinman. He wrapped up the precious volume tenderly, affectionately. ”

“ Libro's heart had almost stopped beating. There was the long lost quarto of "Titus Andronicus," 1594, and a perfect first edition of "Hamlet"! There were others in the volume, a veritable treasure trove. It was, in truth, a great discovery!
"What's it worth?" said Steinman.
"Something to a collector," replied Libro, honestly: "nothing to you."
"Well, if you know anyone who wants the old thing he can have it for ten dollars. I once advanced that amount on it. Since then I say, No Books!"
John Libro by a superhuman effort controlled himself.
"Steinman, I need money for food. ”

“ Without another word Rodd nodded, and Fenn quickly grasped the little book, and placed it in the inside pocket of his coat. Hooker became angry and threatened to take it by bodily force. A scuffle ensued. Two clerks came to the rescue, and Fenn departed triumphantly with the secrets of the noble families of Great Britain securely in his possession.
Rodd, in an ingratiating manner, declared to Hooker that no money had passed between them, and consequently there had been no sale. Hooker, disappointed, angry, and beaten, could do nothing but retire. ”

“ Hooker would be presented, and then he would retire gracefully to her father's library, leaving the field clear to his rival. This, of course, was not flattering to Miss Blaythwaite!
One night, Jack Worthing was there before him. He was a clean-cut, manly fellow, interested first in sports, and after that in business. He had known Miss Blaythwaite for years. The talk turned, as it will always turn, when bibliophiles are present, upon books.
"I don't understand you fellows," said Worthing. "You think more of an old book than many people of their children!" ”

“ The famous library of Richard Appleton was to be sold at auction. I was intensely excited, as you can imagine. I read the catalogue item by item, word by word. I marked with ink the things I most needed and determined to buy a few exquisite volumes even at the risk of bankruptcy. And there was 'Les Quinze Joyes de Mariage,' the first edition in the superb binding made by Nicolas Eve for Diane de Poitiers. I had resolved to purchase it many years ago when Appleton wrested it from me at the Amherst sale. ”

“ It is almost unnecessary to state that Libro sold the book—the only book he ever parted with—for a fabulous sum—more than its weight in gold,—and for many thousands of dollars. A noted collector purchased it immediately, and it is now the chief attraction of his wonderful library.
With the money jingling in his pocket he returned to the scene of his former misery. He was to redeem his pledges with the broker's own money. ”

“ Well, you see, Tomlinson was a friend of mine. He told me that, after he had accidentally killed the girl, he was terribly frightened. He did not know what to do with the body. He had a mind to go to the police and confess all, but did not have the courage to do so. He remained in a trance, he thought, for hours, thinking of his fearful crime and the dreadful consequences. While he was in this deep, agonizing study and not knowing what he was doing, he picked up a small book on her reading table. ”

“ I read all the catalogues, became skilled in bibliography, lived in the bookshops; spent all my time collating and going over my precious volumes. In the evenings, instead of talking to my wife about the Ives' coming ball, or a problem in bridge, or the newest shades of silk, I pored over the catalogues which came to me from all parts of the world. ”

“ He was thinking of poor DePuyster. Someone had just told him that DePuyster had remained indoors, not daring to show his face at the Club. He was at his apartments drinking Scotch whiskeys to take his mind away from the letter which haunted him. He could not bear to look into pedigrees and genealogies, which used to be his constant companions.
Hooker was actually sorry for the descendant of the stalwart Revolutionary hero, who dared not face his friends—much less his enemies. He would give the old man a tip! he said to himself. ”

“ Mr. Stevens read with envy that it contained the only copy known of the first state of Rembrandt's "Three Trees." "Another newspaper canard! An infernal lie! A senseless fabrication!" he exclaimed. His was the only one; he did not believe another would ever come to light.
He would examine his own again. He took the etching carefully from the wall. What was the faint blur—was it a line at the bottom? It seemed strange, for he had not noticed it before. He would get his magnifying glass. He read, in microscopic letters: "Facsimile from the unique original in the Hooker Museum." ”

“ And Worthing determined to study the things she liked, and borrowed some reference-books from a library that told of the mysteries of the book-lovers' cult. And when Hooker heard Worthing speak of the rare first edition of Poe's Tamerlane, he almost fainted with surprise!
"Don't you want to look over father's books, Mr. Hooker," asked Miss Blaythwaite. "You may go in the library as usual, and make yourself at home. I have added a few things myself!" ”

“ All the furnishings in his home represented a book "borrowed" from some famous library, and then shamelessly sold and the money expended on household gods.
Doctor Morton obtained the books of other men by many devious ways. For instance, he would write to a collector under the name of a well-known amateur, and always upon the most exquisite stationery, requesting the loan for a few days of the third quarto of Hamlet; he was writing a brochure on the early editions of Shakespeare, and it was necessary, in the holy cause of scholarship to inspect the volume. ”

“ As luck would have it, John Fenn was seated next to him in the smoking-car, reading the evening papers. Hooker took from his pocket a book catalogue, issued by one of the great English auction houses. He knew that was the best bait! No book-lover that ever lived could resist dipping into a sale catalogue. ”

“ He looked with particular distaste upon the "Three Trees" and the "Unpublishable Memoirs" and the Shakespeare-Bacon volume. He even thought of returning them to their owners! The great institute to be founded and called after his name, was a thing of the past! He had acted like a cad, he said to himself. To marry a woman for an old book was almost as bad as marrying for money!
One evening, Hooker came to the conclusion that he could not stand this loneliness, this desolation, any longer. He intended to leave the country, to wander in foreign lands! ”

“ Giovanni Boccaccio had added another story to the Hundred that composed his immortal collection.
And where had it been found? The last place in the entire world. In the New York Public Library! For almost two years it had reposed there, with no one to cherish it or dip into its witty contents. In a book-case, side by side with other great masterpieces of literature, it had remained neglected by the inhabitants of New York, who in the newspapers of that great city figure as learned and scholarly! ”

“ After a month of search, the detectives came to the conclusion that the book was not in his possession. Robert Hooker was guiltless!
When he is not going out of an evening, Hooker will often remain by the fireside in his library, reading his favorite authors. When no one is about, he will go to the largest book-case, and in a conspicuous place in the centre of the third shelf, he will take down a small thick volume, which he handles tenderly. He will often touch it fondly with his lips. ”

“ There is no use for us to bid against each other. It would spoil the market! I'm sure we can come to some agreement."
"No! I own the Appleton vase, and by right I should possess the other. It would make the finest pair of vases in the world! It will look magnificent in my house on Fifth Avenue."
"Don't be a hog—Foster does not know its value. He was offered five thousand dollars for it after the Mary J. Morgan sale in 1886. If we offer him fifteen thousand he will think it a gold mine. You know he needs the money. If you offer more he will become suspicious." ”

“ Hooker," said Miss Blaythwaite, "I've made up my mind about the Abelard missal. Jack and I think it would be a good thing to give it to the Metropolitan Museum."
"I quite agree with you, Miss Blaythwaite," said poor Hooker. "There it would always be safe from fire, and could be seen by the public. It is certainly the proper thing to do." ”

“ He was about to put the evil little book into his pocket when he was interrupted.
A large, portly man, known to book-lovers the world over, had entered the shop and asked Mr. Rodd if he might examine the Beau Brummel Memoirs. He had looked at it before, he said, but on that occasion had merely remarked that he would call again. He saw the volume on the table in front of Hooker, picked it up without ceremony, and told the owner of the shop that he would purchase it. ”

“ One day, Hooker read in the society columns of the Herald that Jasper Foster was going to take up his residence in Italy on account of the illness of his only daughter. He intended to sell his fine old house on 17th Street, and all the furniture that it contained.
Now Jasper Foster was celebrated for one thing only. His name was known to fame but for a single object. He was the owner of the mate of the celebrated purple hawthorn vase in the Appleton collection.
Foster was an extremely modest, unworldly, retiring gentleman. ”

“ It appeared that the Bacon-Shakespeare volume was locked up in a steel vault in the Fields' residence, guarded by an approved time-lock and other interesting features. The book was never to be removed from the safe, unless in the presence of the owner and a trusted servant.
Robert Hooker was extremely desirous of adding this treasure to his mythical museum! He said it was an outrage that one man, on account of the accident of great wealth, should become the sole possessor of it. ”

“ It is not our purpose to chronicle the activities of this New England worthy, however interesting and instructive they may be. It was Doctor Morton's well-known coup in connection with the Welford library that brings him into this story.
Thomas Pennington Welford was growing old. He was a Quaker, a descendant of the Penningtons that came over with William Penn. He lived in an old house on Arch Street in Philadelphia, just a stone's throw from Benjamin Franklin's grave. ”

“ To make himself appear more human, John Bull Stevens at last determined to publish a catalogue raisonné of his pictures, his drawings, his etchings and his engravings. He thought a beautiful reproduction or facsimile would be as satisfying to the critics as a view of the original.
Robert Hooker, for one, did not agree with him.
The catalogue was duly announced, to be published within the year and presented to the museums and libraries of this country and Europe. Photographers and printers, art writers and reviewers were employed to get up the sumptuous work. ”

“ No one would give a position to a stock-broker. Mr. Edwards was right!
But he must live—the situation had become not so fantastic. He would sell everything—his father's watch, his jewelry, his clothing, everything but his books. Those he would not part with.
On the corner of Thirty-fifth and Broadway was a pawnshop—he had passed it hundreds of times, but had never thought of entering. Half of it was a store where the pledges were sold; each piece of jewelry had a huge white card on which ran some such legend—"Former price $1,000—now $400." ”