And joyful rush along to play;
Eager I for my marbles call,
The whistling top or bouncing Ball.
The changing marbles to me show,
How mutable all things below.
My fate and theirs may be the same
Dasht in an instant from the Game.
The Hoop, swift rattling on the Chase,
Shows me how quick Life runs its Race.
My hoop and I like turnings have.
So fast Death drives me to my Grave.
[Illustration: THE VERBS.
Some Actors of eminence made their appearance,
And the servants, Nouns common, with speed made a clearance
Of tables, chairs, stools, and such moveable things,
As, wherever it goes, the Noun always brings.
And these actors the VERBS, when they’d room to DISPLAY,
Both WRESTLED and TUMBLED; and GAMBOL’D away;
They PLAY’D and they RAN, they JUMP’D and they DANC’D,
FRISK’D, AMBLED, and KICK’D, LAUGH’D, CHATTER’D and PRANC’D.
VERBS ACTIVE AND PASSIVE.
The company, laughing, now stood up in ranks,
Whilst the ACTIVE VERBS play’d on the PASSIVE their pranks.
But some were so lazy they SLEPT on the floor,
And some were so stupid they STOOD by the door.
In short, all the actions that mortals can DO,
Were DONE by these VERBS, and ENDUR’D by them too.
TWO PAGES FROM “THE INFANT’S GRAMMAR”]
Among all the books I have seen that were published at this period in
the Colonies, I have found but one which might be taken seriously if
issued to-day. It treats upon an international problem, good behavior,
which, alas, is the bugaboo of children the world over. Personally I
have always felt that it is the most terrible and obnoxious of all the
moralities--but then, I’m only an old bachelor! _The School of Good
Manners Composed for the Help of Parents in teaching their Children
how to carry it in their places during their Minority_ was brought
out in Boston, reprinted and sold by T. and J. Fleet at the Heart
and Crown, in Cornhill, 1772. It begins with “Twenty mixt Precepts,”
such as “Honour the Magistrates,” and tells little children plainly
what and what not to do. Under a heading of “Behaviour at the Table,”
it admonishes: “Spit not, cough not, nor blow thy nose at the table,
if it may be avoided.” “Behaviour When in Company” is a little less
stringent, perhaps, than one might expect. It reads: “Spit not in the
room, but in the corner.” Further: “Let thy countenance be moderately
cheerful, neither laughing nor frowning.” “For Behaviour at School” one
must “Bawl not aloud in making complaints,” and “Jog not the table or
desk on which another writes.”
It is not probable that these righteously exemplary books could be all
things to all children. What a welcome change the _Prodigal Daughter_
must have been! Isaiah Thomas, of Worcester, printed her history in
1771, in Boston, before he became famous as the publisher of simpler
children’s books such as _Goody Two Shoes_. In many of these early
books the title page relates practically the entire story in scenario
form. A case in point is the _Prodigal Daughter, or a strange and
wonderful relation, shewing how a gentleman of vast estates in Bristol,
had a proud and disobedient Daughter, who, because her parents would
not support her in all her extravagance, bargained with the Devil to
poison them. How an Angel informed her Parents of her design. How she
lay in a trance four days; and when she was put in the grave, she came
to life again._ Quite a happy ending for an eighteenth-century prodigal!
The gradual change which took place in juvenile literature was brought
about partly by the captivating whimsicalities of Oliver Goldsmith.
The finest collection of Goldsmith’s books is in the beautiful library
of my dear friend, William M. Elkins, but I have a few of Goldsmith’s
juveniles that even he has been unable to obtain. Goldsmith’s
delightful books for children, which his publisher, John Newbery, had
bound in gilt paper and adorned with woodcuts, were sent over here from
his far-famed shop at the corner of Saint Paul’s Churchyard in London.
When they were reprinted in staid New England, they were a startling
innovation to the book trade. Then old ballads began to return to
the market, each with some striking change also. Contrast the stern
outpourings of the learned Cotton Mather with Doctor Goldsmith’s “Elegy
on that Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize”:--
Good people, all, with one accord
Lament for Madame Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word--
From those who spoke her praise....
She strove the neighborhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways--
Unless when she was sinning!...
The _Royal Battledoor_, the _Mother Goose Melodies_, _A Pretty Book for
Children_, and some of the best verse ever written for juveniles then
came into being. “Bah, Bah, Black Sheep,” “Pease-Porridge Hot,” “Little
Tommy Tucker”--have they since been improved upon? I doubt it.
BAH, BAH, BLACK SHEEP
Bah, bah, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes, sir; yes, sir, I have three bags full.
One for my master, one for his dame,
But none for the little boy who cries in the lane.
PEASE-PORRIDGE HOT
Pease-porridge hot,
Pease-porridge cold,
Pease-porridge in the pot,
Nine days old.
Can you spell that with four letters?
Yes, I can: T-H-A-T.
LITTLE TOMMY TUCKER
Little Tommy Tucker
Sings for his supper;
What song will he sing?
White bread and butter.
How will he cut it
Without e’er a knife?
How will he be married
Without e’er a wife?
I was spending a week-end last summer with some friends who have a
large library consisting chiefly of the classical English authors. I
had been out one afternoon, and as I returned to the house, was met
halfway by my hostess. She had a distraught look, and before I could
inquire what had happened, she said, “I am frightfully upset! What do
you think I found Tommy doing just now in the library? Reading that
nasty old book, Fielding’s _Tom Jones_!”
Her son Tommy was twelve years old. “What have you done about it?” I
asked, trying to suppress a smile.
“I took it from him and put it in the stove!”
She refused to believe me when I told her that _Tom Jones_, _Clarissa
Harlowe_, and _Pamela_ were read aloud in the evening to all members of
the family in Puritan New England, and Miss Rosalie V. Halsey relates
that when certain passages became too affecting, the more sensitive
listeners retired to their rooms to weep! Sometime later I showed her
my copy of _Tom Jones_, abridged especially for youthful reading, with
its crude little woodcut facing the title page, and this explanatory
verse beneath:--
This print describes a good man’s heart
Who meant to take the orphan’s part,
And may distress forever find
A friend like him to be so kind.
[Illustration:
The Uncle’s Present,
A NEW BATTLEDOOR.
Published by Jacob Johnson, 147 Market Street Philadelphia.
TITLE PAGE OF “THE UNCLE’S PRESENT”]
The moral of _Tom Jones_, as translated for its youthful readers, seems
to boil down to this: If you are a good child you will never annoy
your neighbors! Fancy Henry Fielding’s amusement when _Tom Jones_
appeared abridged for children! What a marvelous leap this was from the
dry-as-dust New England primers and Protestant Tutors, from austere
catechisms to--_Tom Jones_!
Printers early discovered that books for children should be made in
proportion to their little clients--small. Miniature volumes have
always held a great fascination for children of all ages. Their
very neatness and compactness make them seem the more precious and
desirable. Perhaps it was with a view to making Bible stories valued
more highly by their small readers that they were printed in tiny
volumes called Thumb Bibles. These adorable wee volumes, illustrated
with crude woodcuts, are extremely rare. Not long ago a lady came
to my Philadelphia office with an old-fashioned hand bag--the silk
gathered sort, roomy if not beautiful. I noticed that it stuck out in
little points, and wondered what on earth she could have brought in
it. My curiosity was more than gratified when she emptied it upon my
desk--some twenty Thumb Bibles! When I asked her what she wanted for
these little charmers she shook her head and said that anything I cared
to offer would be acceptable. I suggested $300. She looked at me aghast.
“Why,” she said, “I would have been willing to take twenty-five!”
Children began to assert themselves, beginning with the last quarter
of the eighteenth century. They became individuals rather than so much
parental property. Thomas Bradford must have realized this when, in
1775, he placed such juvenile delights upon the market as _The Scotch
Rogue_, _Moll Flanders_, _Lives of Highwaymen_, _Lives of Pirates_,
_The Buccaneers of America_, and _The Lives of the Twelve Cæsars_.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century shockers began to appear.
Lurid tales of dastardly deeds were read by children who hitherto
knew life through such stories as _The Prize for Youthful Obedience_,
_The Search After Happiness_, _Little Truths_, and other edifying
concoctions. The colorful experiences of _Motherless Mary, A Young and
Friendless Orphan who was eventually Decoyed to London_, appearing from
the presses of a New York house in 1828, interpreted life in a new if
less safe way. John Paul Jones’s _Life_ was issued with a terrifying
frontispiece and in a dress to attract small boys with an admiration
and envy for buccaneers and their fierce and bloody lives. Even Noah
Webster, that staid dictionarist, wrote _The Pirates, A Tale for Youth_.
The interest in American history began at the close of the Revolution.
The scenes of all the juvenile histories were formerly laid in foreign
countries. The American Colonies now had their own history, and some of
the rarest, and perhaps the most attractive to the student, are those
dealing with this subject. _The History of America abridged for the use
of Children of all Denominations, adorned with cuts_, Philadelphia,
Wrigley and Berriman, 1795, is engaging and wonderful. The little
illustrations are marvelous examples of the illustrator’s skill. On
account of the expense, the publisher duplicated the portraits, and one
cut served for several worthies. Thus Christopher Columbus, General
Montgomery, and His Excellency Richard Howel, Governor of New Jersey,
were depicted exactly alike, the American eighteenth-century military
costume looking picturesque and fearful on Columbus.
The _New York Cries_, printed and sold by Mahlon Day in 1826, is
particularly entertaining. According to the introduction of this little
book: “New York island is 15 miles long, and from one to two miles
broad. It is laid out in spacious streets and avenues, with large
squares and market places. The circuit of the city is about eight
miles, and the number of buildings which it contains is estimated at
30,000, and the inhabitants at about 172,000.”
I cannot resist quoting the cry of Sand, as it is a reflection of the
time when New Yorkers used sand on their floors, instead of costly
Oriental rugs:--
Sand! Here’s your nice white Sand!
Sand, O! white Sand, O!
Buy Sand for your floor;
For so cleanly it looks
When strew’d at your door.
This sand is brought from the seashore in vessels, principally from
Rockaway Beach, Long Island. It is loaded into carts, and carried
about the streets of New York, and sold for about 12½ cents per
bushel. Almost every little girl or boy knows that it is put on newly
scrubbed floors, to preserve them clean and pleasant.
But since people have become rich, and swayed by the vain fashions
of the world, by carpeting the floors of their houses, there does
not appear to be so much use for Sand as in the days of our worthy
ancestors.
_Peter Piper’s Practical Principles of Plain and Perfect Pronunciation_
was published in Philadelphia by W. Johnson in 1836. Issued nearly
a century ago, it is still enshrined in our hearts. Although there
were many editions issued in America, few have survived the tooth of
time and the voracity of these youthful readers. The Philadelphia
edition had perfect pictures properly painted, and it is one of the
most charming morsels ever devised “to please the palates of Pretty,
Prattling Playfellows.” Two quotations are given in order to bring us
all back to the time long ago when Peter Piper meant so much to us.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
Did Peter Piper pick a peck of pickled peppers?
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?
Villiam Veedon vip’s his Vig and Vaistcoat;
Did Villiam Veedon vipe his Vig and Vaistcoat?
If Villiam Veedon vip’d his Vig and Vaistcoat,
Vhere are the Vig and Vaistcoat Villiam Veedon vip’d?
The publisher’s excuse of presenting Peter Piper to the public is
worthy of the book itself:--
He Prays parents to Purchase this Playful Performance, Partly to Pay
him for his Patience and Pains; Partly to Provide for the Printers and
Publishers; but Principally to Prevent the Pernicious Prevalence of
Perverse Pronunciation.
[Illustration:
P p
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled Peppers;
Did Peter Piper pick a peck of pickled Peppers?
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled Peppers,
Where’s the peck of pickled Peppers Peter Piper picked?
PAGE FROM “PETER PIPER’S PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES OF PLAIN AND PERFECT
PRONUNCIATION”]
The book will always remain attractive to us, but when we think of the
youthful minds it has mixed, the jaws it has dislocated, the tongues it
has tied, we can only remark that we love it for its faults!
When I look into these old editions, these picturesque little volumes,
which reveal so charmingly the quickening change from the days of the
Pilgrim Fathers, I am surprised that some enterprising publisher does
not reissue them to-day. Such stories as _Pug’s Visit to Mr. Punch_,
_Who Killed Cock Robin_, _The History of Little Fannie_, _Little Eliza
and Little Henry_, as well as the droll _Old Dame Trudge and Her
Parrot_, would go as well now as one hundred years ago. I think they
would make a fortune for someone--although I do not guarantee it!
Two specially made miniature bookcases house my whole collection of
children’s books. On either side of a large sixteenth-century Spanish
bookcase they hang against the wall, and visitors to my Philadelphia
home take delight in looking at their quaint illustrations and the
still quainter text. But alas, my library is now like a nursery without
children. The whole family--eight hundred--have traveled to New York
and are on exhibition in the New York Public Library, where they may be
seen by all who are interested.
VII
OLD BIBLES
What is the greatest discovery in the history of books? This is the
question with which I am constantly bombarded. In letters from all
parts of the world the embryonic bookman, the novice collector, the
casual lover of books, the intelligent, the stupid--they make this
their leading question. And although I have never been accused of
unseemly virtue, I rejoice that the answer is exactly as it should be:
the first printed Bible.
The momentous recognition of the now famed Gutenberg Bible occurred
in the middle of the eighteenth century. Book collecting was already
beginning to discard its sombre, conservative guise as an occupation of
the religious in monasteries, or as a pastime of the old and very rich.
Now this discovery came like a flaming meteor against the literary sky.
So many astounding finds have been made in out-of-the-way places,
it is somewhat surprising that this first and greatest printed work
should have been identified in the very heart of Paris. In a preceding
article I have related the remarkable manner in which several other
rare books turned up. There was the copy of _Pilgrim’s Progress_ which
made its way from obscurity in the barber shop of a small English town
to international fame in a London auction room. And another valuable
book, Shakespeare’s _Venus and Adonis_, hid unsuspected for years in
the lumber room of an English estate before it was brought to light;
and a similar copy, equally rare, was used as an archer’s target at
Shrewsbury before its value was accidentally recognized. What irony,
then, that this, the greatest book of all time, the Gutenberg Bible,
should have rested in the very centre of a literary stronghold perhaps
centuries before its unique preëminence was detected!
Thousands of eyes during that time had gazed uncomprehendingly upon
this marvel of the printer’s art in the celebrated library of Cardinal
Mazarin in Paris. How often it was read by strangely undiscerning eyes,
eyes of students, eyes of connoisseurs, looked upon by true lovers of
the antique! They saw nothing in it but a Bible--one more early Bible.
Such men as Descartes, Voiture, and Corneille doubtless turned its
pages many times. Certainly it must have been something of a curiosity,
even in those days. But what scant imaginations they had! The very idea
chills me!
It will forever remain a mystery, that Gutenberg Bible in Paris. How
did it get there from Germany? Who brought it? How did it happen to
be in the Mazarin Library? Did some serious-minded book agent of old
France, if there were any then, bargain quietly with the scarlet-robed
Cardinal, or was the road to its destination one of intrigue, of
dishonor, and finally violence? Alas, that we book lovers will never
know! A little pilfering here and there was never known to upset
Mazarin, if the book he coveted was worthy of it.
Often I have wondered, when visiting his musty library, what the
ancient walls behind the shelves could tell were they suddenly given
the power of speech. As the old proverb runs, “Walls have ears.” Nor
is it difficult in that majestic palace to watch through half-closed
eyes, veiled, of course, by your imagination, the proud old churchman
as he pridefully surveys his magnificent books. Perhaps you can see him
lingering before the provocative loveliness of gleaming parchment and
morocco covers; observe him as he tenderly removes from its resting
place some diabolical work of Machiavelli; or he may pace elegantly
between the ancient lecterns and reading posts to bend in silent
tribute before the disquieting beauty of some massive old missal. I
have easily pictured not only His Eminence but many assistants as well,
searching among the ancient tomes; sandaled monks, learned scholars
and librarians, poets and courtiers, they have all passed me in that
renowned library, unconscious of my presence. And how the chains
still jangle which for centuries have held captive certain small and
attractive volumes on shelf and table. Some sophisticated doubters may
sigh as they read these lines, thinking: “Poor Rosenbach, what the
vineyards of France must have done to him!”
After I purchased the Melk copy of the Gutenberg Bible last year, I
learned, from the hordes of visitors who came to see it and through the
letters of congratulation and inquiry with which I was flooded, that
most people thought this the only copy in existence. As a matter of
fact, about forty-three copies have been discovered thus far, ten of
which are now in public and private libraries in this country. Perhaps
there are others in hiding; there is always that glorious chance. But
the very fact that there were these other copies, scattered in various
libraries in the old centres of Europe, copies which were there,
doubtless, from the time Gutenberg accomplished his stupendous work,
makes the more remarkable the first disclosure of this Bible, nearly
three centuries after its publication.
Think of the many wise graybeards who spent their lives searching for
knowledge in the vast libraries of Vienna, of Berlin, of Göttingen,
of Prague, and at Oxford and Cambridge, those centuries ago; men who
saw and read these volumes and yet did not question their strange
peculiarity. For although the Gutenberg Bible gives the effect of
a fastidiously written manuscript, it is not only the earliest but
actually the most beautiful work of printing the world has ever known.
It was the first work to come from any press using movable types.
Whether these were cut from wood or moulded in lead can never be
conclusively proved. This is immaterial, however, except to the student
of typography. The type itself is a large Gothic one, and the ink, now
nearly five centuries old, is to-day as black and glossy as the hair of
a Japanese beauty. The majestic Gothic lettering was the prevailing one
used in Germany for ecclesiastical works at that time, and therefore it
was but natural to use it as a model. The pages of the Gutenberg Bible
are perfectly spaced in double columns.
The great work was published in two states; some copies were printed
on paper, others on vellum. The feel of the paper always fascinates me,
so firm it is, so beautiful in appearance. It seems alive, yet there is
something definitely final about it. It is as though the paper of the
Gutenberg Bible had proudly indicated from its inception that nothing
finer, nothing more perfect ever could be made. Nor is the vellum of
any other old book of finer texture than that which Gutenberg, the
master printer, used. The rarest vellum is from the thinnest, the most
velvety part of the inner skin of the sheep. This Gutenberg was careful
to select, and his Bibles printed on vellum are much more valuable
to-day than those printed on paper.
It thrills the lover of books when he observes the superb taste Johann
Gutenberg showed in the year 1455. A decade later, printers, his
pupils, began to be patronized by princes of Church and State. It was
they who ordered the most beautiful books, made especially for their
private gratification. But there is no record of Gutenberg having any
such incentive as wealth or approbation. He must have followed some
compelling desire of his own which led to the creation of the perfect
book.
It was about 1750 that Guillaume-François de Bure, a young Frenchman,
proved himself a veritable prodigy among discoverers. At that time he
employed every moment he could spare, working in the Mazarin Library,
which, since the death of its founder, had fortunately been in the
hands of intelligent and appreciative men. It happened that De Bure
one day stumbled upon two old volumes he could not recall having
seen before. He glanced at them as he passed, and was so taken by
their unusual beauty that he resolved to return to study them as soon
as possible. Almost the first thing De Bure observed was that there
were forty-two lines on the page. He had seen, in those magnificent
ecclesiastical surroundings, many wonderful Bibles. In a state of
hopeful excitement he looked for and finally located another copy of
the glorious book similar to the one in the Mazarin Library, in the
Electoral Library in Mainz. This is the copy which is now in the French
National Library. De Bure read the inscription in an ancient hand at
the end of each volume, several lines stating that the books had been
rubricated and bound in the year of our Lord 1456. With these slender
facts as a basis, he set about further to establish the authenticity of
the greatest bibliographical discovery of all time.
There were two issues of the Gutenberg (or, as it was originally
called, the Mazarin,) Bible. The first contains forty, forty-one, and
forty-two lines to the column. But this, as a rule, is at the beginning
of the book, where it is apparent that Gutenberg was experimenting; he
was trying to evolve to his own satisfaction the form of what has since
been acclaimed the greatest monument of the printer’s art. To obtain
the very first issue of the Gutenberg Bible--that is an achievement!
Of all books in the world it is the most important to possess in its
elemental state, for it was in this condition that it first saw the
light of day. It is true that there is nothing nobler, nothing finer,
nothing more beautiful than the Gutenberg Bible in its last completed
phase, but to me the embryonic stage of the first printed book is the
most important. Only the first “gathering,” as we say technically,
comprises the first printed book.